Why Bother?

As I was laying in bed last night, trying to fall asleep and failing miserably, a thought occurred to me.  Why do I bother?

I'm in the middle of final edits for Unequal, you see, and I always reach a point where I am sick to death of scrubbing a manuscript and wonder why I bother to do all this work.  It's not like everyone else is bothering.  There are writers who are selling more books than I am who obviously didn't work as hard as I do cleaning up my manuscripts.  (Not all of them, lest ye think I am trashing people who don't deserve it.  I'd venture a greater percentage of authors bust their asses than don't.)  And I wondered if maybe I could get away with doing less, too.

Then I remembered something from my past...

Back in college, I was in the work-study program.  I got a placement in the library - my dream job - but it was in the Governmental Documents Department.  It was just me and this other gal, so we had a lot of work to do between us.  (We never got a lot of patrons to help, but the GPO puts out a LOT of documents that need shelving, etc.)  But we did it and we had fun with it.  There were busy times and slow times, like any other job, but we stayed on top of it all.  The only problem was she was a graduating senior.  The next year, it was me and this new gal.  I was still busting my hump, but she couldn't be bothered.  So, basically it was me doing everything the two of us did the year before.  I tried talking to her.  Nope.  I tried talking to the supervisor.  Nothing.  And then I began to wonder why I was working my ass off to make the same pay as the chick who did nothing.  And I thought, well, maybe I could do nothing, too.  But I couldn't.  It wasn't in me. 

That wasn't the first time in my life I ran across something like that.  It wasn't the last either.  When things need doing, I do them - whether others around me are inclined to put in the same effort or not.  The amount of effort others put in should have no bearing on how much effort I put it.  And it doesn't.

So, despite my 'why bother' thoughts, I will continue to bust through this edit.  And I'll make it the best book I can.  I have 40 pages left and then the last bits and pieces, then the formatting.  I can do it.  I will do it.  Might be a crispy writer by the time I'm done, but I'll have the rest of the year to recover. 

Ever been in a similar position - where you were working hard but your co-workers weren't?  What did you do about it?  In the case of the library, I eventually quit and moved on to another job where I wouldn't be carrying the full load and getting super frustrated all day.

I Miss Libraries

When I was a mid-sized lass, I would spend hours in the library.  I would've lived in my elementary school library if they'd allowed it.  What a place of joy and wonder.  Then I discovered the public library.  I would've happily lived there, too.  Surrounded by my friends, the books.  I could walk in there and wander through, picking out any books I wanted without interruption or distraction. 

For me, it was mostly the paperback section I was interested in.  Science fiction and fantasy, for the most part, and romance or suspense or mystery.  Anything I wanted, there it was.  I'd even occasionally pick up a non-fiction, although my selections there tended more toward nature than anything else.  Books, though.  And quiet.

That's what a library is to me.  And I miss that.

The last several times I was in a library, there was a big bank of computers taking up valuable book space.  And at the screens, people who could really have cared less about books.  They were playing games or searching the web or writing resumes. There were also kids running around or playing with toys.  Books forgotten.

That makes me sad.

When I was young, all I had to do was give them my name and address, and they presented me with a card so that I could check out any book I wanted.  I tried to get a card at the local library here.  They wanted physical proof I lived here in the form of a utility bill - my driver's license with a local address and checks with a local address were apparently insufficient proof.  Why all hullabaloo?  So I didn't make off with any of their books permanently.  As if.

That also makes me sad.

There's a meme going around FB.  Something about sharing to prove libraries are still relevant.  Except they aren't.  The libraries I loved are gone.  People can get books anywhere they want - for free or for cheap.  I can go to Amazon right now and download a dozen in less time than it would take me to warm up my car for the half-hour trip to the library.  And no one harasses me while I'm doing it.

The libraries of today?  They're social gathering places and internet cafes, with books on the side as decoration. 

One of the last times I was in a library, at least a couple years ago, they were having a book sale.  The entire basement was filled with books for sale.  And I would venture that there were more books on the shelves in the basement than were on the shelves for patrons upstairs.  But the sale was to raise money to build a newer and bigger library, which will probably have more space for computers and social things.  :heavy sigh:  I rescued a huge box full of the titles.  Not to help them build a new library but to rescue the tomes from people who didn't appreciate them.

When I first published my own books, I took copies to the local libraries.  I was so full of joy and naivete, waiting for them to show up on the shelves and in their catalog system.  They never did.  One of my library donated books made it into the paper in their 'new on the shelves' article.  They spelled my name wrong.  I never went back.

I have my own library now.  Shelves and shelves of my friends.  It's not the same as the old library I used to love, but it's better than the libraries of today.  Quiet, solitude, and books.