Sunday, October 17, 2004
 
Our Lazy, Lazy Century
This is my one-hundredth post on this monstrosity. There are lots of ways I could have gone in order to commemorate the occasion.

For instance, I finally finished The Brothers Karamazov and had intended to write a very boring thematic analysis of it. I thought for sure that would be the best way to drive off any lingering "readers" of this blog.

I still may do it if only as an exercise to crystallize some impressions I have of the thing before they are pushed out by re-runs of Benny Hill or whatever other sensory input I find demands space inside my already crowded head.

I have also been toying with some ideas about how capitalist competition leads inevitibly to stratification, segregation, delineation and elitism, undermining basic fundamental concepts of democratic meritocracy that are crucial for capitalism to thrive, grow--survive even.

But then I thought, Jesus, I've just managed to bore even myself. Why would anyone want to read that?

But then I re-thought again, this is my goddamn blog and I can write anything I want and people who don't want to read it can just leave.

OK, no, sorry, I didn't mean that.

I'm cranky as I'm having some mixed feelings about reaching 100 posts so quickly.

As part of my ongoing, lifelong endeavor to make a failed writer of myself (a slow, agonizing process of procrastination, self-doubt and lots of Grand Theft Auto), having written 100 (non-paying) posts in a relatively short span of time is something of a dubious distinction.

There are plenty of people who crank out posts more quickly than I do, but very few (as far as I've seen yet) who match output with length-per-post. This double-whammy makes me doubly grateful for the people who slog through this mess on a semi-regular basis.

But being 100% honest with myself, writing here is really one more way out of making a good-faith attempt at writing anything else.

(Important note: none of this is a plea for pity or rah-rah pats on the back. I hate that shit. Really, it's just more narcissistic self-analysis from a bemused, critical place. Really. Really. Shut up.)

The other side of it is that I'm writing for an audience without waiting for the approval of some editor or editorial board. So you people get this without the benefit of objective analysis or proper creative input offered by grown-ups who generally know what they're talking about.

You lucky, lucky bastards you.

Keep reading, strangers. Who knows, maybe some day I'll accidentally discover a government plot to poison the nation's drinking water with a substance that turns political radicals into some kind of fish (like a sea bass or a red snapper, maybe) and I'll be forced to go on the run (with a nubile young ingenue in tow) in search of the one person (identity undetermined but who will be played by an aging English stage actor making his last stab at celluloid success) who can save my life and expose the nefarious government plot all at the same time and you'll actually have something thrilling to read past palm tree humor.

It could happen. Hold your breath.

And because I think masochism is fun, I'll share my last proper rejection letter with you guys. It's form-standard, but that's what makes it sting! It's from Glimmer Train Press magazine. I could post their url, but fuck 'em.

Here it is:

Dear [Pops],
Although we won't be publishing this particular piece, we do thank you for sending "In Lieu of Flowers". It was a good read. We're not able to give specific feedback, but please take a look at Editors' Input for some ideas. Again, we appreciate the opportunity to read your work!


Ah well. The title's still good, though it's probably been used before. It does make me feel good that they took so much sincere pleasure in the "opportunity" to reject my work. But then, I'm a giver by nature.


This post on the Narcissus Scale: 10.0 (third time in history! Again, I apologize)


Pops

Comments:
OMG. I'm not the only person who saves their rejection letters. I have mine from Glimmer Train on my hard drive, and at least you got 4 sentences, I got a measly 2. At least it's good to know that they aren't form letters, when they tell you that they love your work except that it sucks.
 
Wow, I had no idea who especially suckful that particualar submission was, then. It warranted 2 extra lines of "no thanks".

I sent something once to a college-run semi-pro genre magazine (I think it was called Leading Edge) and they gave me like THREE PAGES of handwritten notes and stuff from their first-step student editors saying how great it was and that they loved it and then how the people at the NEXT stage (grown-ups, probably) rejected it out of hand.

So all in all, they let me know I got thisclose to publication, which is partially encouraging and partially encourages me to poke myself in the eye with a stick.

So it goes both ways.
 
WTF is Glimmer Train? (This question comes from someone who doesn't want to be a writer, so therefore is completely uncool and unhip in all ways of struggling writers)

100 posts. Congratulations.
 
I'd just like to say that I have recently begun reading your blog and quite enjoy it. And I really would like to hear your views on capitalist competition.
 
SJ: Glimmer Train is a literary magazine, one of the few that actually accept online submissions. All the lit mags out there have odd names. There's one for West Coast writers only called Zyzzyva. It's a tragic struggle to acknowledge their pretension and also assert their distinctiveness. Tragic, really.

Anonymous Person: First, you need not fear reprisals. It is safe to post here under your own name.

And no, you really really don't want my views on capitalist competition. I don't even want my views on capitalist competition. Unless I can find some way to make it funny, which I can't. Yet.
 
Hi Pops, found your blog thru your comment on Killy's site, where you guys found out that you both knew the same Wiebke! From Irvine! I just had to say hi because I'm another SoCal OC person and...well, that's about it. Read a couple of your posts and I like your writing--will continue to tune in! Someday you'll get to use your degrees, I know you will! Take care.
 
I have decided that one day, I will read all your posts. I made some headway, getting halfway through August, before my eyes got all wonky and I began to mutter about cheese.
 
MPH: Pimping your blog is really what I live for. I take the time and effort to write all this long boring crap so that people will see the link to your site, read it, and be bowled over by its comparative brevity. You, sir, are welcome.

Steph: I've since escaped from the OC and I'm back in my native Riverside County. Please don't hold that against me and come back when you can.

HFB: You are a sick, sick person. Just because it's still possible to read all my posts doesn't mean you should. Masochism is a disease for which there may be no cure.
 
If it's any consolation to you, part of my job at the Press is to send out those rejection letters that continually trample your self-esteem. So next time you get one, you should consider that someone spiteful and cruel like me is mailing it out.

I guess that isn't much consolation, is it?
 
Rita: Actually I prefer spiteful to cold bureaucratic rubber-stamping. At least if the rejection is personal, I can justify feeling persecuted as an artist. Otherwise it's just failure.

MPH: If I were in Indianapolis, I'd crave burritos as well. Out here, I'm up to my neck in burritos 24/7.

Although now that I think about it, the fraction 24/7 works out to 3 3/7 which makes no sense whatsoever.
 
I have love. I have burritos. I may even have some cheese. But, what I don't have, is a league of minions to carry my word to the masses. And my word, for those of you who are chomping at the bit to become my minions, is ESKIMO. Go forth, now and spread the word.
 
Haha, after I posted my comment I noticed that you said "the 951" in your locale. I had to look it up and find out that it was in Riverside County; one of them newfangled area codes, I see. Well, at least you don't have the dreaded "909" designation :)
 
HFB: ESKIMO! Wait, it's in all-CAPS. Does that mean it's an acronym of some kind, like NATO or NASA or NAMBLA? I'm really good at these, here I'll figure it out.

Extra Sensory... uh... Kierkegaard... damn. Why does there always have to be a K?

Steph: I actually enjoyed the 909 while it lasted, but now that it's gone, I reserve the rigth to make fun of those backward meth-lab cultivating NASCAR watching hicks in the re-defined 909. They're nothing like the sophisticated suburbanites down here in the swank 951. Or as I like to say "951: It's 949... Plus Two!"
 
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