I have this bad habit of shamelessly promoting my blog, and my new low, is writing to random people and asking them to read my blog. One such person, that I gathered courage to write to, is someone whose writing I read with reverence because it is so rich and elegant. There are few other writers I have come across, that I would regard with such deference. Indeed, my favourite writers are mostly dead, as they chose to be born hundreds of years ago, one such being Charles Dickens, to whom I would go to, to pay homage, were he alive. But alas, he has passed on and my best tribute to him is to have read almost all his works.
But writing was never my first love. My childhood dream was to paint, and that, before I was duped into doing two degrees and embarking on a third one, to which I am bound to by contracts, that threaten me with dire consequences, if I do not obtain my PhD and on time. This, my dear reader, is how I came to display my paintings online because I have no time for exhibitions. Soon after I was forced into blogging all manner of nonsense, because I was not making any sales, and here you are, marveling at my words but not my art.
What seems most likely in my summation, is that I will make enough money from writing, in order to buy my own paintings. My only worry is that I may then have to drop the tag of artist, that I have for the past few months fixed next to my name Amolo, so that some people only know me as Amolo Artist, while others think of me as Amolo Omolo. As if that is not enough, I will graduate as Lorraine Ambole, and some of my publications are written by a Lorraine Amollo.
As I have managed to confound others with the spelling and ordering of my names, I am now at a loss as to what measures to undertake: Should I persist in this seemingly fruitless task of becoming an artist, or should I now call myself Amolo Writer?
(The writer I referred to earlier, read my work and hopefully also looked at my paintings then wrote back to commend me for my writing).
Labels: Blogging, Failure, Prose, Trying