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| Courtesy of SheWhoSeeks.blogspot.com |
Amidst home-made play-dough, crayons, glue (of the non-sniffing variety), and plastic replicas of real food, a conversation unrelated to the inner physical dynamics of the female body drifted about the YMCA Early Years facility.
Two moms standing off to the side. Well-dressed, meticulous with their pronunciation, perhaps a bit gratuitous with their affirmation of each other. The conversation: writing, finding an agent, workshops, completion of first drafts.
The gist, writer Mom goes to a writing conference somewhere (Toronto?) with her finished draft in hand. An editor reads the first chapter and immediately finds a nearby agent. Introductions are made, hands shaken, promises of phone calls given. A few weeks later, book is being devoured by agents. Publication pending.
It's the story you hear every once in awhile from the United States. I've never heard of it happening in Canada. But if this is true, then...well...I suppose congratulations are due? Should I not be happy for the immediate success of this new writer?
I should be, sure. In fact, I should be Mr. Universal-Love-For-All-Writers-Big-And-Small. But if I'm completely honest about my own wretched character, I will confess that I am not. In fact, the conversation gave me slight nausea. Well, that could have been the glue.
Most of my repugnance stems from envy. Envious that people catch breaks like this or envy for yet another person who's moved a step beyond my own current situation. It's a big waste of energy, mind you - and at the end of the day, I have every intention of turning the energy toward the current draft I'm working on.
But seriously? A walk-up at a writer's conference? When I heard this, I immediately thought - "Oh Jesus, she must be one of those literary genius types." Carefully tutored under Jack Hodgins or David Adams Richards. Perhaps a disciple of Alice Munro or an up and coming brilliant mind like Sandra Jensen.
Two moms standing off to the side. Well-dressed, meticulous with their pronunciation, perhaps a bit gratuitous with their affirmation of each other. The conversation: writing, finding an agent, workshops, completion of first drafts.
The gist, writer Mom goes to a writing conference somewhere (Toronto?) with her finished draft in hand. An editor reads the first chapter and immediately finds a nearby agent. Introductions are made, hands shaken, promises of phone calls given. A few weeks later, book is being devoured by agents. Publication pending.
It's the story you hear every once in awhile from the United States. I've never heard of it happening in Canada. But if this is true, then...well...I suppose congratulations are due? Should I not be happy for the immediate success of this new writer?
I should be, sure. In fact, I should be Mr. Universal-Love-For-All-Writers-Big-And-Small. But if I'm completely honest about my own wretched character, I will confess that I am not. In fact, the conversation gave me slight nausea. Well, that could have been the glue.
Most of my repugnance stems from envy. Envious that people catch breaks like this or envy for yet another person who's moved a step beyond my own current situation. It's a big waste of energy, mind you - and at the end of the day, I have every intention of turning the energy toward the current draft I'm working on.
But seriously? A walk-up at a writer's conference? When I heard this, I immediately thought - "Oh Jesus, she must be one of those literary genius types." Carefully tutored under Jack Hodgins or David Adams Richards. Perhaps a disciple of Alice Munro or an up and coming brilliant mind like Sandra Jensen.
Then I heard the inevitable question, "What do you write?". The answer: "Oh, it's fiction. I write inspirational romance." Well, there you have it folks. Inspirational romance. I'd never heard of this genre and was immediately curious how to differentiate it from "boring romance".
And yet I was envious of the recognition perhaps? An odd moment. But I am now convinced (not really) that several love triangles must be inserted into my novel. Strange ones involving flying monkeys, toupees, and half a dozen slightly cracked farm eggs. That's inspirational, right?
My life in a nutshell, confined to small chairs in church basements with a whole lotta other peoples' mouth-breathing kids. My own daughter not included, of course. She's rather good about the whole nostril thing.
And yet I was envious of the recognition perhaps? An odd moment. But I am now convinced (not really) that several love triangles must be inserted into my novel. Strange ones involving flying monkeys, toupees, and half a dozen slightly cracked farm eggs. That's inspirational, right?
My life in a nutshell, confined to small chairs in church basements with a whole lotta other peoples' mouth-breathing kids. My own daughter not included, of course. She's rather good about the whole nostril thing.
2 comments:
Great post, Harry.
Think of it this way: anyone who gets known for HOW they made it (how young they were, how much of an advance they got, how many e-books they sold) probably will never be known and respected for WHAT they wrote.
Now that I will take to heart.
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