Hush, Hush, Sweet Whore

The size of my gnat.

With the spate of reality shows clogging up the airwaves these days, fame seems to be the currency many are trading in today.

Not me.

Every time I allow myself to get a little huffy about this anything-for-fame thing, a troublesome gnat of doubt starts buzzing around my ear.

The little mongrel singsongs, “Aren’t you doing the same thing? What’s your blog about except to bring you fame and fortune? You’re a fame whore, too, milady.”

No, I’m not.

Do you hear me? No, I am not.

The very last thing I want is to become famous. If I could wear the cloak of utter anonymity and still climb my way up in the publishing world, I would. I’d let the no-name-ness swallow me whole and retire to my roses and tomatillos in a beautiful, perfect hush.

But I can’t.

Name recognition is product recognition in the literary market.

I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.

Writing is my one ticket out being a burden, and I’m taking it with no apologies (just an occasional buzz of doubt.)

So, yes, while I’m trying to use this blog to get the Chloe Stowe name out there, I don’t think for a moment that I’m trading on my reality for fame.

Am I wrong?

I really hope not. Because if that stinking gnat is spouting just a little bit of truth, I will be sick.

Just a little self-introspection to share this bright Sunday afternoon.

Until tomorrow…

Chloe