"The Recliner" was a short story I wrote when I was in college. I thought it was good. I was proud of it. All my insecurities about writing stem from that story. It was a love story. It was philosophy. It was clever.
It was about the attachments that we form with inanimate objects. A man's attachment with his reclining chair eventually led to the downfall of his relationship. It was absurd, it was unrealistic, but there was something about it that was real.
I got an A on the story.
It was well written.
Was it interesting? I don't know. I don't have it anymore so I can't go back and check. Was the structure readable? Probably not. I wrote it a long time ago and I had no clue about form. Was it as clever as I thought at the time? Of course not, but I didn't know any better. Was it original? Definitely.
After I got the grade back I wanted to discuss it with my professor and pick his brain to see if there was room for improvement. When I asked, "So what is your honest opinion of the story?" I got a one sentence answer.
"Well...It's got a great title."
A great title.
Fuck.
I was expecting more than that. I was expecting my professor to bow down to my greatness. I was expecting him to tell me how fucking great it was, and how he never had to read another short story again, because nothing could ever be better than "The Recliner". Instead, I heard, "It's got a great title".
Disappointment.
Honestly. It was probably one of the most profound moments of my life. I needed, and need, a lot of work. Writing is not easy. Especially when you take a ten year hiatus. Writing can be fun, but it's also a lot of work; a lot of dedication. But here I am. My prose has improved exponentially in the elapsed time.
It's still pretty fucking far from perfect. However, it's better.
The thing about writing is that I always have to be thinking about writing. I have to think about what's interesting, and what is not interesting. I have to think about style. Think about what makes a bunch of words on a page appealing to the eyes. Think about what's appealing to my own eyes. Think.
This brings me to my real point. I've learned more about writing after reading three chapters of "The Elements of Style", than I learned in four years of university. I'm sad that this was not part of my curriculum. It should have been. It should be part of every freshman writing class. It's truly sad that it is not.
Anyways. This was a bit of a personal ramble. I'll have more tomorrow or the next day about some other shit.
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Writing is such hard work, harder than playing guitar, IMHO. I had a similar experience with a story I wrote in a writing class once, too. I got an okay grade, but when I asked the prof about it, I got a shrug, and a response like, well, it didn't really do anything for me. ouch.
ReplyDeleteBut that's the truth for you. I'll have to dig out my Elements of Style now. Obviously, I've been avoiding it for a while.
I like your style, always have. Keep on plugging away.
You can be a brilliant writer, with great structure, brilliant ideas, and entertaining, but it will be some stupid Mormon bitch who gets her horribly written novel published. She is the one who will sell millions of copies and have movies made about her lame ass teen vampire bullshit.
ReplyDeleteGod I hate Stephanie Myers.
Well, I haven't read any of the Twilight novels, or seen the movies, but nobody said the general public has good taste. Besides, children and teens like bad novels. I don't think the Judy Bloom series will go down in history as Kafka-esque either. I wouldn't let stuff like that bother you. If I could make a few million writing some shitty novel about vampires who may or may not get laid I might have to take that opportunity.
ReplyDelete-Kate
ReplyDeleteYou're right, writing is harder than music. I've always had a good ear, but shit eyes. It's just much easier for me to understand music. Maybe it has something to do with my mathematical abilities always being far ahead of my communication abilities.