Friday, March 24, 2006

Vanity, thy name is Writer

"Everything want to be loved..."
Celie
The Color Purple

Deny it all you want, but you know it's true, especially among the human kind. For no matter how obnoxious, self-absorbed, power hungry or arrogant, something in almost every soul longs to reach out and make a connection.

It's especially true of writers, whether they are authors, journalists, commentators or bloggers.

Blogs are especially interesting because they give everyone a chance to see their work in print. The Internet has become the Great Equalizer; the mouse is the publisher that never rejects. It's all out there for public consumption - poetry, political commentary, musings, rages, rants, anecdotes, confessions, deep thoughts, not so deep thoughts...

And lies.

"I don't care if anyone reads my blog," some writers say. But that's not true. Writers, whether they are good bad or mediocre write not just because they are driven to, but because they want to be read. Writers who say they don't care whether they are read may fool some people, but they don't fool other writers.

If bloggers didn't really care about being read, they'd just keep a personal diary, not an online one. In that way, they're little different than the author who - when a book is rejected or goes unpublished - sniffs dismissively and says it doesn't matter, even as he continues to seek another publishing venues. Sour grapes make great whine.

Writers are vain and filled with longing for human connection. They want that relationship with the reader. For writers, to be read is to be loved. For writers, to be read is the reciprocated kiss.

You want to hurt a writer? Really hurt him? Ignore him. It's like the old line: When a masochist says beat me, a true sadist says 'no.'

Telling a writer his work sucks, or his ideas are stupid may not be the preferred attention, and it's attention nonetheless and better than nothing. Leave his comment section blank or pass his book on the shelf and it's a gut shot. Suddenly he is back in the eighth grade, the wallflower at the school dance wondering why everyone else is getting all the attention when he wore his best suit.

He can deny it all he wants. But deep down, he knows better.

Do I exclude myself from this rather unflattering analysis? Of course not. If I did, I'd be lying.

So if you've read this and I hope you have, for I'm no different from any other writer looking to make a connection, I appreciate the special moment we've shared. And, as always, your comments are welcome.

8 comments:

Mia said...

Morgan,

I commend you on your blog and writing skills. I came here via Vox's blog. It's interesting that both Pretty Lady and Taylor comment here, as I've enjoyed reading their posts over at VP as well. Keep up the good work.
Mia

Morgan said...

Thanks, Mia. :-)
VP has turned out to be a great place to meet people. I have several regular visitors to my blog and a number of correspondents now whom I met there.
I'm glad you're enjoying the blog. If I'd known how much fun it would be, I would have started one much sooner.

Taylor said...

Morgan, you're my gal in the blogworld. How you manage to do it so well with all the other things you having going on is remarkable. You're an inspiration to me.

Thanks, Mia.

Morgan said...

Taylor, you're such a doll. Thanks!
I really treasure the friendships of the likes of you, PL, Mia, Shrub, JamieR and others more than you know. Meeting such good people has been the best part of blogging. :-)

Shrubbery said...

Read what? To which post am I commenting? Where the *bleep* am I?

*Note to self...lay off the Nyquil*

Shrubbery said...

Where are my pants?

Is this my house?

Morg?

Morgan said...

Who is this drowsy, pantless fellow intruding upon my humble blog? Where's my mace?

Just kidding. You know you're always welcome here. I usually require clothing, but in your case I'll make an exception.

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