This article is meant as satire. This is my response to a Huffpost article that is based entirely on mindless snobbery and poor logic. It’s an insult to the craft of writing to equate publishing with the craft.
As a fictionista, I see so many things. I am world weary. Yes. World weary.
I know what it is to search for the perfect worlds, to feel them burning deep within my soul unable to get out. I know that pain, the pain of giving life to the story, and don’t get me started on Self-publishing.
Not everyone can do what I do. I bleed for my art. I suffer for my craft! Laurie Gough agrees with me, I’m sure. In her article for Huffpost, An Insult to The Written Word, she writes, “Good writers only become good because they’ve undertaken an apprenticeship. The craft of writing is a life’s work. It takes at least a decade to become a decent writer, tens of thousands of hours.”
So true. I mean self-published authors certainly never spent hours and hours at their craft. They don’t undertake an apprenticeship. Not at all. It takes days in a local Starbucks for me to write three paragraphs! I write in the shower, the gym, in the car. You can’t just declare yourself a writer, you must earn it by getting shampoo in your eyes for your craft, by wrecking your car on the I90, by missing your gynecological appointment. THAT is dedication.
Any fiction turned away by the gatekeepers of publishing must be lacking, just ask the first eleven houses that rejected that trash novel Harry Potter. And, don’t get me started on “genre” fiction.
Genre fiction! GAH!
There is no market whatsoever for Romance and its sub-genres. Oh, sure, the “little people” buy that crap, but no one really wants it. REAL fiction needs abstract symbolism and metaphor for the human condition. Why would you want to read a book in order to be “entertained”?
It defies logic. Okay, it’s time for my mani, and I will suffer many things for my art. Anything but rough nails. Kiss. Kiss. We should do coffee sometime.