Thursday, January 22, 2004
I will today begin with a couple of quotes, which may stand as preface. The first is from Bill, who wisely purchased a copy of Low Red Moon from our eBay auctions:
I've been reading your journal for a while now. When I get home from my dead end job and wish I could live the glamourous life of a writer, I only have to read a few entries to realize there is no perfect job out there!
The next is from Poppy's livejournal:
Sometimes I wish I had an honest job. Instead I sit at my desk like an aging, cranky spider in a poorly constructed web, waiting to hear from at least four different people about various crucial aspects of my career, and in the meantime, I'm expected to continue doing work that requires a clear mind and a tranquil outlook.
Sometimes, though, a preface might say everything that needs saying, upstaging whatever else is to come.
Stealing thunder.
A clear mind and a tranquil outlook. Yes, these things are aboslutely necessary for good writing, and yet, there's the paradox that most writers must exist in the almost total absence of both, as publishing robs us of them at every turn. Speaking strictly for myself, I've had neither in at least a decade, and, indeed, the more popular my work becomes, the more demands are placed upon me as a writer, the more elusive clarity and tranquility become.
Depression. Fear. Doubt. Anxiety. Regret. Bitterness. Sorrow. These emotions seem more intent on keeping my constant company, and shaping my writing, than do any vestige of tranquility and clarity of mind. And that's not some sort of hand-staple-forehead bullshit goth pretension. It's just the sorry truth. If you don't want the truth, go read something else.
If the truth makes you wince, the world is happy to oblige.
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