Warning: this is an ANGRY POST.
“You’re so lucky you had an awful, abuse-filled, poverty-stricken childhood! It’s not fair! I don’t have all that RICH MATERIAL.” said Aspiring Author To Be Unnamed.
I didn’t murder him. What a saint I am.
See, the thing is: I had the ability to write as well as I do now when I was 20. I had the knowledge, access to the tools of the craft, even a professional writing workshop! I also had this giant mountain of psychotically drastic emotional baggage to get over before I could use any of my resources.
Emotional Baggage
I literally HATED MYSELF for, oh, 30 years. This was my process for idea-to-story:
“It’d be cool to write a story about loving a robot. No, I can’t write about that, that’s stupid. I’m stupid. I’m not Asimov and what can I say about love? No one loves me and I’ve never really loved. I need to come up with a better idea. Something no one has ever done before. Or, okay okay how about a robot grad assistant with a platonic friendship? No, that’s not better, either. I… something in response to “AI”? Maureen said you can write as a reaction to other fiction. It’s like… humans fall in love with robots. They would fall in love helplessly even if the things aren’t sentient and it’s about human failings and I’ll call it “The Jalopy” and parallel the plot with a person who is devoted to a crappy old car. This idea is okay I guess but they’ll think I’m stupid when they read it. Because I’m stupid. I don’t know enough about cars. This isn’t an interesting emotional arc. I’ve never been a grad student. Or a professor. How much does a 1975 Ford LTD cost new? How do I fit in the gas mileage and cylinder size into dialog? I’m an idiot. No one cares about these details but if I don’t put them in they’ll know I”m an idiot who doesn’t know anything. I need to write this like it wasn’t written by a stupid awful person. How? How do I escape my stupid awful self? Whatever I do, I must hide the point of the story since it’s awful. Maybe the reader, who is smarter than me, will invent a better point.”
It’s like trying to write with your hands tied.
These days, I’m finally past my self-loathing enough to deal with the emotional sting of rejection and the quagmire of self doubt so that I can almost sorta WRITE…
With my hands tied. Neck-deep in quicksand.
Sorta. I haven’t gotten rid of the mountain of baggage, I’ve just learned to work around it. And I’ve grown marginally tougher with the constant rejection. We all equate story-rejection with self-rejection. I’m just saying: now imagine you were EVEN MORE SELF-DOUBTING. Now double that. Now cry under your desk. Now you’re about where I am.
(And no, having all the “fun facts” about poverty doesn’t help, either. 100% of the time, when editors have said they didn’t believe something in one of my stories – it was autobiography. Or scientifically researched. There’s that, too. Hey, this is my rant, let me rant.)
I can’t ‘use’ my life material, I have to overcome it. I’m writing with one hand tied behind my back neck-deep in quicksand. All I want is a lifeline. Preferably in the form of a pre-approved outline and plot and character sketches. Tell me what to write. Please.
(Yeah, you probably wouldn’t like how I interpret it.)
I shouldn’t complain. (No one likes a whiner. *WHINE*) I’ve managed to sell a few stories, at least. Maybe I’m not a total failure. Or at least I don’t have to admit that I am a failure yet. Maybe… maybe I could even try to sell one of my novels? Maybe?
The wasted time, climbing the mountain of baggage, though – it sorrows and sickens me. I fear I’ve passed my prime, that I have so little time left.
OLD FACE
I’m OLD. I’m 42. I’m officially hideous and no one loves me or wants me around. I mean… eeew. Who wants a HAG like me hanging around them? No one wants to read a story by Oldy McOldface!!
(Okay – still some emotional baggage to work through.)
6 Comments
Colleen White · June 16, 2016 at 3:15 pm
Just a little note of encouragement. You and Grace are remembered with much fondness by certain people from high school… like me!!
Marie · June 23, 2016 at 2:55 pm
Aw, thank you, hon. <3 <3
Jim Stanley · June 16, 2016 at 5:21 pm
1. Not just one gold star, you deserve at least a dozen gold stars for allowing Aspiring Author to survive.
2. You’re certainly not a failure and your prime has not passed. Officially, your prime didn’t even begin until 11:11 a.m. today and will continue indefinitely. Just the pieces of yours that I’ve seen have proven that you have unlimited potential. And I’m saying that as a reader, not as a writer.
3. You’ve already surpassed Asimov’s narrow vision of robotics and AI (even though AI wasn’t called AI back then).
4. The great thing about science fiction and fantasy, at least for me, is that you actually can reject this reality and substitute your own. See below.
5. You are far from old. You are, quite possibly, the most vibrant person I know. It’s not even remotely possible that you will ever be a “hag.” And, to be honest, everyone does want you around.
Self-indulgent inclusion of a collaborative poem that, especially in section II, approaches my appreciation of science fiction.
Contradance
I.
Let’s dance.
Let’s dance
without thinking.
Let’s dance
without thinking
about the past.
Let’s dance
without thinking
about the past,
the bitter taste of ashes.
Let’s dance
without thinking
about the past.
The bitter taste of ashes
would smother our burning tango.
II.
Let’s fly.
Let’s fly
away from here.
Let’s fly
away from here
into places of crystal and wind
Let’s fly
away from here
into places of crystal and wind
beyond the exospheric breath of earthbound gods.
Let’s fly
away from here
into places of crystal and wind,
beyond the exospheric breath of earthbound gods,
where our memories and dreams can’t follow.
III.
Let’s burn
Let’s burn
the flesh off our bones
Let’s burn
the flesh off our bones
to build ourselves new faces
Let’s burn
the flesh off our bones
to build ourselves new faces
less shadowy than original skin.
Let’s burn
the flesh off our bones
to build ourselves new faces,
less shadowy than original skin,
beautifully metallic, stainless and eternal.
Shelley Chernin, Josh Gage, Geoff Landis, T.M. Gottl & J.E. Stanley
Nightballet Press, 2012
Marie · June 23, 2016 at 2:55 pm
LOVE IT.
Thanks, Jim! *mwah*
Jon · June 20, 2016 at 12:54 am
> “You’re so lucky you had an awful, abuse-filled, poverty-stricken childhood!”
… crap. That wasn’t me, was it? Um. If so, thank you for not murdering me. You would have been entirely justified.
If it’s any consolation, it’s entirely possible to have a perfectly fine, relatively easy childhood and *still* be filled with self-loathing and doubt. I’m beginning to think it’s an occupational hazard.
Marie · June 23, 2016 at 2:54 pm
Honestly, I’ve forgotten who it was. (Yay not holding on to negativity!)
okay I held on long enough to write a ranty blog post and then not post it.
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