Well, I thought I would at least try out the new Opera, though I have little to say, and really I wanted to get into the habit of only writing posts when I have prepared some sort of substantial message. This will have to be an exception. No doubt there will be others.
I find myself utterly sick of the world at the moment, and, amongst other things, sick of the writing scene on whose fringes I have lurked now for some years. This sickness has stirred up my memory and prompted me to recall an interview with one Felipe Alfau, that I first read via a link on the message board of Mark Samuels. I hope that Mark will not mind if I mention publicly that he is a friend of mine, and that I rather admire the fact that he has far less of an Internet presence than myself, and seems far less concerned about promoting his writing than I am, and yet has garnered a greater reputation. I wish this were always the case, but it seems only to be the case in small, isolated and relative ways such as this. Most of the time, it is the pushiest who gain the greatest praise. I am reminded of the opening of Ligotti's novella, 'My Work is Not Yet Done':
I had always been afraid. However, as self-serving as this may sound, I never believed this to be a cause for shame or regret, even though intolerable suffering may ensue from such a trait. It seemed to me that the finest people, as people go, cannot help but betray a fair portion of fear and insecurity, even full-blown panic. On the other hand, someone must have a considerable dose of the swine in their make-up to get through even a single day unafflicted by trepidations of one sort or another, not to mention those who go out of their way to court dangerous encounters, fearlessly calling attention to themselves, figuratively waving their arms and declaring to everyone within range, "Hey, look at me. I'm up here. See what I can do. I'm the one you have to knock down. I'm the one."
Of course, there is a measure of beast's blood in anyone who aspires to maintain a place in the world, anyone who lacks that ultimate decency to remove themselves from the herd either by violence to themselves or total capitulation to their dread. It's simply a matter of degree.
And this reminds me in turn of a story told to me by another friend. He was at some sort of official dinner – the kind where they bring around wine and things to nibble on trays. I don't know the circumstances, but the Japanese emperor was to make an appearance at this dinner. When the announcement was made of the arrival of the emperor, everyone lined up to greet him. However, not everyone could be at the front as the emperor passed by. My friend found himself amongst a crowd of respectable men in suits, pushing and shoving each other violently in order to get to the front and greet a monarch that they would probably talk about contemptuously later. My friend, sickened by it, went and sat in a chair in the corner and lit up a cigarette.
And this is all that human society will ever be, for all eternity. And I am sickened that I sometimes feel the need to elbow my way forward – as I do with this blog – to the front, to grab people's attention, just to tell them how sickening I find all this shoving to the front to gain attention. I wish I had never been born to be a part of it, because sometimes I feel unable just to look on from a chair in the corner.
Anyway, that is why I aspire to a contempt for it all of the degree shown by Felipe Alfau in this interview. Unfortunately, I usually seem to fail.
My friend, Quentin,You do yourself a disservice. While it is undoubtedly true that ‘self promotion’ has, seemingly, always been a characteristic of some (many?) of those who have become ‘famous’ -those who have “elbowed their way to the top”- I would argue that it is not a prerequisite to becoming ‘famous’, per se, and then maintaining the position, prolonging the ‘fame’, at the ‘top of the pole’, so to say. I infer that you are really talking about the ‘literary world’, although your premise is widely cast, so I will set aside any general references to ‘success’ in other fields and try to focus on what, I perceive, is the main theme of your essay. I learned in my early days, as part of a group of poets and writers trying to get our anthology published, that it is a very difficult to get publishers interested. One can resort to ‘vanity’ publishing of course -and we did- but there is, it appears, not enough ‘interest’ not enough ‘willingness’ on the part of the major publishing outlets to ‘take a risk’ with writers in general. Now, I must avoid a ‘paradox’ in my remarks, for we all know that some new authors are published, that some new authors do get a break, now and then. A contemporary example of this is of course A.J. Rowling who was a ‘struggling’ writer -we are told she wrote her first “HarryPotter” draft story over time, while sitting in a cafe. Maybe her ‘secret’ was that she was aiming her story at children, initially, and that this target was her niche market. Perhaps she just wanted to write something that needed to come out from within her.In this sense you may also be writing from a similar ‘focus’ (if I am correct about AJR) -a need, a drive, to write about, or contribute to, your own literary ‘preferences’. But alongside this (and I am making assumptions -treading on thin ground, perhaps) you might be writing in a market that is, perhaps, much wider, in its ‘appeal factor’ than you may have reckoned. I am suggesting that the genre in which you write (excellently as far as I can see -but, alas, I am not a publisher)is not so much a niche market, as might have appeared to be so, but a highly competitive area, as regards already ‘established’ authors. Breaking into this market is, as you know better than I do, rather more difficult than breaking into the “Mills & Boon” arena, where quantity and a facile ability, to follow a repetitive theme, are the only requirements.You mention your friend, Mark Samuels. Although you and I have been writing to each other for some time now and have actually met each other, (London – June 2005)I do not know enough about your ‘history’ or ‘background’, including your friend, Mark, to make any meaningful comment, other than to say that you should continue to be yourself and to persist in what you want -what you need- to do. I am of the view that many others here, on the internet, in the Opera Community and elsewhere, have read your work, shared your thoughts, enjoyed your intellect, revelled in the ‘cutting’ and ‘concise’ way in which you express your self. Although you write at great length and in depth about your literary output -sometimes sharing portions, sometimes giving us the whole- you still manage to use your words efficiently. You pare your expressions, your sentences. Your narrative is strong. Your humour dry, witty, sarcastic, ironic. You provide links and references to facts that most readers would probably accept on face value -but the integrity of your style and the veracity of your information says much about you. You should succeed, and if you believe in yourself enough -as I hope you do and as I have often said you should- then you will prevail. You must not give up, despite all the signs you encounter that may say to you “No Through Road”Now,let me turn to the episode involving your friend and the Japanese Emperor. Some readers may be unaware that you spent some years in Japan and that you are fluent in Japanese, and that you know of the History of the Japanese Emperor, in particular -and how the Monarch is ‘revered’,and has been over many centuries- and the ‘traditions’ of Japanese society in general. It should come as no surprise that those Japanese present on the occasion you mention behaved in the way they did. Centuries of ‘brain washing’, born out of a feudal society and a feudal mind-set -of which, the latter has not entirely disappeared- and in a national climate where ‘individual’ actions and thoughts are not encouraged (but ‘teamwork is, to the extent that a seeming ‘hive-mentality’ has evolved over time) result in the behaviour that your friend witnessed.You should not be too despondent about what your friend recounted. I have always said that Human Nature is one of the few ‘constants’ (Death & Taxes being the other two) and similar things have been happening for millenia -Machiavelli’s “The Prince” is a ‘bible’ to this day for some Corporate Executives, and that treatise was written in the 14th century.But now I arrive at the point where I must convince you of your own potential and that is very difficult for me to do, without your help. I will leave you -as I have left you before, in our other discussions- with my belief that you are a talented writer -see my earlier mention of your personal abilities- and that you must do whatever you can to raise your confidence and your own personal esteem. I will be here batting for you, believing in you. Aux Arms!Your good friend,lokutus_prime.
Hello Quentin,I have read what you have written and the response from our friend Lokutus. As you know, I am an aspiring writer and I have only been recognized in very small circles. Famous among dozens, so to speak, so I can’t share your anguish from personal experience.It is a writer’s nature to want to be read. After all, isn’t that why we write? We have something to say. There is something inside that screams to be released. I believe that writing is the best way to speak without being interrupted and I do love to be in the spotlight. 🙂 I like what you write. When you make additions to this journal, I always read them. I think I am remiss in responding, however.K4StillReadingQuentin
Hello. I’ve been occupied with a number of things, so haven’t had time to write here for a while. Also, I’ve been waiting for the new Opera to settle a little, and it seems to have done so now. Thank you, Dr Prime, for your long response to my post. To be honest, I’m not sure exactly what to say by way of reply. Actually, I’ve just been browsing idly through the Internet, and came upon a site claiming to give advice to men on how to ‘make it’ with the women of their choice. I really can’t express how distasteful I find this sort of thing, and I suppose my reasons for this are very similar to, if not the same as, my reasons for finding the writing scene distasteful. I can’t remember the exact words, but there was this bit about dealing with shyness that went something like: “Hello! [I assume this is meant in that very irritating ‘Hello! Anyone at home?’ manner used by Phoebe on Friends] If you want to use shyness as an excuse why don’t you just lie down in your bedroom, give up and spend the rest of your life alone?”There followed the usual emetic advice about “growing up” and being a “real man”. I’m not sure I even have the strength to detail why I find this so loathsome. Perhaps it’s because the ultimate message is that it’s not enough to be yourself. You have to follow ‘The Rules’, and then you may be succesful, beat your competition and win your prize. The very prevalence of this attitude, in one form or another, makes me see lying down on my bed, giving up and being alone for the rest of my life as the preferable course of action. And I feel that the writing scene is basically the same. Not only is sex competitive, but competition is sexual. Advertising one’s superior genes. Guaranteeing genetic immortality for oneself and the lucky applicant who passes all the tests. If ever anyone looked upon me as an applicant, I suppose I would have to back away, shake my head sadly, and say, “I’m not the man you think I am.”Now, precisely what the implications of this are for my writing, I’m not entirely sure. Sometimes I feel morally obliged to give up writing. I see it as a kind of vice. If it is, ultimately, ego and the needs of ego that are destroying the planet, then I can’t help feeling that writing is an act of the ego. I suppose it’s something like Original Sin. Just existing means that you are using up the world’s resources. And for what? To sustain Me Me Me. It’s pure self-indulgence. I’m just not sure what else to do now that I actually do exist. Certainly there is absolutely no question of reproduction. That seems to be the closest thing to moral victory that I can claim. I will not affirm all of this by bringing more miserable egos into the world. Now, given such a position, whether the kind of misanthropic drivel that I am bound to write will be palatable to a wide audience is uncertain to say the least. Not that audiences don’t enjoy being abused. During the days of punk this was proven, by the fact that many punk bands rode on the back of the succes they achieved by spitting on their audience, literally or metaphorically. However, my problem is, I am not taking the kind of sadistic stance that would appeal to the masses of masochists in this world. I think that what I am offering, in this sense at least, is more critique than ritual. It is not the kind of arrogant abuse purveyed by punk. It is, rather, precisely a critique of the sado-masochistic relationship of idol and audience – of those who spit and those who wish to be spat upon. Of course, I use punk as a convenient analogy. It’s a relationship that takes many forms and is seemingly ubiquitous in human society. Those who take and give nothing in return are those most likely to be worshipped. Well, I think I have written enough, or too much, here, though I don’t know how appropriate it is as a response to your own encouraging remarks. Hello KayFour.Thank you for reading, and thank you for responding. I’m afraid that if there is any suggestion on your part of being remiss, then I am far more remiss in still not having given you a detailed response to the story you sent. I do intend to. Yes, I do write to be read. I just wonder if I should, for broadly those reasons given above. Actually, there will probably be a bit more on the subject in the interview I mention somewhere around here.