You Do What?

There’s this great line Faye Dunaway has in Bonnie and Clyde: “We rob banks.”  (If you’ve never seen the movie, do.  In another incarnation, I studied and wrote articles about film and I still think it must be glorious to be paid for watching and then reviewing movies.   I never made it to the level of a reviewer–A.O. Scott, I want your job–but I had fun.  Even if the movie’s a clunker, you get to write something snarky–and still be paid . . .  Remember, however, every reviewer is getting paid for making private taste public–but that’s a whole different entry.)

Where was I?  Oh yes, robbing banks . . . Every now and again, people ask what I do.  (NB: I never volunteer.  Don’t ask me why.  I figure if anyone’s interested, they’ll ask.)  Anyway, this morning, a Starbucks guy asked what I did.  Now I know I mentioned  in an earlier blog entry that it took a very long time for me to abandon the “well, I’m a doctor but now I write . . . but I’m really a doctor) line.  These days, I’m happy to say I’m a writer, but I noticed something fascinating this morning: when asked, I was actually kind of “well, I’m a writer and I’ve published and I have a couple books coming out . . .”  and then, as we chatted about books (the guy doesn’t read much–HORREURS!–but he was full of questions about how you get people–i.e., editors–to notice you), I found that I was feeling kind of, like, oh, no big deal.

Now, for the record: hello, yes, it is a big deal.  This is a competitive industry; getting someone’s attention isn’t like sitting in class, on the edge of your seat, and waving your hand around: Oh, pick me, pick me, oh, oh, oh.  It’s been more than ten years since my first publication (a short story–a prize winner, yeah, and a big deal–but it took me a couple years and many, many thousands of words to get to the point where it was worthy of publication); I’ve written tons since; I have MANY rejections; and I intend to continue–uh, writing, that is. (Rejection’s just part of the process.  Someone asked me the other day how I handled getting rejections.  I said something like it never gets easy, but you try to make like a soft wall: you’re dented, but you spring back and then, if a lot of people are saying the same thing, you try to figure out what it is that they’re seeing that you’re not.)

Here’s the deal: I think that if you get me started?  I’ll talk about books and writing all bloody day.  There is nothing that gets me so excited as talking about writing and the process of writing and books.  I’m always shocked/a little deflated/bummed when people admit that they don’t read much.  For me, reading is the great equalizer; everyone has read SOMETHING in his or her life.  Reading and/or listening to stories is one of life’s great pleasures.  I still remember reading and re-reading  board books to my children; THEY still remember some of those books.  I guess I look at books–and the writing of them–as a great and grand tradition: something tangible I can hold in my hand and know that, maybe, will be hanging around long after I’m gone.

People keep talking about the end of the book, the end of reading, blah, blah.  But Andrew Karre is spot on when he talks about his son’s link to and fascination with a book: life is about making meaning and creating narratives; we call those narratives your memories, your personal history.  We all do it; we all crave that kind of continual and continuous narrative, a way of slotting ourselves into the world.

I’m happy to be a part of that.  Don’t let me ever tell you otherwise.

Currently reading: Beautiful Creatures by Kami Garcia and Margaret Stohl