What’s that? You don’t want to come in? Too scary? You prefer the fantasy of Puffy the magic cyclops to the flesh-eating monster he really was? Sorry to hear that because I’d rather not stoop to such drivel. So spake the old man in me, the mane of mine father.
My publisher got this reply from a Review group: “our membership did not download any copies of Chicago Rage. This is not because the work does not have merit, but because most of our membership comes from the community of fiction readers, more directly, Science Fiction and Fantasy.”
And so, my writing career ends with a whimper. Hell, no! These readers must not be my audience.
My preferred audience may not even have internet access, or they still dwell in the remote pine barrens I once called home. It’s not like I’m the only one howling in the wilderness. The wolves howl back. No, they don’t log in first, they just howl the old-fashioned way, with their throats. God, I miss ‘em. But I’m here now, among the super sensitive, over civilized beings who’ve taken over planet—spaceship—Earth.
Okay, let’s lighten up. There are other ways to get reviewed. I have to shake those trees until an apple hits me on my head. Although brain damaged, I’ll carry on!
Chicago Rage Tumbleweed Books https://daowenpublications.ca/our-authors/
