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Today, December 7th, is the anniversary of the "date that will live in infamy". These were President Franklin D. Roosevelt's words about the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. This attack on a U.S. military base was the 9/11 of that generation.
The world had experienced a decade of economic depression and was in the throes of societal upheavals. Mighty powers were on the rise in Europe and Asia as the winds of war began raging over the continents. Though the United States was in a different hemisphere, there was plenty for our citizens to feel insecure about.
In many ways the world has bigger threats than we did back in 1941. We get our news instantaneously now and there is an illusion of more transparency in what we know about what's going on. But the surprises keep coming.
We have plenty of threats to be insecure about these days: nuclear weapons, cyber-attacks, civil unrest, financial collapse, and on and on. The world has always been an insecure place but now the possibilities and probabilities of something truly horrendous, or at least massively disruptive, loom over us like a cloudy day that never clears.
As writers we likewise have a forecast of doom and gloom heading our way. A tough economy with high unemployment is causing more prospective authors to pursue the writing dream, creating more competition. E-books threaten the publishing industry while internet threatens the print media. There is a strong possibility that there will be less places for writers to turn to in order to have their work published pushing more writers into self-publishing and finding more creative ways to reach the buying public.
With the uncertainty and the challenges ahead I am sometimes hesitant to keep pursuing writing as anything more than a hobby. And yet with writing dreams of my past left unfulfilled I could be dooming myself to an empty space within if I don't continue to chase the dream.
The quandary remains. Will writing ever pay the bills? If not, who will pay the bills? The writing as vain pursuit haunts me as much as the possibilities that tempt me with some vague promise of success in some unknown point of the future.
So I write and build up my fortress of words. A backlog of blogs waits for future readers to come. Or is that all just digital detritus that will eventually drift into the oblivion of unread folly. Will my kingdom of stories see its date of infamy one day? Is there a writer's equivalent of Pearl Harbor? Can this writer gather his inner forces to fight back to win the war against insecurity? It's my plan, but still I can't help having the doubts sometimes. Maybe I should write a story about it.
.Do you like surprises? Do you like to surprise others?: I'd like to surprise another blogger who I doubt will read this. I'm asking any of you who don't mind to go to the Heim Binas Fiction blog Wednesday post (that's today if you're reading this on Wednesday) and wish her a happy birthday. For her birthday she's asking for bloggers to share a favorite song by linking to it, quoting lyrics or whatever. I think she'd be thrilled to hear from you. And thanks from me!