I was more than ordinary, but not extraordinary. My story was unique, heartbreaking and hauntingly beautiful. It was meant to inspire the souls of the broken hearted by channelling feelings into words. A lot of hard work was put in to make me earn my place in this world.
Effort paid off as four years ago, I was voted as the New York Times Best Seller. For a few months, I stood grandly in the Best Sellers section of every bookshelves in the world. I was proud of my writer’s accomplishment. Copies of me sold out quickly enough but as time passed, I was shifted down the shelf and replaced by the newly released.
Too soon, I was placed into the ordinary shelf; the ones that were arranged in alphabetical order. This was the unattended area, the rejected pile. Dust started piling up on my head and I feel helpless. I watched in envy as the lucky ones at the Best Sellers section got selected and taken off the shelf. Once in a while, there were faces of aspiring writers and avid readers scanning the massive sections of the ordinary sections.
Pick me, pick me, pick me. I pleaded silently each time. Read me. Love me. With each person that left without a second glance, my hopes diminished.
There was so many of us; all trying to make our way to our new owners. To someone that cherish our stories as much as they cherish us. As interesting as our stories may be, we were trapped under our layers. Our fate determine, first, simply by the cover page then, our stories. Mine wasn’t striking; a picture of two sisters back to back and a pale pink strip at the bottom. My title was borderline large; big enough to be read from three feet away, but barely enough to attract attention.
I started to doubt myself. Days turned into weeks as there were less people who wandered into the store. With digital copies of us everywhere, paperbacks like us are slowly forgotten. Until one day, a girl came and lingered around in my section and finally took me of the shelf. She flipped the pages quickly and read the summary. Without a second thought, I was being brought to the cashier.
You are the one, I heard her say and from that moment, I remembered that I am worth it.
How do you pick what blogs or books to read? What’s the one thing that will get you to pick up a book or click on a link every single time?
Photographers, artists, poets: show us CHOICES.