I’m vain. There, I’ve said it. I’m vain—even in my writing. My vanity hates to hear me admit I am vain.
My vanity is not so much about looks, although I have become normal after being horribly skinny for years. I don’t mind being normal. And my wife thinks I am good-looking.
My vanity stretches to the vehicles I drive. I hate driving a dirty vehicle. I didn’t grow up dirt poor, but we always had used cars. When I was eleven, my mother told me to wash the car, and I wondered why I needed to wash an old car. She said, “We may have to drive an old car, but we don’t have to drive a dirty car.”
I recently had the joy of swapping engines in our motorhome. While the “early failure” rebuilt engine is being fixed, I put a substitute engine in the coach. It burns oil. I am vain and hate that someone behind me at a stoplight will see a puff of smoke when the light turns green.
But, my writing. Oh, the writing. I want Members of the Cast to succeed. And what is success? If I am honest, I want this lovely book to become famous by word of mouth. My pea brain thinks that means lots of sales, forty reviews notwithstanding. For eight months, my vanity was satiated. When the seven scheduled book talks were completed, sales slowed, and vanity kicked in. I am forced to realize that my book probably won’t become a best seller with movie giants clamoring for the rights.
So, what is a vain author to do? The answer is obvious—write. I have hired a book cover illustrator and hope that my WIP trilogy will feed my vanity.
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