Thursday, April 20, 2006
Writer's Market
I've always been a little bit of a writer. Since I have also always been a whole lot of a reader, I've seen enough great literature to know that, quite frankly, my own work isn't really all that great. I can turn a phrase from time to time, and I write a Delta Burke joke like you wouldn't believe, but let's just say that anecdotes about lazy-eyed coworkers and pun-filled lists centered on major holidays aren't exactly intellectual content on a Dostoevsky level. I'm pretty much okay with that; if David Sedaris can sell the New Yorker an essay about lancing a boil and still sleep soundly on his giant pile of money, I don't feel too bad about giving my inanities away for free on The Internets. There's something to be said for pleasant distraction.
But part of being a writer, at least if you do it in any structured way, is sitting through writing classes and seminars where people give you "advice" about your writing that serves largely to demonstrate that A) they haven't actually read your writing and B) they know a lot of big words, shaky though they may be on their preferred usage. Colleagues will intone vague pleasantries like "I liked your use of words" or "it kind of reminded me of the Batman movies," or simply catalogue other pieces you could potentially have written, as by saying "I kind of wanted there to be a car chase" or "this whole bit with Cancer is kind of a downer." Collaboration can be a bit of a bear.
I mention all of this because I am currently in such a class, and last night it made me, for the first time in my life, want to punch an old lady. An old lady who habitually shows up twenty minutes late, wearing a Ron-and-Sheila-Albertson-style track suit, and interrupts other speakers to tell them they need to speak up or that they're not making sense. An old lady who actually audibly scoffs at other people's constructive feedback. An old lady who essentially writes romance novels without all the good dirty parts.
Did I mention that writing is also great therapy?
I've always been a little bit of a writer. Since I have also always been a whole lot of a reader, I've seen enough great literature to know that, quite frankly, my own work isn't really all that great. I can turn a phrase from time to time, and I write a Delta Burke joke like you wouldn't believe, but let's just say that anecdotes about lazy-eyed coworkers and pun-filled lists centered on major holidays aren't exactly intellectual content on a Dostoevsky level. I'm pretty much okay with that; if David Sedaris can sell the New Yorker an essay about lancing a boil and still sleep soundly on his giant pile of money, I don't feel too bad about giving my inanities away for free on The Internets. There's something to be said for pleasant distraction.
But part of being a writer, at least if you do it in any structured way, is sitting through writing classes and seminars where people give you "advice" about your writing that serves largely to demonstrate that A) they haven't actually read your writing and B) they know a lot of big words, shaky though they may be on their preferred usage. Colleagues will intone vague pleasantries like "I liked your use of words" or "it kind of reminded me of the Batman movies," or simply catalogue other pieces you could potentially have written, as by saying "I kind of wanted there to be a car chase" or "this whole bit with Cancer is kind of a downer." Collaboration can be a bit of a bear.
I mention all of this because I am currently in such a class, and last night it made me, for the first time in my life, want to punch an old lady. An old lady who habitually shows up twenty minutes late, wearing a Ron-and-Sheila-Albertson-style track suit, and interrupts other speakers to tell them they need to speak up or that they're not making sense. An old lady who actually audibly scoffs at other people's constructive feedback. An old lady who essentially writes romance novels without all the good dirty parts.
Did I mention that writing is also great therapy?
