I Don't Know What I'm Doing Here

If you’re new here, welcome! I’m Barbara Ellen McMahon, author of the novella, Mrs. Rochester. It’s a sequel to Jane Eyre. This time, it’s Jane who’s locked in the attic and there’s a new governess. It’s available on Kobo, where it’s been getting rave reviews. If you enjoy my writing here, chances are you’ll love Mrs. Rochester.

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I have no idea what I’m doing on Substack.

When I started, I had a lot to say. And thought that saying it on here, building a readership would be a way to maybe make some money, as well as building a group of people who would want to buy my book. I love my book. I believe in it. I think it’s really good. It’s a sequel to Jane Eyre. She’s become friends with Grace Poole. It even has SIX five star reviews on Kobo.

But the sales haven’t really happened and I kind of feel like I’m shouting into the void. That’s my fault. You’re meant to interact on Substack and I haven’t been doing that lately. I’ve been lost and adrift this winter. The depression, which hasn’t been much of a problem for the last few years, came back strong, and all my efforts seem pointless, especially with the state the world is in. I mean, have you seen the state of the world???? Genocide and war. An environmental crisis that, apparently, we’ve decided to totally ignore. And the economy is about to disappear entirely. Why would anyone buy my book? They need that money for food!

And then there’s my health. The thing about chronic illness (in my case, rheumatoid arthritis) is that it’s an ever-changing landscape. The word chronic makes it sound static, like how you are now is how you’ll be next week, next month, for the rest of your life. But chronic doesn’t mean stable. It means medicine can’t fix you. It means good luck with that. It means scary uncertainty.

My medication, that I get through an IV every six months and not a moment sooner, no matter how poorly I’m doing, has worn off, with a month to go to my next infusion. I’m back on the prednisone, and the morphine. It allows me to function, sort of. It means I can get up to go pee without crying. I can get up afterward without needing to give myself a five minute pep talk. On good days, it allows me a few minutes in my studio. Or maybe I should clean? But if I, say, sweep the floors, I can only do about half the apartment before I have to go lie down. And I’ve nothing left in me for studio time. And honestly, I usually choose the studio over the floors. Why wouldn’t I? So we’re living in squalor while the world burns down around us.

RA is a degenerative disease. There are medications that can help to mitigate the effects. We haven’t found one that really works for me, but my rheumatologist keeps trying. What else can she do? But even if we find something that works for now, the disease will progress. It’s a bastard that way.

As you can imagine, all this makes it a little hard to come up with posts. My morning pages help a lot. I write to prompts and they often lead to a post. But I don’t know if anyone else will be interested in what fascinates me. Do you want to bring about the end of capitalism? Burn down the patriarchy? Make junk journals?

I feel like I’ve lost my way. Like I’ve gotten more caught up in building a body of work than in building community. I want community, but it takes effort. It takes a strength I don’t currently have.

I used to call myself a Life Cheerleader. Because a Life Coach will help you figure out where you want to go and help you get there. But a Life Cheerleader will applaud your every attempt, no matter where it leads. I want to get back to that, to say, yay you for whatever you’re trying to do. I want you to know, no matter what the horrors, that you’re not alone. I’m here. I see it too.

So, please, tell me what you think. Do you want a cheerleader? Do you want to build a community here, or do you have enough on your plate? Would you prefer me to just hurl my thoughts at the internet without all the exhausting interaction?

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Don’t forget, my book, Mrs. Rochester, is available on Kobo. Your purchase helps to support an independent author.

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