BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

…I’m an asshole.

Now, to be perfectly honest, I really don’t think that I’m an asshole. I mean, like most folks, I have one, but I don’t think that I am one. Of course, as a general rule the majority of assholes don’t actually think that they are assholes. Given that I have been told in no uncertain terms that I am a waste sphincter of the highest order I may just be deluding myself in the belief that I am not.

To that end, I thought I’d take a minute to explain exactly why it is that I’m an asshole, just in case I actually am.

Not a week goes by that I don’t receive an email from some fresh-faced, idealistic, energetic individual with dreams of becoming an author. Problem is, said fresh-faced, idealistic, energetic individual is contacting me and asking me not only for advice, but for me to read their unplaced manuscript.

Advice I will give. Usually it involves telling the person to run the other direction and become a particle physicist, attorney, or something else that garners a decent paycheck. This whole authoring gig isn’t what it’s cracked up to be in the movies and TV, so unless you simply can’t help yourself but the write, don’t.

That’s not usually what they want to hear, but it goes over okay. Sort of.

Where I suddenly become an asshole is when I tell them I cannot read their unpublished manuscript for them.

9.99 times out of 10, the fresh-faced, idealistic, energetic individual turns into a tantrum throwing three-year-old, letting me know that I am a big doody head, and yes, an asshole for not reading their work. Why? Because I should help them. All they want is my honest – and they do mean honest – critique of their work so that they can become a better writer and reap all of the wonders of success that I have been privileged to enjoy as an author.

Well, the first thing I do is laugh at that last part. Then, I say no again. Here’s why…

No they don’t. The critique that is. They really and truly do NOT want real input from anyone. If they did they would be members of a writing critique group and they would already be getting that input. You see, what they REALLY want is for me to say: Holy Crap! I am a mere poser in relation to you. You put Hemingway to shame. You put all other writers before you to shame. There will never be another writer as great as you!

Now, before you say, “But Murv, aren’t you exaggerating?”… And I can see why you would say that, because I often do (supposedly), let me just say, “No. I am not exaggerating.”

You see, I used to say yes. Any other authors out there reading this are now shaking their heads and saying, “You big dumbass.” Well, I’ll accept that moniker with no objections. Why? Because I WAS a dumbass to be doing such a thing.

Never – and I mean never – did I read something for someone who really and truly wanted an honest critique. In fact, the majority of the time I would receive an email, with a file attached, and a note saying something ridiculous like: “Mister Sellars – (two paragraphs of blowing smoke up my ass)… So, please read this and give me your honest opinion. But, I’m sure you will just want to forward it on to your editor and recommend me for publication because it really is destined to be the next New York Times Bestseller.”

I’m not kidding.

But, I would read anyway, and then send my thoughts. Things like:

“You have a good idea here and I like your imagery, but I’d suggest doing a bit of research on police procedure so that you can tighten things up make the situation more believable.”

Or…

“Nice descriptions, but the prose is a little too expository. Maybe try using dialogue between the characters to get the information across instead of having them stand there staring at each other and thinking everything without ever saying a word.”

Those pieces of advice were categorically, undeniably NOT what they wanted to hear. And, they would tell me as much, often liberally peppered with expletives and all sorts of assessments of my intelligence and writing ability that were diametrically opposed to the smoke blowing they had done in their original note when contacting me.

So here’s what I decided.  Why not stop wasting my time and just spend time with my family, or even read something that I actually WANT to read. I mean, if I am going to be an asshole either way, I should at least get to be an asshole doing what I want to do, right?

And there you have it. That’s why I’m an asshole.

Cue Dennis Leary. I’ll be happy to sing along.

More to come…

Murv

In keeping with some sort of bizarre tradition, apparently I should write a “last blog post of the year” sort of thing. (I’ll get to the beer in a minute)

I was completely unaware that this was something bloggers are supposed to do. Or, maybe it is something that only Authors who are bloggers are supposed to do. Maybe it has something to do with my last name starting with S. I really have no effing idea, to be honest.

Best Of Both Worlds (NO CYRUS REF ALLOWED)

In any case, I didn’t know I was supposed to do this…

And so, here I am… Sitting on the raggedy edge of 2010, with less than one-third of the day left… The day that will put a bullet in the brain of Two-Thousand-One-Zero. Yes… New Year’s Eve, just in case you missed a page on your calendar.

I have a Schlafly Coffee Stout in hand… For those of you not from around here, it is a wonderful Oatmeal Stout from a local Micro… Well, MINI… Brewery that also contains Kaldi’s coffee – another Saint Louis tradition. If you can get your hands on this stuff and you are a beer drinker who enjoys both coffee and stout, you will love it. Guaranteed.

But back to this 2010 thing…

Since I have no clue what I am supposed to say, and since it is New Year’s Eve, I’ll just go all Robbie Burns and get a bit Auld Lang Syne for a bit…

Long, long ago, I wanted to do a lot of things, just like any other kid. But what I wanted to do most of all was make sh*t up, write it down, and have people read it for enjoyment. If possible, I wanted to do that for a paycheck. But I wanted to start in a different spot before I got to that…

My plan for my life was to be a journalist. In particular, a war correspondent. Why? Because there is always war, and war is news. I even went to college with that aspiration, majoring in Journalism AND Photo Journalism. My plan didn’t stop there. I intended to win not one, but two Pulitzers. Once I had accomplished that, I would come home, meet the woman of my dreams, court her, marry her, and then settle down into a house with a white picket fence, have 2.3 children (how the .3 was going to work out, I wasn’t sure) and then write NYT Bestselling novels for a living.

That was when I was 18…

Evil Kat, ice skating at Steinberg, January 2009

Now, with 49 about to touch down in less than two months, which then puts me on a gear down, VFR approach to 50, having fully cleared the outer markers, things are different.

I didn’t become a journalist. Though it was my major I became a Computer/Electronics Tech. But I kept writing. Before I could become widely published and win even one of those coveted Pulitzers, I met the redhead. She was beyond the woman of my dreams. She was everything. So I married her as soon as I could get her to say yes. And, I continued to write. Eventually, novels were published.

And here we are at the end of 2010. A less than good year economywise.

But here’s my thing – I’m married to the most amazing woman on the planet. I have the greatest kid known to man – not 2, not .3, but a solid 1. I may not have a Pulitzer and I may not have hit the NYT – yet – but I write novels for a living. I have more than 10 under my belt now, with two due in 2011. In the past year alone I have hurled more than 500,000 words at paper  – real & virtual – and that’s just Novel, Novella, and Blogs. Not counting Tweets, updates, and micro-blogs…

I’m doing what I love, I have a roof over my head, an amazing wife, great kid, and food on the table… 2010, for all its trials and tribulations, including the loss of good and old friends, hasn’t been the bitch that some others have been.

Besides… Here I sit, writing a “Last Note Of 2010” to you, with a Schlafly Coffee Stout in hand, and 11 more in the icebox. I dare 2011 to top that…

Have a safe and happy New Year everyone…

More to come…

Murv