Last Sunday, full of caffeine, I was all ready to blog. Like a maniac! I was going to write a brilliant reply to the NYT Book Review’s “Under 40″ influences piece, which would outline writer jealousy (from a 40-year-old whose literary influences are of interest to nobody), and why it’s often fruitless to ask a writer about his or her literary influences — after all, the fights I endured with seventh-grade bullies have influenced my writing as much as Dickens.
But instead I had to check out the latest fortunes of the Cubs, another reason to hate Bush, what’s up with Jerry “The King” Lawler, and put more music on my iPod. Suddenly it was a week later and really no point in telling the world why I’m not jealous of Jonathan Safran Foer, not that the world was dying to hear of it.
The one deep comment I have is that bad writers have influenced me as much as good ones. I’ve learned how not to write from their crappy prose. Also, bad writers are great inspirations. If your average hack can be successful, it follows an unrecognized genius like myself will be as well.
And it is true that the jealousy thing never dies. But the older I get, the harder it is for me to be jealous. Wife actually read with one of the writers interviewed for the Times piece, who was a gracious, genuinely nice person. Just a kid, if I want to think about it in those terms, impossible to dislike. (Wife and other reader were asked who their literary influences are, and I can’t remember what they said; Wife mentioned a Canadian writer, at which point I tuned out.)
There’s the aging writer stereotype, who, embittered by failure, becomes drunk with resentment against young ‘uns who are making millions and are hailed as real geniuses, who aregeniuses, who rightly have all the fame and fortune he should have. That is me on bad days, even numbered Mondays, and when I read about huge book deals for novices (celebrities). Less and less, though, and I wonder if makes me a better writer or that I just don’t give a shit anymore.
Discuss.
I just read your first two entries. The second in particular resonates with me. I don’t tell people I’m a writer, either, because without published results I’ll just appear foolish. As it stands, I haven’t written fiction since junior high school.
The writing I do now is not for publishing purposes, so I’ll never have results as defined by the civilized world. It’s a hobby for me.
Anyhow, allow me to ask: What exactly do you write?
This Wife character seems intriguing. I’d like to hear more about her. Is she famous? Is she really Ellissa Schappel or Zadie Smith?
What kind of day job do you have? I’m thinking you’re a dentist.
I think that it is safe to say that we, writers and non-writers alike, are just hungry for something fresh. Who cares how you get there…just write it, please!
Wife is neither Elissa Schappell, Zadie Smith, or Jackie Collins. If she were, I would have completely used the connection to get my novel published, and you wouldn’t hear so much of my bitching.
Methinks “Anonymous” already knows Wife.
I am not a dentist, though I have good teeth. (So says Wife.) But my knees are shot.
Jenibee is right on with her comment.
bf, your muse sounds so familiar . . . related to mine perhaps? nah, prob’y just a coincidence. does your muse ever say: it’s all failure, even (especially) suck-cess; the only real success is getting older — even doing it gracelessly, jealous bitter depressed pissed-off whatever. give less a shit my brother; live you longer.
mine say that sometime. and sometime it tell me: what the f**k were you thinking?now would you please yank this tooth out o me hed, motherf**ker is killing me