I had initially titled this posting “I Suck,”but it is such an obvious fact to that there’s really no reason in reiterating it in lights.
Self-loathing is the cheapest trick in the writer’s bag of rhetoric,but it is also part-and-parcel of an artistic temperament. Those who write or paint or compose and have the facade of supreme confidence are to be avoided at all costs.
You know the type. They’ve got the novel published. They’ve gotten the great reviews. They’ve got money,fame,and literary esteem. But they hate themselves.
It’s not just that such folk are Holden Caulfield phonies,but I daresay that a suicide attempt has rained on their past,or soon will. A hyper-confident facade is overcompensation,and for all the psycho-babble in our culture about self-esteem,it may not do well for writers. If you had perfect self-esteem,you would believe that you were incapable of doing wrong. You know,like the Nazis or George Bush. Not that I’m comparing the two.
Though they may have their own pools of self-doubt,however,most the successful artists I know don’t hate themselves. But I do. At least on October 18,2006.
Avoid phonies —in any language
You see,there’s a reason why I’m not looking at other blogs or posting on my own save for the most lengthy of intervals. My stories are getting turned down. My novel rewrite is on the road to nowhere. I see rejection everywhere I look.
As this translates itself to the art of fiction,every word becomes leaden,every session at the computer is exquisite torture. I haven’t put up any blog posts lately because every time I start writing one,it gets deleted after a couple of pained,strained,drained,maimed,lame,tamed sentences filled with ridiculous adjectives.
My writing feels like an amalgam of juvenile poetry and adult schlock.
This hasn’t been helped by certain problems at work,which have put me into a deep funk for reasons you don’t need to know,except a certain individual is making me miserable.
Of late,certain developments in my life should,on the surface,make me very happy. And the course of my existence is good,by all possible measures. But there’s one area in which I feel inadequate,and that is in the written word.
It’s funny how one can be humming right along,and then a harmonic convergence blows one’s confidence to shreds. To wit:I get a rejection letter,I sulk,I’ll watch football on TV,then feel guilty about not writing,try to write,give it up,and watch football on TV. It’s like being roasted on one of those sterno weenie burners.
One thing I’ve noticed is that I’m not reading a book that is making me want to write. I’ve just started Christopher Isherwood two-novel set of “The Berlin Stories,”as I figure since I have seen the musical and the movie,I might as well be familiar with the source material. The book is interesting for its anachronistic tone and writing,but so far,Mr. Isherwood,I’m Just Not That Into You. (But we’ll go out on a couple of more dates.)
See the movie,read the book
Is there anyone I hate more than myself? Let’s consider the possibilities:
Bookfraud:inability to publish stories,massive tolerance for abuse.
George Bush:Satan.
Bookfraud:constant sense of alienation and the paranoid fear that the writing establishment is a “club”to which he shall gain entrance.
Dick Cheney:Right Hand of Satan.
Bookfraud:Paralyzed with doubt,inability to achieve on his writing goals.
Donald Rumsfeld:Satan’s lawyer.
Well,there’s three for you.
I have to stop writing. I just hate it too much.
Hi. Wow. I’m the first to comment,so I’ll start it off by saying:what a brave post. Even in your funk you are scholarly and smart. I can understand how demoralizing rejection can be. I have no bolstering platitudes for you. However,once you stop using your name in the same paragraph with Bush,Cheney and Rumsfeld,you might start feeling a little better. Just sayin’.
Keep working…
Oh,the self-hatred,how it glistens and gleams. And is a giant wall to actually getting anything done.
Pick up a silly little hobby. One where you can see instant results. It’s why I knit. Because I can make a dishcloth in 2 hours and feel like I’ve done something.
Even if it is only make a dishcloth.
(I won’t say how long it’s been since I wrote anything I liked.)
Chicks dig self-hate. Or so I’ve heard.
The problem with this line of thinking is that it’s a slippery slope. For instance,if I start to examine the failure I’ve had getting published,then I also start to look at the failure I’ve experienced in relationships. Then I ruminate on the failure that’s permeated my efforts to lose weight. Then of course the thoughts dwell on the failures associated with trying to achieve happiness. Soon,I have no reason to live.
In the end,I saw “Screw failure. I’m getting a cookie!”(which may be part of the weight loss issue;I’m not sure).
Don’t hate failure. Don’t hate writing. Don’t hate you.
Hate W,Cheney,and Rumsfeld. Credit where due.
Hi. Wow. I’m the first to comment,so I’ll start it off by saying:what a brave post. Even in your funk you are scholarly and smart. I can understand how demoralizing rejection can be. I have no bolstering platitudes for you. However,once you stop using your name in the same paragraph with Bush,Cheney and Rumsfeld,you might start feeling a little better. Just sayin’.
Keep working…
Hi. Wow. I’m the first to comment,so I’ll start it off by saying:what a brave post. Even in your funk you are scholarly and smart. I can understand how demoralizing rejection can be. I have no bolstering platitudes for you. However,once you stop using your name in the same paragraph with Bush,Cheney and Rumsfeld,you might start feeling a little better. Just sayin’.
Keep working…
Oh,the self-hatred,how it glistens and gleams. And is a giant wall to actually getting anything done.
Pick up a silly little hobby. One where you can see instant results. It’s why I knit. Because I can make a dishcloth in 2 hours and feel like I’ve done something.
Even if it is only make a dishcloth.
(I won’t say how long it’s been since I wrote anything I liked.)
Oh,the self-hatred,how it glistens and gleams. And is a giant wall to actually getting anything done.
Pick up a silly little hobby. One where you can see instant results. It’s why I knit. Because I can make a dishcloth in 2 hours and feel like I’ve done something.
Even if it is only make a dishcloth.
(I won’t say how long it’s been since I wrote anything I liked.)
Chicks dig self-hate. Or so I’ve heard.
The problem with this line of thinking is that it’s a slippery slope. For instance,if I start to examine the failure I’ve had getting published,then I also start to look at the failure I’ve experienced in relationships. Then I ruminate on the failure that’s permeated my efforts to lose weight. Then of course the thoughts dwell on the failures associated with trying to achieve happiness. Soon,I have no reason to live.
In the end,I saw “Screw failure. I’m getting a cookie!”(which may be part of the weight loss issue;I’m not sure).
Don’t hate failure. Don’t hate writing. Don’t hate you.
Hate W,Cheney,and Rumsfeld. Credit where due.
Chicks dig self-hate. Or so I’ve heard.
The problem with this line of thinking is that it’s a slippery slope. For instance,if I start to examine the failure I’ve had getting published,then I also start to look at the failure I’ve experienced in relationships. Then I ruminate on the failure that’s permeated my efforts to lose weight. Then of course the thoughts dwell on the failures associated with trying to achieve happiness. Soon,I have no reason to live.
In the end,I saw “Screw failure. I’m getting a cookie!”(which may be part of the weight loss issue;I’m not sure).
Don’t hate failure. Don’t hate writing. Don’t hate you.
Hate W,Cheney,and Rumsfeld. Credit where due.
Walk it off,BF. I’ve been getting rejections right and left and the novel I started writing 10 years ago is still unpublished. I’m still undaunted. Sure,I’m pissed off about it,but I’ve started becoming more realistic. I’m now looking at small and micro-presses,even publishing possibilities in other countries. I’m no longer worried about getting picked up by a “major”publisher. I don’t see that as lowering my expectations or giving up…I’m just being a realist. Cliche as it sounds,maybe it’s time to think outside the box.
Walk it off,BF. I’ve been getting rejections right and left and the novel I started writing 10 years ago is still unpublished. I’m still undaunted. Sure,I’m pissed off about it,but I’ve started becoming more realistic. I’m now looking at small and micro-presses,even publishing possibilities in other countries. I’m no longer worried about getting picked up by a “major”publisher. I don’t see that as lowering my expectations or giving up…I’m just being a realist. Cliche as it sounds,maybe it’s time to think outside the box.
Walk it off,BF. I’ve been getting rejections right and left and the novel I started writing 10 years ago is still unpublished. I’m still undaunted. Sure,I’m pissed off about it,but I’ve started becoming more realistic. I’m now looking at small and micro-presses,even publishing possibilities in other countries. I’m no longer worried about getting picked up by a “major”publisher. I don’t see that as lowering my expectations or giving up…I’m just being a realist. Cliche as it sounds,maybe it’s time to think outside the box.
i love myself. let’s hang out. we’ll balance each other.
i love myself. let’s hang out. we’ll balance each other.
i love myself. let’s hang out. we’ll balance each other.
Two things. By not posting on your blog or on ours,you are depriving and hurting US. People who enjoy you and look forward to yoru cybercompany and wit.
#2 –With painting,writing,music,no matter how talented you are its still a numbers game,art be damned.
There are thousands,neigh millions of artists who are just as talented as the signed band,published author or galleried painter,but the marketplace has only so many slots for each.
Its not a refelection on youi,but is just part of the business of numbers and statistics.
Two things. By not posting on your blog or on ours,you are depriving and hurting US. People who enjoy you and look forward to yoru cybercompany and wit.
#2 –With painting,writing,music,no matter how talented you are its still a numbers game,art be damned.
There are thousands,neigh millions of artists who are just as talented as the signed band,published author or galleried painter,but the marketplace has only so many slots for each.
Its not a refelection on youi,but is just part of the business of numbers and statistics.
Two things. By not posting on your blog or on ours,you are depriving and hurting US. People who enjoy you and look forward to yoru cybercompany and wit.
#2 –With painting,writing,music,no matter how talented you are its still a numbers game,art be damned.
There are thousands,neigh millions of artists who are just as talented as the signed band,published author or galleried painter,but the marketplace has only so many slots for each.
Its not a refelection on youi,but is just part of the business of numbers and statistics.
Been in the same place sweetie. Let’s get a latte and read the short stories from the New Yorker for awhile. Then we shall MOCK THEM MERCILESSLY. And laugh. And have another latte.
Been in the same place sweetie. Let’s get a latte and read the short stories from the New Yorker for awhile. Then we shall MOCK THEM MERCILESSLY. And laugh. And have another latte.
Been in the same place sweetie. Let’s get a latte and read the short stories from the New Yorker for awhile. Then we shall MOCK THEM MERCILESSLY. And laugh. And have another latte.