God damn it: This post will make me so popular I won’t see you for dust.
Drawn to my attention by the amicable Paul of blackwatertown fame, and he is not the only one: The writer’s lot. For heaven’s sake: What makes a writer? Anyone who can write is a writer. People write. I write. A lot. It’s like saying “I breathe therefore I am a breather”. “I speak therefore I am a speaker”. “I clean the toilet therefore I am a charlady” or “I cook therefore I am Anthony Bourdain”. It’s complete rubbish. Just as sleeping with your husband – when you don’t feel like it – doesn’t make you a prostitute. Or may be it does. There is too much angst among all those aspiring to be published. Anyone can write (rubbish), whereas few will take up a paintbrush or compose a bit of Beethoven and expect it to be seen or heard. Sweethearts, do what you enjoy and don’t paint yourselves into a corner. Did Kafka ever call himself a writer? Don’t think so. He was an insurance clerk who wrote in his spare time.
U
And you are fab, I ain’t running anywhere.
Sx
Comment by ScarletScarlet — September 13, 2012 @ 09:40 |
You “ain’t running anywhere”. Good. And I’ll have to do some catching up with you.
U
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:56 |
Some of us have been writing for its sake alone for years and decades and eons…yikes! It might be nice to experience the other end – that elusive thing called agented publishing. But even if that doesn’t occur any time soon, it won’t stop the ‘pen to paper’ or keys to computer. And that alone is just another thing to write about.
Comment by writingfeemail — September 13, 2012 @ 12:36 |
Renee, what you call “that elusive thing called agented publishing” does, of course, describe the yearning for acknowledgment. It’s – forgive the rather crude analogy – the dog who wants his biscuit once he has performed. And that’s ok. Most of us are conditioned that way. I am not. Why? I have no idea. Almost amounts to a character defect. Actually, no …. it makes it easy for me.
To elaborate: My whole life revolves around books, paper and writing. I positively drown in the stuff. But I do have no ambition whatsoever to see myself on the shelf. In fact – and I have only related this once because it’s rather embarrassing – some years ago I went into a bookshop and nearly threw up (my stomach being a drama queen). I was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed. Not by the ‘classics’ on the shelf. But by the hundreds and hundreds of new titles, celebrity authors, autobiographies written by people barely out of their nappies, all vying for your attention. Meanwhile, to make you feel truly sick and flee the place, you pity the agent and, even more, the editor and his/her slush pile. I love the word ‘slush pile’. It’s so evocative. Sewers come to mind.
Let’s put it this way: Any of you writers out there hoping to be published, to be affirmed, I wish you luck and I have nothing but nothing than admiration for your stamina. Hope springs eternal. And writing for publication, no doubt Lorna, and maybe yourself, will confirm is a lonely job.
As you say, Renee, let all of us keep putting pen to paper. Regardless. It’s as natural as breathing. And, of course, as proven by blogging: It’s a wonderful way to communicate.
U
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:25 |
‘Bitch on the Blog’ – love that
Is that true about Kafka though? I did not know…. amazing.
I believe a writer is someone who is driven to write, to express by words, what stirs within. You can get ‘successful writers’ and not successful, ‘powerful writers’ and not so and so on, so on. I don’t think ANYone is a writer just because they write, but writers ARE (to my view) people who feel driven to write, must write, and they feel good after it.
But I’m not only a writer. I fart therefore…
Comment by WordsFallFromMyEyes — September 13, 2012 @ 13:44 |
Dear Farter, you may like to read my reply to Renee (writingfeemail) above. I quite agree with you: People write, even if only a shopping list – and then there is the professional writer. Could write on the subject till the cows come home. Well, the cows now need milking so I shall curb my urges and just get on with the job.
Kafka: Little was published during his short life. If it hadn’t been for his friend Max Brod, executor of his will, overriding Kafka’s wish for all his work to be destroyed after his death, we wouldn’t know what loss to mankind it would have been. One hint: Kafka does not read in English as well as he does in his original German. A lot of fine nuances lost in translation. But, you’ll still get the gist of what he was trying to convey.
U
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:36 |
Ursula, I just love when you latch onto a thought, and then proceed to drag it through a little mud, scrub it, rinse it, force it through a wringer, pin it to a line, let it flap in the breeze while it dries, and then fold it up neatly and put it away – until the next time you wish to repeat the process.
With apologies to Descartes, “I am, therefore I think.” And eat, drink, sleep, play, and write for that matter.
Comment by Phil — September 13, 2012 @ 14:56 |
How well you chisel a rather poetic analogy, Phil.
I think you and Descartes would have got on rather well: Considering the human pyramid’s basic needs.
U
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:43 |
I write because I finally found my voice and, gosh darn it, I don’t want to lose it again. I figure if enough people are looking for it on a regular basis, we’ll never misplace it.
Comment by Lorna's Voice — September 13, 2012 @ 20:13 |
Yes, Lorna, the voice. One’s own voice. Can’t recommend it enough. As an aside (and I speak form experience): Don’t bite your tongue. You may find yourself speaking with that most cute lisp – till the swelling goes down.
U
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:46 |
Hee hee – I like the “of Blackwatertown fame” bit.
Sure – message to writers – get on with it.
But I cut them some slack too, because they’re/we’re supposed to be thinking carefully, closely observing, trying express exactly what they mean – so a bit of airy fairy introspective brow furrowing is okay too.
And then get on with it.
Coincidentally, I’m just back from my first visit to a writers group. I learnt a lot about hedgehogs from the guest speaker Hugh Warwick http://www.urchin.info – not so much talk about writing or sharing work. Bit disappointing in that regard. Though always handy to have a hedgehog expert up my sleeve.
Comment by blackwatertown — September 13, 2012 @ 22:35 |
Come on Paul, don’t be so modest. Give the link to your blog or I will.
You are right: There is writing and there is writing. How I write my blog (and my emails) is totally different to, say, writing an essay. Where the latter requires refinement, the former is (I am repeating myself here) just spur of the moment. Which does not mean it’s not as valuable as the words we slave over. Not at all: It’s raw. It’s true. And I love its urgency.
As I do [love] hedgehogs: Prickly on the outside. Soft underbelly.
Comment by Ursula — September 14, 2012 @ 04:54 |