Ah, the life of the elitist
I’m not a writer, not by a long shot, but that doesn’t mean that I shouldn’t try at all to do something that I have never attempted before. But according to Timothy Egan, “winner of numerous awards including a Pulitzer”, those of us who are not writers should leave writing for those who are.
The unlicensed pipe fitter known as Joe the Plumber is out with a book this month, just as the last seconds on his 15 minutes are slipping away. I have a question for Joe: Do you want me to fix your leaky toilet?
I didn’t think so. And I don’t want you writing books. Not when too many good novelists remain unpublished. Not when too many extraordinary histories remain unread. Not when too many riveting memoirs are kicked back at authors after 10 years of toil. Not when voices in Iran, North Korea or China struggle to get past a censor’s gate.
Oh, ha-ha, what wit. He references the fact that Joe doesn’t have a license right off in the first sentence, how droll. Of course he ignores the fact that Joe isn’t required to have a license for residential work – which is what Joe does. Facts are not important to REAL writers.
I also appreciate how he ties Joe in with Iran, North Korea and China. So how is it Joe’s fault that those places suck? I guess the fact that Joe supported the side that wasn’t willing to sit down without preconditions caused the whole censorship situation. I get it now, lead on McDuff.
Most of the writers I know work every day, in obscurity and close to poverty, trying to say one thing well and true. Day in, day out, they labor to find their voice, to learn their trade, to understand nuance and pace. And then, facing a sea of rejections, they hear about something like Barbara Bush’s dog getting a book deal.
I must wonder at this point two things, how many of these ’struggling writers’ he actually knows, and how many of them he took the time to help with their manuscripts so they could become published? It’s the standard ’struggling artist’ bullshit that we have seen before from guys like Pollack only done without a bottle of Jack.
‘Pity me, I struggle and suffer for my art! I starve because no one understands the beauty of world I have created with my words. How DARE this person come in and do something I have failed to do!’
For the others — you friends of celebrities penning cookbooks, you train wrecks just out of rehab, you politicians with an agent but no talent — stop soaking up precious advance money.
I know: publishers say they print garbage so that real literature, which seldom makes any money, can find its way into print. True, to a point. But some of them print garbage so they can buy more garbage.
There was a time when I wanted to be like Sting, the singer, belting out, “Roxanne …” I guess that’s why we have karaoke, for fantasy night. If only there was such a thing for failed plumbers, politicians or celebrities who think they can write.
I’ll translate this last part for everyone so you can understand what he is really saying:
“This is my special club and how dare you come in. I am a REAL writer, see I have trophies and awards that prove my words are VALUABLE! The rest of you plebeians are just hacks who are polluting the air with your middle class stench. I will write and tell you what you should think. You just go back to your BBQ’s and lite beer or whatever it is you DO out there, but don’t dirty the carpet on your way out.”
“Stop soaking up precious advance money”? Are you really that afraid of anyone else trying to write a book? That pretty fucking sad. And as for the ‘train wrecks out of rehab’, I bet their shit is a hell of a lot more interesting than a “lyrical and gripping novel about the harsh realities and ecological challenges of turning water into wine.” Yea, ‘gripping’ a eco-thriller at its best. Sure.
I saw a guy once at a Renaissance festival who did sword making. I’ve always been interested in making my own knives so I asked if he gave lessons. His response was similar to what I see in this article.
“No I don’t,” he said “because I don’t want anyone competing with me.”
“So,” I asked, “Did someone teach you how to make swords?”
“Yea.”
“Well, good thing he didn’t have your attitude then, isn’t it?”
Timothy Egan is jealous and paranoid is all I can figure. He’s throwing a tantrum that Joe has a book deal and because when he introduces himself at parties and says he’s a writer people still say “Oh, have you ever had anything published?” but if Joe was at the same party people would be asking for Joe’s autograph. Hell, I WORK in a bookstore and I had to look up who this guy was.
I do ceramics and animation. I would never consider telling anyone that they should go back to being whatever they are and never try and do art or animation. Art is a form of self expression, and writing is an art. My suggestion to Timothy is to grow the hell up and stop acting like a elitist school yard bully, but if he did that he wouldn’t be a writer for the Times.
**UPDATE**
As my friend Jennifer said “someone call a whambulance”
