As the author of a wildly ignored webcomic, failures are even more poignant.
Years from now an attractive young CNA will come in to change my diaper and roll me over. On the nightstand will be the only published copy of my works. She will thumb through the pages and say, “Did you make these?”
I will gurgle and moan in the affirmative, as I lay there in my own piss.
“Wow, these are really good,” she will say.
I will attempt to smile as a tear rolls down my cheek.
“Oh wait,” she then pauses, “no they’re not.”
With that the book is tossed in the trash, as she walks out of the room, leaving me to marinate in my own juices.
One might say I have a very cheerful outlook towards the distant future.