I admit it. To be completely honest, I’m not sure what I'd hoped to achieve in writing down all this bad business. Maybe a part of me hoped that it would be cathartic, to put down into words all the missteps and bad relationships that I seem to be cursed with here in the writing biz. Maybe I figured that, hell, it’s cheaper than therapy.
Well, yeah, it might be cheaper than therapy, but unlike seeing a headshrinker, this process sure as shit isn’t making me feel any better about it all. If anything, it’s making me focus on the futility of all the efforts that I’ve spent over the last decade. It’s not a good idea to revisit, in detail, the devastating train wreck that has characterized my “career”. And on top of that, it’s opened up questions about my own behavior and/or character. Questions such as:
Why should we give a shit about you? You probably shouldn’t. But maybe, just maybe, somebody will learn something about what not to do.
All of this can’t be true. This much shit can’t have happened to the same guy.
I know for a fact there are some people who look at me as not only delusional, but as possibly a pathological liar. I assure you, everything happened. And we haven’t even come close to the meat of the disasters. Wait until we get into my dealings in the movie biz.
Well shit, maybe you're the problem here.
To a degree, I might be. Don’t we all play a hand in some way, within our own demise?
Ever think that maybe you just can’t write?
Every day. And yet I’ve worked with five agents and two publishers. I’ve had negotiations with a serious film company and a MAJOR producer. Clearly I’m doing something right, even if I’m clearly doing everything else wrong.
And the most basic question that was dropped on me at the bar one late night by buddy Sudeesh---What are you doing wrong?
Fucked if I know. Believe you-me – I’ve tried my damnedest to figure that out. Because then maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to get some of this shit moving forward. One thing I do know, is that I have been pathetically naïve. I’ve put my trust and faith in a lot of people who haven’t exactly been worthy of that trust. Quite the opposite. They have operated like scumbags – which in a business sense, I’ll never understand. I can’t say that we all share the same interest in getting a good book into readers’ hands.
Look at the bookstore shelves. Filled with crap…but crap that might be selling. I had an editor-in-chief tell me in no uncertain terms that her company publishes crap…but crap that sells. In a strictly business sense, I don’t know how these people roll. I know that a great number of people in the business of publishing are beholden to one thing only. Sales. And I understand that. It IS a business. What I’ll never get is how wasting my time and their own benefits anyone in any fashion. The artistry side of publishing will always be one person’s opinion against another’s. The business side is simple. Sell shit and make money. And that’s supposed to start with the writer and end at the bookseller, but applies to every single goddamn person in between.
And am I writing art? HELL, no.
Sudeesh: “But what are you doing WRONG?”
I dunno, brother. I just don’t know…
Something.
What I can do, and will keep doing, writing this blog. It might not be helping my bruised and beaten psyche and confidence, but I goddamn said I’d be doing it, and goddamn it, I’m going to get to the end of it.
Even if that ending isn’t a happy one. Because you know what? I can’t believe that it will be anymore. Call it self-pity if you want. I won't argue. See? I'm easy to work with.
I know, I know… Boo fucking hoo.
