I’d like to begin by saying I am only blogging because I was told today that I read too much and don’t write enough. I have a book that I am allegedly working on, but I haven’t even finished the introduction, and in an effort to delay the pain of writing more, I grudgingly decided to blog instead.
My boyfriend and I have differing views on writing. I believe writing is an art, he believes writing is a job. For me, the ultimate goal of writing is to inspire, to evoke some emotions in my readers. For Tom, it’s all about the money. Write a piece of crap? No problem, as long as there’s an audience for it. Write something basic and insipid? Who cares, since most readers are basic and insipid!
For my work as a proofreader, I tend to be assigned a lot of dreck. I get romances, cozy mysteries, inspirational Christian fiction, books that read as though they were written by a sixth-grader for a school project. For my pleasure, I read authors who weave words magically into stories of people who seem real, and situations that seem new and fresh. I’m caught in the middle. I KNOW I can write crap, but I want to write the good stuff. Tommy thinks writing the crap is a means to an end, the end being money. I believe writing crap (and putting my name on it) will result in all my friends hating me for being a sell-out. I don’t know if I can live with that.
Maybe none of this is why I haven’t worked on my book. Maybe it’s just that I’m scared, it’s difficult, I’m lazy, or any other number of reasons. In any case, I’m gonna do it. If the result is really good, maybe I can be the next Ann Patchett. If the result is crap, I still may get paid.
(Also, thanks to Jane, who suggested a writing group! Now I just need to find one...)
