I think about this, in one way or another, every single day.

And I’m well aware of the irony of having this conversation on Medium. I write on here to be read, and that in itself means playing the game, even if only a little.

I also write to touch the divine. I believe in the transcendent power of art, and some of my best writing comes from the experience of aesthetic bliss that overwhelms me in a foreign town or on an unknown shore or between the pages of a masterpiece.

But without readers, what’s the point?

The truth is, the majority of people aren’t looking for an encounter with real art, something wild and strange and by its nature unique. They want something more familiar, the same old story in a new package. If you write to create something beautiful, rather than in the hope of making money, you’re limiting yourself to a smaller audience.

That’s a choice I’m OK with, even as I continue trying to grow my audience. I’m not here for dollars. I’m here for your heart. If that means I’ll always be a complete non-entity, so be it. I’d rather be me as an unknown failure, than a success as somebody else.