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It comes quickly to many of us, that horrible realisation, what we do will never get read let alone sell our work. When we look at the founders of our genre, R.E.Howard and Tolkien for instance, (Tolkien didn't write his LOTR intentionally for publication and Howard couldn't get paid) it becomes apparent we do things because we have to, fantasy is part of our soul. Did the lack of appreciation ever make us stop daydreaming and telling stories or, did we ever not play AD&D because we weren't paid? I admit, I dallied with the idea of being a paid ref, a professional author, an enchanting storyteller who made his living through his visionary, fantastical oratory. But what happens when we realise, the world isn't in love with what we love and barely gives it a passing glance?

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