The Fargo Kantrowitz'z Literary Campsite

there is a multipllicity of numbers with which to multiply. this fact alone made me want to hide in fantasy of play and literature as a child. Even as a grown up i didn’t really trust the number’s guys in school. Sure, they had “important” work to do, but I wasn’t allowed into it. I had to be “cool” instead, and I tried and tried to become a daredevil writer and tried this and then that until finally, I said, f*)k it and chose to write the way i wanted to write, in other words, dump your chosen audience and let your words find it’s own audience. Just write and expose your past writing and you will be alright. You will not be left alone to wither and die, you, me, rather, the ever-failed writer, the guy without the plan. The rejectionist. We fall and fell and will fall again without a basic plan. Before, there was no way. Publish or self-publish and the self-publishing route promised no real victories. People were afraid of being considered too basic for having published their own works. Other writers, realizing that the marketing of those self published books was what really mattered made good however. Whitman, Carslyle, Thoreau, I believe, some of those who self-published. The life of a writer is difficult, but hopefully we will be able to gather an audience for our works by throwing our nets out wider. Now we must catch only a sliver of a larger world pie. And in so doing we are creating a better world, for the literary campsite, is and will hopefully always be erring just this side of the positive. We know all about existentialism and calling ourselves “we,” but how can we mope forever? I like looking for the hope in the situation. Sometimes I can’t find it and all seem bleak. I get weak and I fall. The writer falls and falls again. Look at me, he asks meekly to the “editor.” No. Says he, the victim to the writer’s scraggly scrawl…