I was doing my rounds of blogs today and checking in on this guy I know, his name's Mike (but, really, Michael) and the new writer's blog he's put up with another UofO MFA writer:
notacafeinparis.edublogs.org
So I went there and I read their entries and it made me think a lot about writing and how I'm not really doing it anymore apart from the odd paper for school and the crazy journalism bit, and I thought about how much writing I used to do and I want to believe that my gig is fiction, but I'm beginning to think that I'm not really good at it compared to the academic writing -- and that's all Copperman's fault, by the way, for encouraging my non-fiction in Writing 121. Because of him I can work through an argument, and maybe that's got to be good enough from now on. I don't think the fiction I write is bad, but it not as good as I'd want it to be ... I don't know ... There's a lot of crap out there. A lot of crap. So why can't I throw my crap into the ring as well?
Probably because I'd be ashamed to do so. It was that library sale that did it -- Mom and I in Lake Arrowhead standing in the heat and watching women paw through those multi-colored Danielle Steele paperbacks trying to remember which ones they'd read and which ones they hadn't. That's the fear, friends. That's what gives me chills. "Is this the one about blah blah blah?" "No, I think that's the yellow one. That one's about blah." "No, no -- blah is in the green one."
All this said here in the private blog because I'm too embarrassed to post it on the writer's blog among people.
In the meantime, feckin' A, that new David Sedaris book is fantastic. I don't care how many times he talks about owning a fake nylon bottom, it gets me every time.
Tuesday, July 29, 2008
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2 comments:
Here's the thing...You have talent and good taste. Write for yourself and you won't have anything to be ashamed of. I'm certain of it.
And, I'm not just saying that because we're friends. It's not like I'm your mom and have to tell you how great everything you do is. Although, I can easily see your mom being one of your harsher critics. But, you know, for your own good of course. It would be done out of love...(By the way, I checked out your mom's blogging. Tell her I enjoyed it and she should keep at it.)
That said, I'm the first to admit to being a chronic sufferer of the anxiety of influence. I've managed to practically petrify my creative imagination. I blame my own pretentious reading habits as well as Mia's encouraging me years ago to read Cyril Connelly's "The Unquiet Grave.
"The more books we read, the sooner we perceive that the true function of a writer is to produce a masterpiece and that no other task is of any consequence"
(Sigh)...So,yeah. I figure I'm fucked...That cursed line has, despite continuing efforts, never left my mind. And, just because I may still harbor secret dreams of being the next Wallace Stevens, you know, the unassuming pencil pusher who's genius blossoms late, doesn't mean I wouldn't also like to just put something out there. If it's crap, then it's crap. But, at least I took my shot.
I don't know. Maybe Danielle Steele thinks she's making great art. Or, maybe she just thinks of it as making a living. Either way seems to require a level of self confidence/self delusion? that I haven't found out how to really tap into yet. Eventually, though, I know I'm going to have to just say "fuck it" and force myself to do it. Because, climbing all the way to the top of the high dive and NOT jumping feels more shameful than failing spectacularly and having to be carried out of the pool.
OK. This was supposed to be kind of encouraging. I'm not sure what happened.
You are right on all counts. My mom does need to keep blogging. I worked on her computer while I was down there, so now she has Word and will (hopefully) start up again.
I think the trick might be to read the crap -- or at least weave it in with the good stuff. That way you can read it thinking "I can write much better than this." Of course, it depends on how much of it you can stomach. I have a hard time getting through a Grisham novel. Just mentally correcting the grammar mistakes adds a good day or two onto the reading time.
Maybe mediocrity is okay and everything is art in some fashion. Comic books, serial mysteries, the "Saw" movies, Jeff Koons -- it's all art, and knowing that you're better than a good portion of what's out there is a form of encouragement.
The other plan is to wait another 10 years to try publishing. By that age maybe the books will be looked upon as "quaint" rather than disappointing and cliched.
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