I often think to myself, “I wish I was more interesting.” Which really means: I wish I could write more interesting things. Because the truth is, I find myself incredibly boring, and I imagine others do too.

So naturally, I remain a little baffled by the realization that numerous people found my LiveJournal interesting. It was just me rambling about nothing most of the time.

I’ve received a staggering amount of emails and comments regarding its relatively recent “friends only” status. The emails varied between, “No! Don’t lock your journal!” to a majority of “I understand why you did it, but I’ll still miss it…”-type of emails. I didn’t really think that many people were reading it beyond my LiveJournal friends. That people would pass by it occasionally, sure, as it was linked to from the main page of my website. But to realize that so many people actually read it consistently? For years? It floors me.

As a writer it’s hard to judge my writings any other way than by what my readers say about it. And when I hear nothing, well I can only assume the worst.

I’ve received numerous emails (over the years) from readers who’ve been reading my fiction, my LJ, over great lengths of time, but had never actually made themselves known to me. I’m always surprised by these types of emails because it seems amazing to me that there are so many people out there who know so much about me, but whose existence I’m not even aware of.

It is easy to believe that silence = no one there. Or that silence = people hating everything I do, or not being interested, because I spent so many years lost in beautiful emails that to hear nothing back is alarming. Or was at first. I’ve now grown into something that feels a lot like resignation and defeat.

When I started Rayne, and I posted it to the web, I was confident about it. I thought it would be the beginning of something great, of further interaction with readers, of … I don’t know … something.

Instead, I got three emails. And silence. Silence. I thought, “How could that be? Is it that bad? Perhaps I haven’t written enough. Perhaps there’s not enough there.” I wrote more. I posted. And nothing. Nothing. Not a word. I tried again. Nothing.

Over the years one or two emails have trickled in, asking about it. It makes me think, “Really? Do people care?”

I’ve always said - and written - that I would never stop writing Rayne, because I love it. And that is true. I do love it. What I see-saw on is the web-publication aspect of it. Should I publish it to the web when it seems no one’s reading? Does it make me look like an idiot to speak of it and work on it, when so few people care about it that it would be simpler just to send it to them directly?

I’ve considered posting it to the Rayne mailing list, and pulling it off the web entirely. Finish it to some degree (because I never intended for it to have an “ending” - but rather, to go on indefinitely), and publish it on the side as a novel.

But then I get an email from someone I don’t know saying they miss Rayne, and I think, “So is it that no one is reading? Or is it that no one is saying they’re reading?” Or is it me? Is it that I’ve somehow grown less approachable over the years? Become less accessible? Grown out of who I was, and into something less appealing as an author/writer/person?

I can’t tell sometimes. I just go with the flow of the silence, letting the occasional emails propel me forward, give me the missing confidence. It is not that I feel I am unworthy as a writer. That I have a lot to learn and improve upon, of course. That I often question my abilities, or the quality of what I create is probably normal of any writer. But is it worth it? To put myself out there time and again, exposed, bowing into darkness and silence?

I guess it is, because I’m still here.

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