They say that being a writer isn’t easy, and you’ve often thought whoever said that was about as naïve as Ishmael when he didn’t understand Ahab’s weird thing for whales in Moby Dick. Clearly, Ishmael had not studied American literature like you. Animals can be symbolic of anything these days, like love, religion, or the complex social relationship called “friendship” that you never really got the hang of. But you understand literature, of course. You even wrote a short story in college about a cat gazing longingly out of a window that was really about the theoretical implications of Communism. You still remember the silence in that classroom after they read it. Everyone seemed afraid to discuss it—so, surely, it was just over everybody’s heads. Your professor remarked later that it was “obtuse,” “overly ambitious,” and “the most pretentious thing I’ve ever read,” but he was probably just saying that because he was going to steal your idea.
People clearly can’t recognize genius when they see it. Yes, it may sting a little when you think about how some of your peers are able to make a living working for rags like The New Yorker, but that could also just be the hunger pangs of your self-imposed diet of bread and one glass of milk a day. True artists starve for their art. Other people might be “successful,” and have “fulfilling lives,” but have they spent long hours in the night working on their science fiction novella where whales begin singing so loudly that humans begin committing mass suicide to escape the sound? Certainly not. You stay motivated by telling yourself that Moby Dick 2: Now It’s Personal will finally be the work that puts you on the literary map.
But if we’re being honest, there are some moments where you wonder whether your self-help book, Sure, Help Yourself! A Practical Guide to Living Off of the Generosity of Others, might not be the postmodern magnum opus you thought it was. After all, it was rejected by every literary agent you sent it to, and the last one even came back with a letter from their attorney accusing you of “inhuman psychological torture.”
Obviously, you took a gamble by going with that vanity publisher, and it didn’t pay off. You now have hundreds of unopened copies just sitting there. What are you going to do with them? When your heat was shut off, the thought did cross your mind to burn them all. But thankfully, as you were getting up to go grab the lighter fluid, you remembered that your parents have a storage unit with stuff like old baby albums and that antique portrait of your great aunt, Brunhilda. With StorBox, you can keep all of the copies of your literary masterpieces safe and sound, waiting for the right time to show the world your greatness. They’ll be kept safe and sound right next to Aunt Brunhilda. And hey, maybe the musty smell coming off that painting could even give your books that cozy old book smell.