All writing is crap
Yeah, I said it.
All books are crap. All writing is crap if you think about it and get truthful. Watching TV is not the same as viewing the Grand Canyon live and in-person because the Grand Canyon is real.
Am I more real when I write, or less? I fear the latter.
Reading another’s thoughts that entertain, instruct, or persuade is a trick of creation, an artistic endeavor designed to suck you in and keep you there. The biggest trick ever pulled is the Bible.
Unless it's true, then I’m, well, you know.
Harry Potter would be next. I guess the reason is belief. If a book can elicit or engage, or enrage a belief system, then I have to tip my fake hat to the author or authors.
All books are judged quickly by readers, and if one hits the right buttons, they keep reading. Authors have this thing where we feel that everything we write is magic, and it is not true. We are writing crap. And a big part of ourselves knows that this is a fact. This causes the fabled writer’s block, which is really a depression and self-doubt sandwich with extra pickles. The kind you hate.
If you haven’t guessed already, this writing today is a stream of consciousness. Sorry, not sorry. That term is bullshit too-all fiction writing streams from the consciousness. The only difference is not stopping to edit what you just wrote, instead, take a sip of coffee and plunge the shovel back into the bullshit of your brain and grab another heaping shovelful. Yum!
Writing a story glued to an outline is almost impossible for me and a complete pain in the ass. Why do to yourself? You will head off the reservation at some point and claim that because you did, you found gold. It wrote itself! This too is bullshit, that was your plan all along and you know it. You only hope that your wandering bullshit might trick a reader into thinking you’re brilliant. Trust, me, it will not.
I just had my fiftieth birthday. I expected something grand to happen, a mighty wind of heavenly power would descend upon me and open my chakras, providing me with the ability to know all and have all the answers. The truth is, I just had to Google ‘chakras’ because I knew I spelled it wrong. And that’s the point; At this age, I knew I spelled a word wrong and I should be able to spell out the first time. Should being a useless word, and my high-doubt that chakras exist leaves me with the usual emptiness-like taking out the trash while watching the stars overhead. One task is enjoyable, while the other is not.
So what to do? Where do I put my writing jealousy? How do I manage this age with the understanding provided to my aging brain?
I can not. I know whatever I write will be crap, because, like most writers, I read a lot of books and pass very few on as “any good at all”. Truth wins out. When I read a foreword where Stephen King flagellates himself for writing crap or alluding to the fact that if the facts are wrong, it’s no one’s fault but his-garners my respect and envy.
I‘m just not there yet, Stephen. Thankee Ka-Dinh.
The real fear this writer has, if he is brave enough to admit it, is even if he writes something not to crappy; no one will read it. Because anyone can write a story, anyone can push the publish button, and some just get damn lucky. Because, for those that get read, I am jealous and happy for you at the same time. You go on with your bad self because you give the rest of us hope.
Damn you.
