Once in a while, I look back and read something that I wrote months, or even years, earlier. I often don’t remember what I wrote, so when I re-read past entries, I am often astonished by the profundity. When I am writing, I become a conduit for a higher intelligence that is speaking through me. I am merely the instrument. I often wonder if Eckhart Tolle is surprised at the words that flow from him, like a river that knows exactly where it is going. He never plans his talks ahead of time and they are not timed. He simply says what needs to be said in that moment; and the audience hears what needs to be heard. Similarly, I rarely know beforehand what I will “blog” about. I cannot explain how this works, though often it is in response to something I have observed, or seen, or heard.
Since publishing Swan Sanctuary’s Guide and Question Everything, I receive emails and phone calls every week from literary agents who want to market my books – for their “discounted” price of only $999, or some similar “deal”. I have been asked if I would prefer to spend anywhere between $1000 to $5000 on a “marketing package”. I was always under the impression that when you had your work published, you would be paid in royalties. What I learned was that there are hundreds of agents out there who want me to hand over several thousand dollars to them, for the slim chance that my book sales will instantly start turning over a huge profit. Writers have been made to believe that in order to become a successful writer, you must find an agent who is willing to represent your work and convince a publishing company that you are a “good” risk. However; even those books that make it to traditional publishing houses often fail to sell.
Even if I had the time to do my own marketing, I would choose to do something else. There are only 24 hours in a day; and marketing is not the way I wish to use them. It interests me not at all. I would rather be helping a turtle to cross the road, or watching a hummingbird sip nectar from my flowers, or cooking a healthy meal – or writing. I am compelled to write. Whether or not anyone reads what I write, is not my concern. My job is merely to get the message out there and I know that those who need to hear it, will be guided to it by serendipitous means – not because I have spent thousands of dollars to put it in front of their face. I am just a writer. I am an instrument.
