Impressions: "A Reader's Manifesto" by B.R. Meyers

It’s not often that I read two books at the same time but this was a short read and I was able to knock it off in one evening. I was told once that “you don’t find things, things find you”, and in this particular case, I think its apt. This particular topic as been running through my mind for some time now (as well as having somewhat heated---well, let’s say, passionate---discussions) over it as well.

Just killing time in Barnes & Noble one morning, not looking for anything in particular, this now 10 year old book jumped out at me. So it’s probably an old argument now and I’m sure this has been debated to death already. What it amounts to really is just a 120 diatribe about how today’s American Literary fiction is basically the “Emperor’s New Clothes”. Meyers contends that most of today’s “Literary” fiction is merely mediocre fiction infused with “trendy stylistic gimmicks” and uses some big names: Cormac McCarthy, Paul Auster, Don DiLillo, Annie Proulx, among others, as his targets for disdain. What he’s going after is what he sees as “pretentiousness” in contemporary American literary fiction and those who blindly follow the party line, afraid to say what they really feel about these writings so they don’t become ostracized among their peer groups. This particular venom is leveled at literary critics, who he claims join those who refuse to tell the Emperor that he isn’t wearing anything at all.

Out of all the writers he goes after here, I’ve only read two: McCarthy and Auster, both of whom I enjoyed very much, though I haven’t read all of their works. I can see Meyers’s point to some degree, but only to a certain degree. The one feeling I kept getting while reading this book was “So what? Does it really matter that much?” I suppose for lovers of literature, where writing is their passion, I can understand. It was like that way for me regarding music all these years. Whenever I heard something I felt was some trite or pretentious piece of music that wasn’t worth all the praise it was getting, it would get under my skin too, often having me launch on some diatribe or another. Over the years, it became more simple for me. If I didn’t like it, I didn’t like it and just ignored it, much like I do the majority of popular music today. When it comes to literature, the same thing. It’s something to discuss with like-minded people but in the end, who cares?

This book caused some passionate responses after it was originally released, apparently, and the book includes an appendix of sorts, a response to his critics, along with a sarcastic “Ten Rules for “Serious” Writers”. The whole thing comes off as reactionary to me. But that’s just me. I’ll read a book and it either moves me in some way or it doesn’t, for varying different reasons. And those reasons are due to personal taste, my own judgment. A critic’s word never decides for me what I will like or what I won’t like, including this particular author.

In the end, while amusing and good for a laugh, the whole thing comes off to me as being important only to those who feel they have some sort of real stake in it. For me, personally, I’ll make up my own mind about it all, thank you. Sometimes, there has to be contrarian out there, making a lot of noise in order to be paid attention to. That’s what this book comes off like to me. If you find it all pretentious and gimmicky the answer is simple: don’t buy it and don’t read it.

Rating: * * *

Nadería

What happens when an American poet, a Uruguayan painter, a Peruvian chef, a Syrian belly dancer, an Algerian musician and an Italian religious fundamentalist are all searching for meaning and their lives intersect on the streets of Paris...?

The title comes from an interview I read with Jorge Luis Borges in the Paris Review’s wonderful “Latin American Writers at Work”. (A must read for fans of Latin American literature & fiction---and a great series over all). In it, he explains that the closest word in Spanish for “nothingness” was “nadería”. The word literally means “trifle; unimportant” and I thought that double meaning was great. What a great title that would make, I thought, and knew there was a story there somewhere. The trouble was, I wasn’t sure what to do with it, so for about 7 years I kicked it around, tried to think of something to write and after many many false starts, reassessments and self-debating as to what direction I should go in, I finally decided to stop being so damn “heavy” all the time and just write a damn story, one that I would think was interesting but also fun to do. Just open the doors to the imagination and let it ride. Forget about all this deeply personal stuff and gut mining and just have fun writing a story, something I used to do when I was much younger, before all the “heaviness” crept in. I’m in a far different place now than I was when I wrote “November Rust” and I think this new direction shows it.

My second novel, “Nadería” is now officially available. At the moment, you may find it at Lulu.com but it will soon be available through Amazon, Barnes & Noble and other on-line sites in the coming weeks.

For those of you who have read my first novel, 2007’s “November Rust”, you may find that this is somewhat of a departure. Gone are all the ‘experimental’ elements (i.e. stream of consciousness, cut-ups, poetry, etc) and replaced with a fairly straightforward, stripped down, linear narrative. There are some familiar elements, of course. Again, the setting is Paris (and for a brief time, New York), and there’s a good reason for that. “Nadería” was originally envisioned as a “sequel” to “November Rust”. After a couple of years trying to figure out what to do with it, the thought occurred to me to just say “fuck it” and go for a straightforward story, populated with an international cast of characters---all hapless and lost---each searching for some sort of “meaning” in their lives and essentially fucking things up along the way. While the point I attempt to make in this book is serious, the actual story is not so heavy, and I can only hope the readers of this book will find it as amusing as I did at times, but that’s no longer up to me. Once you put something “out there”, you no longer have control over how people will perceive it and/or react to it. In this story, you’ll find all the elements that interested me at the time while I was writing it: What does finding meaning in your life actually mean in the great scheme of things; Spanish and Mediterranean history; the two diametrically opposed poles of Islam; Belly Dancing; Latin American history; obsessive behavior; the silly mind games people play with one another; the search for identity, trying to recapture lost dreams; and so on and so on. I hope those who bought and read my first novel will buy and read this one as well, and naturally, I hope you enjoy it.

Later in the year I will be releasing another novel, “Be Still and Know That I Am” (sometime around April - June). This one brings the story home, literally, set primarily in Queens, New York in 1982, back when the 80s wasn’t quite yet “The 80s”. In it, you’ll find angst ridden Punk Rockers and other alienated youth, Van Halen T-shirt wearing Camaro driving bullies and their brain dead foot soldiers, Lower East Side squatters, Alphabet City junkies, Hardcore bands and the infamous A7 club, Reagan’s promise of a “Morning in America” and those left behind who still wanted to believe it, a jaded and troubled priest, working class angst, High School Confidential, perverted and psychotic teachers and administrators---all the fun stuff. Ah, to be young again... But more on that later on...

That’s about all for now. To those who follow this and read me and of course bought my books, I just want to say thank you. It is greatly appreciated. More than you could possibly know.

Onward...

Some News

Some new book news coming up shortly.

Also, soon I will be featuring some profiles of writers/poets that I really like here. Don’t know when the first one will appear exactly. It’s still in the planning stages. I always felt it was important to spread the word about the talent out there who normally don’t get the recognition that they deserve, even if it’s from a simple blog like my own. There are truly amazing people doing some very interesting and amazing things and I feel that I want to share that with you. If I can turn you on to their work, all the better.

Stay tuned....

Impressions: "Class Trip" and "The Mustache" by Emmanuel Carrère

Emmanuel Carrère is known as “The Stephen King of France” but somehow I fail to see the comparison. First of all, Carrère is a much better writer than King and secondly, there seems to be nothing in common with their styles, or even subject matter. Then again, perhaps these two particular short novels, contained in this one volume, are different from his other books, I don’t know. To me, a more fair comparison would be Kafka or Borges, at least in tone and/or subject matter.

I enjoyed these two stories very much, especially “Class Trip”, which seems to be more in line with contemporary authors Niccoló Ammaniti, Paolo Giordano and Simone Vinci. The subject matter here is a troubled youth, who goes away with his classmates to a ski trip at a resort somewhere in France. The boy is shy, awkward and has trouble fitting in with the rest of his class. His vivid imagination often “frees” him from the anxiety he feels. Meanwhile, a boy disappears from the excursion and what young Nicholas discovers is even more terrifying than his vivid fantasies.

“The Mustache” is a Kafka-esque tale about identity. An absurd comedy about a man who decides to one day shave off his mustache. When he does, his friends and family not only fail to recognize him but deny the mustache had even existed in the first place. What follows is a twisted and often comical tale about a man struggling with the nature of reality and trying to come to grips with who he truly is.

Enjoyable and recommended.

Rating: * * * *

Short Story: "Sahara"

My short story, "Sahara" at Short Fiction.co.uk

Impressions: "Girl With Curious Hair" by David Foster Wallace

I had never heard of David Foster Wallace until his unfortunate suicide back in 2008. There were so many great things written about him, that I had made it a mental note to eventually read him. I finally got around to it. My first choice wasn’t one of his novels, but a collection of short stories called “Girl With Curious Hair.”

My initial impression was “uh oh...” and that was due to the fact that the very first story in the book, “Little Expressionless Animals”, features Alex Trebec, Pat Sajak and Burt Convy as characters. “Hipster shit”, I thought, but I’m glad I put my prejudices aside and kept reading. What a truly great story this was and he manages to use the pop culture esthetic in a way that many other writers (and imitators) fail to do. It doesn’t come off with that pseudo-irony that a lot of writers try to attempt. What he have is a very well written story about the nature of show business, the nature of intelligence, and how fleeting and uncaring it can sometimes be.

He manages the same thing in the story, “Lyndon”, a fictional story told from the point of view of President Lyndon B. Johnson’s assistants. Johnson himself is a main character in the story and it is a truly entertaining read.

Some of the other stories didn’t really grab me as much, but over all I thought this was a fine collection of stories and definitely a nice introduction to this truly original writer. I only wish I had read him in his heyday but he left his work behind for the world to read. He is a truly original voice, a writer who clearly has his own style and his own path that he followed. I admire that in any artist, no matter what their medium. He was doing his own thing, seemingly unconcerned with whatever trends existed at the time.

Over all, I really enjoyed this book and look forward to reading more of him in the future.

Rating: * * * * 1/2

(Note: Some readers may notice that these posts are no longer called “Book Review”. The reason for this is that I am not a literary critic. I merely give my impression, my thoughts, on whichever book I am reading at the time. I thought it more apt, more honest in a way.)

DIVERTIMIENTO

From 2009:

Again from Propaganda Press, this time as part of their “Pocket Protector’s Series”, a set of “mini-chapbooks”. “Divertimiento” is number 10 in the series. A very interesting idea and just because these books are small in size does not mean they lack a decent quantity and quality of poems within their pages. I was pleased to be a part of this series. For more information about them, please visit Propaganda Press’s website for more information.

Here is a review of "Divertimiento", courtesy of Poethound.com

(Note: The image to the left was designed by publisher Leah Angstman as part of the press’s publicity efforts)

A SYMPHONY OF OLIVES

From 2009:

Leah Angstman, publisher and editor of Propaganda Press, is one of those true warriors of the small press scene. She never gave up and is still putting out lots of wonderful and interesting chapbooks of poetry from many writers out there in the small press/underground scene. I admire her commitment to it and they are still going strong, where many others either fell by the wayside or had simply given up. She is also a talented poet in her own rite.

“A Symphony of Olives” was released in early 2009 and it is available at the Propaganda Press website. While you’re there, be sure to check out their catalog for a full list of other poets and writers. You can’t do wrong by checking some of these writers and their books.

Here is a review for “A Symphony of Olives”, courtesy of Poethound.com

(Note: The image to the left was designed by Leah Angstman as part of the press’s publicity efforts.)

MY ARRIVAL IS MARKED BY ILLUMINATING STAINS

From 2007: “My Arrival is Marked By Illuminating Stains” is a collection of the first 5 poetry chapbooks, all of which are out of print and no longer available. “Standing on Lorimer Street Awaiting Crucifixion” (Alpha Beat Press 1996), “The Terror of Your Cunt is The Beauty of Your Face” (Black Spring Press 1999), “Street Gospel Mystical Intellectual Survival Codes” (Budget Press 2000), “Scrape That Violin More Darkly Then Hover Like Smoke In The Air” (Black Spring Press 2001), and “Existential Labyrinths” (Black Spring Press 2003). Collected together in one volume.

“...let me tell you that he can write!” (‘Standing on Lorimer Street Awaiting Crucifixion’) - Dan Crocker, Ism.

“Julian Gallo is a writer who wields his pen like a surgeon’s knife.” (‘The Terror of Your Cunt is The Beauty of Your Face’) --- Ralph Haselmann Jr, Blacklist Reviews.

“...fresh and quirky snapshots....” (‘Street Gospel Mystical Intellectual Survival Codes’) -- Mike Kriesel, Katnip Reviews

“Powerful stuff if you like your coffee black.” (‘Scrape That Violin More Darkly Then Hover Like Smoke in The Air’) Ralph Haselmann Jr, Blacklist Reviews.

NOVEMBER RUST

My debut novel, available at Amazon.com, along with accompanying review/interview by Scotland’s own Garry Crystal.

Indie Authors

Here is an article from the Huffington Post that I came across today which is somewhat related to my post about self-publishing and authors taking the independent route. It appears that there is change in the air. Could the stigma finally be lifted?

Impressions: "Cathedral" by Raymond Carver

This is the third book by Raymond Carver I have read in as many weeks and while I enjoyed a story or two in this collection, I still fail to see what the excitement is all about. Out of the three books that I read, this one was the most difficult to get through, finding most of these stories boring. While reading this book something occurred to me. Carver is known for his “minimalist” style. In other words, extremely straightforward, stripped down writing. The influence of Hemingway is definitely apparent but these stories do not seem to have the same life as Hemingway’s short fiction. At least to me. What occurred to me while reading these stories is that apparently a “minimalist” prose style is viewed very differently depending on the kind of stories one writes. If one is writing genre fiction, using the same, “minimalist” style, they are deemed “shit”. If you are a “Literary” fiction writer using the same “minimalist” style, you are considered a “genius”. Sorry, folks. I still don’t get it.

Rating: * * *

The Writing Life: Oh, The Vanity!

“Ulysses” by James Joyce is considered one of the most innovative, if not one of the greatest, English language novels of all time. Joyce did something that no one else had done at the time and his work was considered highly experimental, totally at odds with what was considered “Literature” at the time of its publication. Now it is the epitome of “Literature”, a classic, a work of art.

“Remembrance of Things Past” by Marcel Proust, another highly respected and influential mega-novel, one that touched nearly everyone who read it (or even part of it), a novel that inspired most, if not all, Modern writers of the time--and even today in some quarters (myself included). Again, a highly experimental work for its time, taking the novel places where it hadn’t gone before.

“Huckleberry Finn” by Mark Twain, considered an American Classic. Ernest Hemingway considered this book the “greatest American novel” of all time and concluded that everything that had come after it owed a debt to this novel which had been taught in schools for decades.

“Leaves of Grass” by Walt Whitman, considered classic American poetry. Whitman’s influence on American letters has been immense, affecting everyone from the old masters all the way up through Allen Ginsberg and beyond. Considered one of the all time classics in American literature.

What do all these books have in common? They were all self-published. Other writers who self-published include Gertrude Stein, Upton Sinclair, Carl Sandberg, Ezra Pound, Stephen Crane, Anaïs Nin, e.e. cummings, Virginia Wolfe, D.H. Lawrence and Margaret Atwood to name just a few.

Back in those days, self-published books were commonly known as “Private Editions”. Most of the time, they were works that were considered experimental and out of the “mainstream” of the time. It made sense to do it this way, being that the powers that be did not see the future sitting right in front of them. It was only over the course of time that these books, as well as many others, received the recognition that they deserved. Of course, if this were done today, they would have been considered “Vanity projects” and dismissed by the powers that be, and even some readers out there. Self-publishing has always been looked down upon by many because the conventional wisdom is that if it was self-published, it can’t possibly be good. The “real” publishers didn’t see their worth so therefore why should we?

Since the 1960s, there have been many authors and poets who published their own work. Mostly for the same reason as they did in the past. The major publishing houses wouldn’t even consider the work of these writers because it was considered either really bad or too out there for them. “It wouldn’t sell” was and is the usual mantra. In New York City at the time (as well as other major cities around the United States) an underground network emerged to give these writers a venue to publish their work. Some of them started by the authors themselves. (For a great book on this subject, I would highly recommend “A Secret Location on the Lower East Side” by Steven Clay and Rodney Phillips). In the 1970s, there were others and it continued through the 1980s all the way up through today. Now, with the internet and many other on-line sources, the avenues for writers to get their own work out there has increased ten-fold. However, it is still looked upon by some writers, and especially publishers, as being merely “vanity projects”, something not to be taken seriously.

They do have a point in some cases. A lot of self-published books aren’t up to snuff. But that’s all a matter of the opinion of the individual reader, anyway. Some of these really bad books are enjoyed by many. However there are plenty of wonderful books that come out this way as well and all because they are self-published, they are unfortunately not given the recognition or the attention they deserve. One book that immediately comes to mind is Stephen Siciliano’s “Vedette”. This was a superbly written novel that could have easily have been published by any major publishing house. However it was self-published, so therefore many would not even give it the time of day. It’s sad because it was truly a great book (Follow the link if you are interested in checking it out. I recommend it highly.)

During the 1980s, when I was coming of age, there was a whole independent network for music, literature, films, and just about every art form you could think of. It was an exciting time, and proof positive that there was so much more going on than the “legitimate” avenues would want you to believe. Musicians released their own records, started their own labels; authors published their own books, started publishing companies, etc etc.

Here’s what I find interesting: When musicians release their own music, it is called “Independently Released”. When filmmakers finance, shoot and make their own films, it is known as “Independent Film”. When theater groups get together to put on their own performances, it’s known as “Off Broadway” (or “Off-Off Broadway, depending on the venue), but for some reason, when authors put out their own books, it is known, and dismissed as, “Vanity projects”. Why is this? Why is literature relegated to the realm of “vanity” when everyone else is designated “independent”? Perhaps it’s still the one industry in the arts that still has the ear and the influence over many who desire to write and to publish. The musicians, actors and painters and whoever else already figured out what a load that all is. Why not writers? Something to think about.

Personally, I find no shame in self-publishing. I’ve done it myself over the years, many times. I’ve also published through small independent presses, which consisted of no more than one to three people who were dedicated to putting out writing they felt was important enough to be read that the major publishing houses would never touch. Of course, there are advantages and disadvantages to going this route.

The advantages: You have total and complete control over your work. You could do whatever you want, be as experimental or as mainstream as you want. Whatever money you make is yours. There is no one telling you to change what you don’t want to change and you can remain true to your vision.

The disadvantages: You won’t get rich. Your reach is limited (although with the internet and social networking sites, that is slowly changing). You are responsible for promoting the book yourself. There is no one behind you to help you do this. It may take years to sell your books and you may not sell that many at all.

For those who still think that self-publishing is only for those who “aren’t up to speed” with regard to their writing abilities or the quality of their work, consider this: Snookie from “Jersey Shore” just got a book deal for a novel. Meanwhile, many talented writers out there either choose or are forced to go the independent route. So according to the logic of some, Snooki is a “legitimate” writer while the independents are not. A load, if you ask me. The major publishing companies know they’ll make loads of money off of Snooki’s book. That’s the bottom line. Why would they take a chance on someone who is “untested”? It’s a sad situation, really. But to be fair, who knows? Perhaps Snooki has a winner there---but somehow I doubt it. I’m sure her book will do very well though, being that the fan base for that show is immense.

Of course this is a topic open to intense and endless debate. I say, if you are a writer, or any artist of any stripe who decides to go the independent route, go for it and the hell with what “conventional wisdom” says about it. Think of the authors mentioned at the beginning of this post. Think of how they would have been viewed today had they released these books in the 21st century rather than in the beginning of the 20th. Even publishing with a major house does not guarantee success. Many authors are published by major publishers and wind up languishing in obscurity and never making a living off their work anyway, and many “mid-range” authors wind up getting bounced for not “selling enough”, just like in the music industry, where musicians who don’t sell enough wind up being bounced from the label.

Naturally, this all depends on your point of view and in the end, that’s all it is. A point of view. I’m all for artists going their own way. I’ve seen it happen. I’ve seen it work. To dismiss independent artists simply because they went their own way is to potentially deprive yourself of some interesting work going on out there. Be open and give it a chance. Sometimes, something will surprise you and may actually inspire you to do something of your own. You don’t need some college graduate who landed a job in some publishing company to dictate to you what’s “worthy” and what isn’t. They are just people after all, with their own tastes, opinions, points of view. Make up your own mind and decide for yourself. It’s a different world now and there are far more opportunities out there to take advantage of. As you can see from the authors listed above, the experts in their time couldn’t see the writing on the wall either.

The Writing Life: Remember Why

The photo to the left is of myself, circa 1996, around the time my first poetry chapbook “Standing on Lorimer Street Awaiting Crucifixion” (Alpha Beat Press) was released. Back then, I was primarily involved in the music scene. That took center stage, pardon the pun. I read a lot, of course, and did do some writing but during the 1980s and the early part of the 1990s, most of the writing I had done was mainly poetry (which sometimes turned into song lyrics) or these little absurdist stories I used to write in one of those hardcover, black and white marble notebooks you’d get from the stationary store. (Remember those?) It had the collected title of “Inflated” and right now it sits in a cardboard box somewhere in my storage unit along with millions of other things. These stories were mainly surrealistic fantasies, absurd ideas that I would come up with and write them down. I did them mainly for fun and I never had any intention at all in ever publishing them. The truth is they aren’t fit for publication but mainly for my own amusement and/or to get a laugh out of my friends. But I enjoyed doing them. They were a lot of fun for me. At the time, I never considered writing seriously. It was just something that I enjoyed doing. All of my energy was focused on coming up with the next song my band, Third Eye Butterfly, was going to do.

1996, that all changed. I had turned 30 and there were a lot of things going on in my life at the time which sort of forced me to sit down at the computer one day and begin writing them out. The result was that first chapbook and a few poems which got published in the smattering of underground zines and journals at the time. I had gone over that in previous posts and no sense in repeating myself here. The point is the enjoyment, the fun and the creative release I felt at the time; how inspired I felt and the satisfaction I got out of actually writing them. Over the course of time, one becomes more “involved” in it and the more serious one becomes, the more things occur that often knock you off your path. What I mean by this is that the more you pursue things, chances are the more you’ll be met with varying ideas and opinions from other people you meet along the way. There is a tendency to forget why you are doing what you are doing in the first place. Thoughts, ideas, opinions, advice, or whatever else, comes at you a mile a minute from various different directions and sometimes it can be quite overwhelming, or confusing, or downright maddening.

As a boy, I used to sit in my room with a portable manual typewriter and bang out these little stories that were going through my head. These stories were whatever they wanted to be. Sometimes they were war stories, or horror stories, or science fiction type stories, whatever I felt like doing at the time. I used to do this from time to time all through my childhood, all the way up through my early adulthood. Naturally, none of these survive today but I had fun doing them. It was a joy for me to sit down when no one else was around and bang out these ridiculous things. But in the back of my mind, even as early as then, I had always wanted one day to publish somewhere, to have a book, etc etc--all the things any aspiring writer would want.

Things change, of course, as does ones aspirations over the course of time. When I began to get serious about writing and actively started pursuing publication, this is when I first started to notice that what is essentially supposed to be a joyful thing to do suddenly becomes an academic exercise (and quite often, an exercise in frustration). My friend Linda La Porte had put it this way once, and I’m paraphrasing here: “People have a tendency to take things that is supposed to be joyful and turn it into a fucking science.” I thought about that for a moment and realized she was right. It doesn’t matter what art form you pursue: painting, music, dance, writing, whatever. There is a tendency for some to climb the Ivory Tower and sit in judgment over others, to proclaim themselves “experts” and begin establishing rules and regulations that one “must” abide by or else you will not be taken seriously, nor will you be allowed into their special, exclusive club. A lot of us spend time (and quite often waste a lot of time) doing whatever it is we feel we have to do in order to gain entrance into that exclusive little club. It sort of reminds me of those guys and gals who bend over backwards and go through all sorts of humiliations in order to be admitted into some fraternity or sorority. We spend so much time trying to “please the masters” that we often lose sight of why we are doing what we are doing in the first place. These folks at the “top” sit there and make their proclamations, anoint their chosen ones, and then sit back, guarding the gate, making sure only those who are “worthy” can get in. Of course, depending on what area you are pursuing, those who are the guardians at the gate will differ. Since things are often very fragmented and scattered, each little tribe will designate their own Council of Elders to determine who is “serious” and who isn’t. Meanwhile, the whole reason why we do what we do gets lost in the noise.

In my struggles to write, to come up with something I find interesting, I often lose sight of why I am sitting down on a nearly daily basis to do what it is I am doing. As Ani DiFranco once noted in one of her songs, we should be doing it for the joy it brings. Everything else is secondary. What is the point in creating any art at all if you don’t enjoy doing it in the first place? Why do anything if you don’t enjoy doing it? But in our desire to enter the sacred realm, we often do this little dance with the keepers of the gate in order to win their approval and favor and the essential why we are doing what we chose to do gets kicked to the side and smothered in theory, arbitrary rules, the whims of other’s personal tastes, or frustrated individuals who need to vent and project their bitterness onto those coming up behind them. It’s an exclusive club after all and there is only room for those we deem worthy to join. How dare you even think you can be one of us? I think you get my drift.

2010 was a highly productive year for me, creatively. I wrote more in this one year than I had in the last seven or eight, ever since completing my first attempt at a novel, “November Rust”. I thought about how hard that was for me, but the struggle to write it was sweet. I loved the challenge, how inspired I felt, how mentally stimulating it was for me to sit down and try to work this thing out. After completing it, I felt very accomplished. Writing a novel is hard work. It isn’t easy and I didn’t learn that fact until I attempted one. As to whether what I achieved is any good or not is not up to me to decide. The point is I set a goal and I achieved it. Most people never get that far. Some people set a goal and then squander their talents and abilities either over fear of being laughed at, or fear of not being able to accomplish it, or fear that no one will think that they’re any good, or fear that what they are doing is shit. Fear is the main thing that holds most of us back from anything we want to do in life and its this fear that we must overcome and just get down to the business of doing what we want to do. Fuck everyone else. I overcame this fear, this uncertainty by putting that novel out and letting the chips fall where they may. Some hated it. Some loved it. Some thought it was ok. Others don’t give a shit one way or the other. That’s the nature of this thing called creativity. Its highly subjective nature almost guarantees a plethora of different reactions and a well of differing advice. After a while it all contradicts itself anyway and it all becomes noise, knocking us off the path we originally set out on. One has to ask themselves why they are doing what they are doing in the first place. In the end, you just don’t know who will appreciate what you do and who won’t. One person’s word is not the final word. It just means they don’t like what you do. Fair enough. So many people give up because someone tells them they aren’t worthy of entering the gate. Some give up because they are led to believe that they are not even allowed on the road. I feel sorry for those who listen to that. Never allow anyone to tell you that you aren’t “worthy” of anything in this life.

After some months of serious creative soul searching, I remembered why it was that I am doing what I am doing, and after much thinking, I decided that I am simply going to do whatever it is the fuck I want to do. I remembered how much I enjoyed writing when I was younger, when I didn’t worry so much about pleasing the overlords. Oh, there’s no guarantee that I will ever get a book published by a major house, or even succeed but that doesn’t matter. I would do it no matter what. That’s the point. Over all the discussions, arguments and debates over what constitutes a “real” writer, in the end, a writer is one who fucking sits down and writes. Plain and simple. Are they a “good” writer or a “bad” writer? Depends on who you ask, I suppose, just like anything else in the arts. The point is to do it and not allow what others, or perhaps even yourself, dictate or even discourage you from doing what you love to do. Even if you never get a word published---you should keep doing what you love to do. (And with today’s technology, one could do even that as much as they desire to do. The DIY ethic is still alive in some quarters.)

I remembered what it was that I loved about sitting down and getting the word down and I began to write short stories again, something I hadn’t done since I was a much younger man. I can’t even express how much I am enjoying it. Soon, I will be making the rounds again, sending these stories out to the magazines, the journals, the on-line sources, etc and remember that exciting feeling I had waiting on the responses. Yes, there will be mountains of rejections. Who gives a shit? That’s the norm. You get rejected, you keep moving on. After a decade or more of doing this with the poetry, I think I can handle it, believe me. If I do happen to get any of these stories published, will everyone like them? Will everyone think what I do is good? Again, who gives a shit. I’m not concerned with those who don’t like what I do. I’m not writing to please them. Basically, I write what I would like to read myself. If others like it too, great. If other’s don’t, I’m not going to lose any sleep over it. And neither should you.

I’ve been involved in this, and been around creative circles long enough to know that there is always going to be someone out there who will shit all over whatever it is you’re doing. You can’t please everyone, nor should you. Just be true to yourself, have belief in yourself, and never, ever allow anyone to cripple your confidence and/or your ambitions. You may never succeed or accomplish your goals. So what? Do you love what you do enough to do it no matter what? I hope so. The arts is definitely not a cash cow and very few ever make a living off of it. Does that mean you should give up? Absolutely not. Remember what the reason is for why you are doing what you are doing.

So I suppose the point of all this is to keep at it. Remember why it is you are doing what you are doing. Don’t take the criticisms personally. It isn’t personal (most of the time, anyway). It’s just a matter of differing tastes, differing sensibilities, differing approaches. No one and I mean no one corners the market on what is “good” or “bad”. It is a given that not everyone is going to think you have what it takes. That’s fine. That’s to be expected. Remember why it is you do whatever it is you do. Everything else is just noise.