Hang on. What happened? Or rather, what didn’t happen?
I didn’t get famous, that’s what. I can’t understand it. I wrote a book and it got published. I thought the logical progression from that point was to lie back, let the shower of riches begin, and enjoy a life of fame and fortune. Sicily, It’s Not Quite Tuscany has been out for nine months. NINE MONTHS! I should have been relaxing on a Majorca beach way back in August.
It gets worse. Look what I discovered the other day when I plugged my name into the search facility of a website:
Who is this Sharks Siler fellow, usurping my hard-earned right to be searchable? A little Google sleuthing shows me that he is, in fact, nobody. There is nobody in the world called Sharks Siler – at least as far as the internet is concerned. The closest I came was the NBA basketball player Garret Siler who happened to play a few seasons with the Shanghai Sharks team in China.
Here I am, a living, breathing human being – what’s more, a published author – and yet this particular search portal chooses to direct users to do a new search, this time for a non-existent person. So much for fame and fortune. Seems I won’t be in the running for Time‘s list of the World’s Most Influential People after all. I’ve probably got a negative Klout score!
Maybe my time will come. Sure, I know that approximately half of all writers earn less than US$500 a year (that’s 25 cents an hour, for the record). But most of them haven’t written a sizzling travel memoir about Sicily, have they? I guess I just have to be patient. In the meantime, I’ll need to content myself with seeing my book not on bestseller lists next to spin-offs of Fifty Shades but instead in the more far-flung corners of online catalogues, such as alongside a whole bunch of walkie-talkie radios on a Japanese website, or – as I discovered more recently – at the bottom of a collection of Swiss toiletry kits on Amazon. (No, really.)