So, yes, I'm actually opening up one of the first new blog posts with a philosophical question; even better, it's variation on the old conundrum you may have heard of: If a tree falls in the forest, but no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

Philosophy can be fun.  It can also be kind of ridiculous, like the above example: Of course sound happens, whether anyone is around to hear it or not.  What, do you live in a cartoon?  And sometimes, these questions can mask very practical considerations, as in: If no one has witnessed an event, has something actually happened?  This is just as ridiculous, of course: Of course the tree fell, whether anyone saw it fall or not—it's lying right there.

But people being people, they just love to frame questions like this (especially when groups of people and alcohol are involved).  And when the question is more abstract, that's when it can get interesting.  Take me, for example: I have written 18 books and short story collections (so far).  Honest.  Each one is copywritten and on record in the Library of Congress.  That makes me an author.  Doesn't it?

Well, suppose no one's read a single one of my books?  Suppose no one can say they've seen my writing?  Never heard of my books?  If no one has read my work... or even knows I've written anything... am I still an author?  And should anyone else consider me an author?  For all the world knows, my books might be 300 pages of "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." (Somebody hide the axes.)  Maybe I filled up 300 pages with "XXXXXXXXX."  (Lock up the ammunition, too.)  If no one's read my books, they don't know that I didn't do that.  So: Am I an author?  Or am I crazy to suggest I am?

Being an author... like any form or artistry... can involve a level of self-confidence, especially since moral support and commercial success can be elusive.  Lack of sales can cause you to doubt your ability; few or no reviews or ratings can make you doubt your work's quality.  Despite what the media may suggest, so many artists suffer from "imposter syndrome": They come to doubt their worth, and eventually give up their art due to lack of feedback, or simply lack of commercial support.  The work they put so much effort into made no discernable impact; and they question whether the effort was worth it, and whether it is worth continuing.

I've found myself asking those same questions, after writing and releasing so many books and seeing so little interest or response out of them.  Sure, I've rationalized my way around many of my own questions, and have assured myself that I'm doing good quality work.  But lack of success made it easy to take a break for a few years, and reassess my desire to keep writing.

Eventually, I did come back to it, if for no other reason, because I enjoy writing, and I believe I can put together some decent stories.  True, actually getting other people to read them continues to be a challenge: Producing and marketing books is tough for independent authors on shoestring budgets, lacking hordes of followers, writing in out-of-fashion genres like serious science fiction.  But I've come to realize that the challenge has value in itself, mostly in keeping me sharp, active and engaged with the outside world.   And oh, yes: All of that activity and engagement can only help my writing, and keep me interested in doing it.

So I suppose that answers the question: Creators don't require acknowledgement of their creations; they just need to create.  And as long as I'm still writing... I am an author.