Saturday, March 3, 2012
where i will write the history of the end of the world
Today, I write about writing again.
I suppose I do consider myself a writer, I am just not good at "being a writer," which, I think, is a different thing altogether.
I have said this before. It is not the epiphany of the moment.
A lot of people are good at "being" writers, but they can't write very well at all. I know that's a snobby thing to say, but I also believe it is true.
If I made a list of the things that are most important to me, and then I eliminated the obvious top-tier no-brainers like respiration and taking care of my household, it is highly likely that writing excellently will be at the top of my list.
That's probably a snobby thing to say, too.
"Being" a writer wouldn't make it on the list at all.
I think it's something of a consequence of our highly connected, social-networked mentality that a lot of us buy into -- the importance of "being" a writer as opposed to the process of writing itself. I blame the watered-down sameness of product on this, too -- the collective, delusional belief that "this is what I must write because this is what Barnes and Noble will put on their shelves."
"And the cover will look like this."
This, this, this!
You know what I mean.
In human history, writing and literature have never worked that way.
And here we are.
It is why so many "writers" don't feel even a moment of self-reflective shame for sifting out nouns and verbs from existing works and rearranging their context or morphing a flawed protagonist into another flawed protagonist with fins or scales or wings or fangs.
This is the end of the world, and nobody knows anything about it at all.