If not riches and fame, what do I want from my writing? Hot young nookie? Probably not gonna happen, unless I strike it rich. So what do I want? I have no idea. I wanted to make a living, and you can’t do that unless you make it pretty big.
Maybe that isn't reasonable to expect.
So what is? If not a million dollars for the movie rights to my first novel, then what? A nice life? No, you can't count on your writing to give you that. Meet interesting people? No. Recognition? Fame? I don't think so.
So what is reasonable to expect?
• Publication? Maybe.
• A few fans. So far, I have one, I think: my friend Noreen, who just happens to be a good writer herself.
• Maybe a reputation as a writer’s writer?
• A few books to leave behind?
• Knowledge for my grandkids, after I'm gone, that gramps was a writer?
• To have fun with the writing, or a sense of reward? I'm not sure "fun" is the right word. Sometimes writing is agony.
• To flex my creative muscles? I can do that, for sure.
If I'm going to continue to write--and I've never been able to stop--here is what I need to do:
• No more genre stuff. Maybe my model is "Hamlet" or "As I Lay Dying," not the Dragon Tattoo books.
• Forget the bestsellers. This isn’t about money.
• Write the novels you’d like to write and like to read. These include genre elements. What my friend Tim calls genre protection.
• Write the best novels I can.
Maybe all I want is to write. To have the agony and the ecstasy of writing. I can do that. No doubt. I can't control much else. Sad but true. So that is what I'm left with, the work itself.
I leave you with three quotes by William Faulkner:
“It's a shame that the only thing a man can do for eight hours a day is work. He can't eat for eight hours; he can't drink for eight hours; he can't make love for eight hours. The only thing a man can do for eight hours is work.”
“Everything goes by the board – honor, pride, decency – to get the book written.”
“An artist is a creature driven by demons. He doesn't know why they choose him, and he's usually too busy to wonder why.”
Writing didn't make Faulkner happy. His own brother said, about the famous writer, "My brother Bill has the most even temper of anyone you'd ever want to meet. He's mad as hell all the time."
Maybe that's what I have to look forward to, working my ass off and being mad as hell all the time.
Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle
5 comments:
Yes! Work like hell and be a nasty bastardizing artist. It's my new mantra ; )
P.S. I'm your fan, too, Roger : (
Thank you, sweetheart.
This was a good one today, sounds like you found your voice. Now just keep it coming and it will work out but who knows how at this point.
Yes, I think you are right, on both counts.
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