An Author's Struggle - What Lies Ahead

Ch 5 - Refresh

Murphy fell prey to his dreams that night. 

He foresaw greatness, a rise so meteoric it awed his closest friends and family. He imagined strangers relishing the dream he wove for them, and how expectant they would be for new releases.

Then, he woke up — no readers. 

It had been a few hours since his novel was posted, but despite the metric showing thousands of surface views, there was not one person who deigned to give it a click.

He refreshed, but nothing changed.

After breakfast, he refreshed again. Still not one eyeball. 

‘Strange…’

He had posted thousands of words, polished after many months of ardor. Surely, among the tens of millions, there would be someone. 

Anyone…

There wasn’t, so he refreshed again.

He expected that repetition to somehow dispel the curse, but everyone passed by all the same, sparing his work nary a glance.

‘Why does no one care?’ 

Even as he asked himself this question, he failed to obtain any insights. Try as he might, he thought it was fine. A work that was at the very least above the average…

“I need a second opinion.”

Morpheus#1909: I posted a novel last night. It accrued a few thousand views, but no reads. Any ideas?”

Waiting hopefully for a helping hand, he watched the chat fly by without a second glance attributed to his question. Just when he was about to give up, someone mentioned him.

Naide#6943: It probably has a boring cover or bad synopsis.

Morpheus#1909: Do you think you could have a look? I can—

Naide#6943: I don’t do free reviews. Figure it out on your own.

Blinking, Murphy wasn’t sure what to make of the response. He didn’t find it offensive in the least, as he’d received much worse. He was more surprised that it was taking place in the supposed newbie help section.

Morpheus#1909: I wouldn’t be asking for help if I knew what was wrong in the first place. 

Naide#6943: We got here on our own, so you can do it too.

Morpheus#1909: Very encouraging… thanks.

Naide#6943: Don’t sound so entitled. We don’t owe you anything.

Spending more time here didn’t seem worthwhile, so he ventured out into the no man’s land — the E-Novel forum. He went there expecting to find friendly exchanges in feedback, yet all he saw plastered on the front page was sex ads from bots.

‘For a billion dollar company, they sure invested little in anti spam software.’

Wincing at the list of adverts for sex lubricants and hardening pills, he unsurprisingly felt zero temptation to click on them. And no, it wasn’t because they looked sketchy and would wreck his OS the moment he stepped on them, but because he’d have no way to put them to good use, anyway.

He wasn’t out there on the dating market, and he strongly doubted any of the people visiting this forum were. Writing sucked every last bit of enthusiasm from him, and he felt it wasteful to spend a few hours going out when he could be pumping another chapter. He was only occasionally dragged out of the house by Nella, the closest a woman came to igniting his love. Never quite close enough, though. 

At least, he was self aware about it. This obsession had all but ruined his social life by now, his laser focus derailing him from having any interest in a ‘normal’ life. 

He had sunk in too deep into the fantasy, and it would take a substantial quake in his social environment to reel him back from it. He wanted to see it through to completion, regardless of the damage it caused.

[Review swaps of July. Upvote for upvote! | 23 replies]

“Well… that looks promising.”

Having found a place that might offer some feedback, he readily clicked on it and linked his book. 

An hour later, he refreshed. Still nothing.

“Quid pro quo, then…” he mused, watching over a few other threads advertising critical comments. 

Seeing as no one offered to review his first, he could only step up to the plate. He clicked the first link, and immediately died inside a little.

“Demon King Reincarnating in the Apocalypse with a Vampire Harem System…” he groaned in palpable misery, “How do you even fit that many clickbait tags in one name?”

Despite being unwilling, and very much so preferring to eat a piece of paper with that title than ever read it out loud again, he had to commit to the review.

Muting his subjective hatred for the clicheic genre, he skimmed through the prologues and once more found himself amazed. 

Not at the quality of the novel, since there was nothing to write home about. Neither at the immediate description of bouncing breasts and pale oval faces, precisely in that order. 

No, he was surprised at the readers’ reaction. Thousands of views and dozens of comments, lapping up the butchery of words as if it was a gourmet’s debut. A five Michelin star restaurant, except the only food on the menu was soggy noodles microwaved three times over. 

“I should just quit,” he jokingly convinced himself at that point, “I’m not built for this shit.”

Holding his urges back, he eventually did the bare minimum and read five chapters. Then, he had to decide whether slamming the keyboard against his screen or vomiting had a higher priority. 

‘Be nice,’ Murphy cajoled himself with lies, “and they’ll be nice to you in kind.’

With an analytical but polite eye, he pointed out whatever stood out to him as flawed. He didn’t nitpick out of bitterness, but genuinely sought to help another author transcend their limitations. It took at least half an hour to get it done, but he was content.

‘I hope it helps.’

With a stifled yawn, he went to bed, far more exhausted by the dozen reviews he did that day than by editing his own mistakes. Though, that in of itself is perhaps only something writers can attest to.

There were no dreams that night.

He woke up groggy and moody, and that temper only worsened a few moments later.

He refreshed. Still nothing.

No one deigned to reciprocate in the so-called review trade. Even in the coming days, they didn’t even read his prologue. 

Refreshing his null analytics for the umpteenth time, he cursed, and gave up.