But lately, I've not been so sure that will be true. At times I fall into a kind of despair that people aren't connecting with my stories the way that I hope they will. But in my more rational moments, I think the reality of the connection is more beautiful and wonderous than I could hope to imagine--or to control.
I think it's like the ending of Blade Runner when Roy Batty is delivering his monologue: "I've seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I've watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhauser Gate. ... Time to die." The author "dies" when they complete their manuscript. The white dove flies off into an uncertain darkness--gone to seek out new nests: alone, naked, shorn of its former body--the cord that once tethered it to the author and allowed it to grow and evolve being forever cut. Like all things in life it is a cycle of birth and death. The death of a story's connection to the author begins a life of connection with readers. Soon that connection with readers may pass as well. Then it's time for the line I omitted from Roy Batty's monologue: "All those moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain."
Oh well. It's a melancholy thought to think that your writing may end up as nothing more than some forgotten bytes on a descendent's hard drive or an archaic Amazon.com backup. But that's life: the cycle of birth and death. Lest these melancholy thoughts become too cumbersome, it becomes time to queue up some Surf Music: the universal cure for emo outbursts. My recommendation is the album "Surf Drums" by The Lively Ones. I think it's the most life affirming music I have in my collection.