Flipper Avoids the Tuna Can
by Laura Preble
When I was in about the fourth grade, I used to sneak away to my bedroom to write. I would get away any chance I could to jot down on paper my stories, my ideas, the rich stream of goodness that sprang from my little baby creative brain. It was pure joy.
Now, I know I love to put words together, but somewhere along the way, my dolphin-like love of writing got tangled in the big spiky sea net of publishing. It struggled to breathe, as did I, but that net kept pulling, constricting, teasing, promising freedom from the sea, which really meant a lack of oxygen and a ride in a tuna can. For those playing Metaphoropoly at home, the dolphin is me and my creative spirit; the sea is the crashing waves of creative thought; the net is worldly success. The tuna can is just funny because “tuna can” just sounds funny.
But wait. Maybe the tuna can means more than I think it does. Publishing was a great experience…the highlight of my life in many ways. But once I achieved that goal, that became the sole measure of success, and a clock started ticking. Ride that success! Translate that into a better publishing contract! Write more commercial stuff! Listen to agents and other people who all have totally different ideas about what you write than you do! YOU ONLY HAVE SO MUCH TIME BEFORE YOUR SUCCESS EXPIRES! The tuna can.
So on this, the day of John Lennon's birth and the day after my own b-day, I took a nap and when I woke up, I decided that if I write, I will write what I want, when I want, and I will stop thinking about publishing it. I will stop thinking about money, which is truly the root of all evil, but handy to have when you need to eat. And I will try to become the dolphin again, swimming freely in that beautiful, wild sea, flying a middle flipper at any attractive nets that sparkle from the horizon.
|
3
favs |
1495 views
9 comments |
349 words
All rights reserved. |
Author's Note
Musings on writing from my blog, Fresh Happiness. I'm struggling with the fact that my creatological clock is ticking.
You know, if you change that last paragraph up a bit (well, completely--I mean, who are we kidding!) I know a guy who knows a guy who might end up paying you .01/wrd for this piece, though honestly you'd probably have to rewrite the entire thing, take out all the parts about you and turn it into a piece on social networking, say, and who knows where THAT might lead! Perhaps .02/wrd!
Imagine!
Matt...you are a hoot. I have another piece of ANHEDONIA ready to go too...and I'm not changin' a freakin' word of this piece, not no way, not no how.
You better not change one freakin' word because this is GREAT. You just put many of my thoughts lately into words. Much thanks, my flippered friend. *
Thanks, Julie. Glad to know somebody else out there feels like I do!
You have a fine, weird persepective and people don't get that by listening to other people's suggestions. It's a fine little jab, as well, at a literary world that mirrors the other worlds, requiring the kissing of a bishop's ring and conformity to canons, so to speak, before you can partake of a paycheck.
Fine work.
This is so fantastic. I must go to your blog. By the way, LOVE the title of it.
Go girl! I made the mistake today of participating in a twitter 'conversation' about the relationship between writing and "building a platform". I merely suggested that one's focus should be on the writing first, before trying to sell it, and a bunch of people shouted me down about the vital importance of building your audience, etc. They were rabid about it, like religious fanatics. Whatever happened to the idea of sitting in a room moving a pen across a piece of paper out of a genuine need and desire, apart from social networking and marketing?
Sorry to go on, I guess you touched a nerve. Keep swimming free.
Hey Matt,
I do get the whole "platform" thing, but honestly,the world of publishing is being driven by the two-sentence hook rather than the writing of an artful story. I'm revolting! In more ways than one!
Sure an' yer an Irish drinking buddy, all right! You have spirit.
Poor Tuna Can, surrounded by a school of publishing sharks. All the time, you were meant to be a dolphin. Keep swimming against the current . . .