Skip to main content

Like a Many Layered Cake of Frustration

There are many stages of The Writer. As far as I can tell, each level you get to seems more populated than the one before. It's like some perverse inverted pyramid of frustrated and aspiring scribblers. Here are the ones I can identify:

1) Denier
This person reads like it's going out of style. Reads tons and tons and then maybe an ounce more. Has many opinions on books, writers, writing, etc. Mildly entertains the notion that he might, just might -- if push came to shove came to forcible coercion -- have a book in him. Refuses to entertain this possibility one iota further.

2) Acolyte
Firmly believe that they can write. That maybe even writing is in the stars, tea leaves, or the droppings of a particularly prescient goat. Read tons. But now reads tons ABOUT writing, and ON writing (Orson Scott Card's "Science Fiction and Fantasy Writing" and Stephen King's "On Writing" are pretty darned good). Maybe subscribes to a writerseditors/publishers/agents blog. Maybe subscribes to 20 of them.
Starts joining various writer's forums.
Words coming, not so much. Perhaps as quick molasses upstream during a snowstorm. Probably slower.

3) Blazingly Wild Amateur (my current level)
Thinks he's mastered a few tools. Has maybe completed a novel or two. Most definitely has finished a few short stories. Blissfully unaware of the rejection that awaits him. Keeps all his darlings unsubmitted. The looming wall of rejection is pretty scary. He's gone from "wanna write" to "time to see for whom the bell tolls". This process, as far as I've heard, is long and arduous. Lots of submitting, lots of rejection, but most importantly of all, writing and improving, writing and improving.

Other levels shall be detailed in further posts. And purely from an observer standpoint.

Comments

Gareth said…
I'm firmly ensconced between level 2 and 3. I have written. But I've skipped a good chunk of the 'reading about writing', need to read more stuff in general, and the words are definately flowing like molasses. Heh.

Popular posts from this blog

Insults From A Senile Victorian Gentleman

You SIR, have the hygeine of an overly ripe avocado and the speaking habits of a vaguely deranged chess set. I find your manner to be unctuous and possibly libelous, and whatever standard you set for orthodontal care, it's not one I care for. Your choice in news programs is semi-literate at best and I do believe your favourite news anchor writes erotic literature for university mascots. While I'm not one to point out so obvious a failing, there has been rumour that the brunches you host every other Sunday are made with too much lard and cilantro. If you get my meaning. There is something to be said about your choice of motor-car fuel, but it is not urbane and if I were to repeat it, mothers would cover their children's ears and perhaps not a few longshoremen within earshot would blush. How you maintain that rather obscene crease in your trousers and your socks is beyond me, perhaps its also during this time that you cultivate a skin regime that I'm sure requires the dea

Europe : Italy Venice Cram Tour - March 23

 The bullet train's only hiccup, thankfully was the text to speech announcer and we made it into Venice. A city hollowed out by AirBnBs and skyrocketing costs of living. Before the pandemic it got approximately the population of Canada in tourists every year. A romantic city, a city that seems only fit for secret agents or heiresses taking a break from the yacht. Thanks for not killing us, pal! It seems that going from Rome to Florence to Venice we've been gradually getting into smaller and more cramped streets with every jump. Rome was tight and packed but at least cars seemed to get up to a fast enough speed to do some real damage to a family of four. Florence, or at least historical Florence where we went had mostly pedestrian ways that grudgingly allowed cars, and most often just seemed to be scooters. Venice is entirely people. People and boats but a boat isn't going to run you over unless you are doing your walking tours, really, almost impressively wrong. One gets th

Europe : London Maritime Museum - March 15th

I've never, well I suppose most people don't either, thought of myself as a flat. Despite the fact I rarely go anywhere. Despite the fact that, given my shut in lifestyle I have about as much street smarts as, well, a middle aged programmer who rarely goes out.  But I am a flat, entirely. First step is admitting I have a problem.  On our way to the bus station, and at NO time did I sense any of this, or even have a sense of anyone being very close to me, both the zippers in my bag were opened, and my rather nice down jacket was nicked. Shameful, I know. But, I suppose, bravo on the thiefs, I didn't feel a thing. And well, I suppose we are going to Italy, so, less to pack? It was a certain jet of anger, I suppose, and befuddlement. But I also was so very thankful I had not lost my wallet and/or phone, both which would require hours and hours of hassle and phone calls to set me to rights.  It might be my stoic optimism is a source of my lack of street smarts. But I'm also