Posted by: Schuyler R. Thorpe | February 24, 2014

Read My Lips: I Am *Not* Converting!

The_New_Borg_by_WICKED_ZOEYGIRLFor all intent and purpose, I thought that being a writer meant that you had the freedom to do whatever the hell you wanted with your writing.

So why is it that I still find people on other “other side” of the spectrum still trying to convert or mold me into whatever literary functionary they deem fit to use? Why can’t they see that what I do with my writing has a purpose?

I know that most people are geared and conditioned to not accept anything less than the status quo, but why take it out on those of us who see things differently?

My writing isn’t perfect. Even after the numerous edits and the professional edits, it never will be. It will never measure up to the mainstream standard of perfection without some ass backwards knuckle dragger getting a hold of it, taking it apart at the sub atomic level and really pointing out how lame ass this is and how this doesn’t grab the reader and how everything else in between is subsequently boring.

Tonight, I got a taste of why I hate the mainstream with a passion. Instead of impressions and understanding from this nameless someone, I got back the usual, “If you’re not going to take writing seriously, then I’m done.”

This after the first two chapters.

(Holy shit, I’m glad she never got to the part where my two main characters were having sex for the first time! Would she also say that it was faked or forced like everything else in between–including how awful the dialogue was?)

No matter how hard I try to avoid the mainstream, sooner or later, their attack dogs on the internet find me. I really wish to God that they would leave me the fuck alone to my own devices. I know for fact that nothing I write is going to appeal to the masses. At this point, I’ll be lucky if I sell even ten books.

Because what I don’t understand is how people can be so critical of people’s hard earned work that they can’t see what’s being done on the surface?

As I told this person, what I write doesn’t hook people. It just doesn’t. What its underlying function is to tell a simple story in the only way that I can. It doesn’t mean go all postal on me by insinuating that I’m just a useless writer with no serious aspirations to be published.

That I’m just wasting my life away writing books that no one is going to read. In other words, “Why are you writing? Shouldn’t you be quitting?”

It’s the same dog-eat-dog world mentality that I’ve had to deal with all my fucking life because people saw me as an easy mark. Somebody that they can push around and mold, or convert to their standards.

But I pushed back. Hard.

I don’t give up on something that I feel a particular affinity for. Writing is in my blood. I am not going to stop writing my way because someone says that my books are absolutely boring and should be burned. But the question is, why did you sit there and offer up your time and services if you knew what you’d be getting yourself into?

It’s not like what I’m doing is a company secret. These blog entries of mine should be proof of that. If something annoys the fuck out of me, I’m going to be posting my innermost thoughts on the subject at hand and let the whole world know how I’m feeling.

And right now, that feeling is persecution. By an industry that doesn’t value uniqueness, originality, or raw talent.

I feel persecuted by the establishment at large. I can’t function using my own sense of self-worth or self-identity.

I have to be like everyone else. I have to be the next Isaac Asimov, the next Greg Bear, or the next whoever is a legend in the damned writing community.

But I can never, ever be myself.

So I look at my books tonight, and I saw a lot of potential. Not for exploitation, but for personal exploration. Something that the industry doesn’t even bother to acknowledge.

I don’t write for the masses. I don’t write for the accolades of being famous. I just write. I’m a free agent!

I don’t have any rules to live by when I write. When I can write novels like The Life of Pi and Darkness Falls and so many others, I’m not trying to impress people with my tomes. I’m trying to (desperately) impress upon them the ideals of what it means to be free of the shackles and restraints of the mainstream.

Where you can be free to write whatever you want. Does it really matter if it’s done correctly, or if it’s politically correct?

Too many times I see people assigning numerous values on people’s writing. If it doesn’t fly with their impossible standards, it should be torched out of existence. Never to be heard from again.

Never mind the fact that there might be a reason why it’s there in the first place. To these parties, such underlying logic doesn’t really matter.

“If it doesn’t fit, you must acquit.” -Remember that famous line from the OJ Simpson trial?

That’s how I feel right now. I’m being judged based on what I’ve done. And right now, it’s all negative. Nothing is ever positive. People just don’t see the symmetry or the beauty of the words beneath the pages. They just look for patterns that have been pre-programmed into their market-driven psyches.

That’s all they want. They want shit that’s market approved. And I have no intention of ever publishing traditionally.

So why try to force me in that direction?


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