i’ve come to the conclusion that writers of today are wimps.
i look at the complaints and masturbatory self-praise and pseudo-self-deprecating faux-humility online and it makes me sick.
we think we have it so hard because we sit at a computer and write whatever the hell we want to but have to keep the day job in order to survive the day-to-day grind.
i’m sorry, but get over it.
the sooner you accept you will not be famous or rich, the better you and your writing will be for it. stop trying to be the next John Grisham (why would you want to be, anyway?).
the writers of the past, the ones we look up to and read and try to emulate – did they do that?
no. they were real writers. they were men. even the women writers were men.
take Ernest Hemingway, who i personally don’t really care that much for. did he bitch about having to pay the bills, having to go to this family member’s event, having to carry groceries up a flight of steps? no. he went to war. and then wrote about it. and then killed himself.
like a man.
take Walt Whitman, who i have great respect for. did he complain about not being noticed, not being appreciated, about the politics of his country not always going his way? no. he went on walks, socialized, looking for the best in everyone and everything, turning it all into poetry and celebrating life’s diversity. and then he kissed another man.
like a man.
take Virginia Woolf, who i’ve never even read. did she mope about feeling bad despite having a mental illness and let it stand in the way of creating? okay, maybe she did a little. but she wrote in spite of her shitty circumstances and didn’t let her problems become excuses. and then she killed herself. by drowning.
like a man.
i’m just saying – if you take your average writer these days, most of them are wimp intellectuals. if this offends you and you say, “what about you? aren’t you just complaining in this ‘blog’ about other writers? where’s your manhood?”
i’ll tell you.
i like to practice carpentry. like a man.
and i think every writers needs a physical release of some kind (preferably not suicide) to put things into perspective. after all, if you’re able to read this “blog” and drink your coffee and clip your toenails on a semi-regular basis, then you don’t have it so bad.
so maybe your thing isn’t carpentry. fine. go running. or biking. or mountain climbing. or fishing (what am i saying? am i actually recommending a human being to GO FISHING?!). or something that forces you to use your God-given (sorry, atheists, um…your evolution-given) muscles, breathe some fresh-ass air, and get over yourself.
stop complaining about not having many followers on your “twitter,” or that this writer got nominated for this award, but it should have been THIS writer. put that energy into something physical (no, sex doesn’t count, but good try). your future, wiser self and your writing will both thank you for it.