There’s a restaurant in downtown Nanaimo where you can pick up the world’s best grilled cheese sandwich. They call it “the classic,” and it lives up to its name. Top that off with a pretty decent cup of black coffee, and you have yourself a perfect meal anytime of the day that you so please.
Recently, I’ve seen an increased amount of quotes from writers telling people to do nothing but follow their dreams, enjoy kisses, pet puppies and follow their dreams again twice as hard. What has become of the days when writers were nothing but burned out shells of human-beings wracked with self-loathing and personality problems? Have we ruined strong literary types and their problems just like we’ve ruined everything else cool? Most of these writers can give their majestically written encouragement from a place at the top of The New York Times Bestseller list, they’re not exactly struggling.
Neil Gaiman is not going to tell me how to feel good about myself when I know he scrawled down something my mom could have told me over the phone, and called it fucking brilliant support to aspiring writers.
I’m not saying you shouldn’t “follow your dreams” or whatever, but for fuck sake, if your dream is to be a writer then nobody should be telling you to do it while slowly prodding you along with gentle pushes and honey’d words. If someone has to do that to make you sit down at your computer, typewriter, pad of paper, or fucking cocktail napkin, then you are in the wrong game good sir or madame.
Encouragement isn’t bad. But most people that read this stuff, aren’t going to be good writers, they’re just going to think they’re entitled to be good writers because they’ve “followed their hearts” or whatever other Bonnie Tyler lyrics they saw sprawled across tumblr that day. All that that does, is give us shitty, self-entitled writers, who heap forward fan-fiction disguised as writing, novels about nothing interesting, and handfuls of nails to pound into the coffins of the future of the whole fucking thing.
You know what’s important to writing? Work.
That’s the only thing that will save you. And knowing that that’s the only thing that will save you, is probably what drives most authors into gallon jugs of vodka, self-hatred, and mountains of cheap cigarettes; the knowledge that no matter how optimistic you are, or how much you believe in yourself, you’re still fucked if you don’t get the fuck to work.
Want some good writing advice?
Too bad. Get back to work. Nobody can help you but yourself.