a letter to an emperor

Hey I couldn’t sleep and I always had a thing for these predawn couple hours and while I sipped the first sips from the strong cup of Maxwell House Colombian coffee and puffed the first Pall Mall two quotes appeared about the same time or close enough at the same time it was really too much work to analyze which came first.

Anyway one quote was from you on the eve of your coronation and the other was a Hemingway, something he said when he won a prize. Yours was something about no longer being on our own. Hemingway’s opposed that with something about a writer writes alone and there’s no one to help.

Hey I’m no expert on life so maybe in a general sense your statement just before the world’s morally superior elites bowed as you were crowned contained a cup of truth. But when it comes to writing…. or when one discovers an outfit like Createspace where a guy can put together just about anything and call it a book, well that’s the most amazing development I’ve personally encountered while on this earth and I’m hopelessly hooked on it.

I tried the ebook route. The ebook route had and has its own appeal. But there’s just nothing like being out in the yard, maybe raking a few leaves, and the mailman comes along and he’s got a package that you know is your book and whether the contents are stellar or horrid, just the act of holding that book in your hands – there’s this sense of accomplishment, “wow, I built this.” Good, bad, either-both, I built this – yeah I know someone in a print shop put it together and the mailman had to deliver it and if it wasn’t for Createspace…. but I had to come up with the words.

Had to try and decide whether to put some pieces in poetic or prose form. Read over and over and over and over, and questioned every single decision, and went around and around with defeatist doubts and encouraging hopes. Questions, questions, questions. Problems, problems, problems. Dilemmas, dilemmas, dilemmas. Read it over and sure I could go in anywhere and make changes.

But at the end of the day, there’s nothing much I’ve found I like to do more than compose hard copy publications. Thing is, I’m a terrible sales-marketing person. I don’t know who to peddle my books to. I know there’s gotta be an audience out there somewhere. Maybe there’s one around here. Maybe the neighbors. Problem with that – many of them are big church attendees. While my stuff isn’t overtly pornographic and doesn’t consciously seek to offend, I don’t feel comfortable handing them a copy.

The dilemma is compounded by the fact that they’re really nice people. Best neighbors ever. This gets me to thinking: okay Timmy, maybe this is the season for you to learn to write stuff that anyone could enjoy. But then again how do I know they’d be offended by what I enjoy writing? I don’t know.

See? Dilemmas. Questions. And there is no one who can help. Love or hate Hemingway, Hemingway’s quote is in this case the superior. In all due respect.


About Timmy the Scribbler

Love to write all kinds of stuff I love writing so many different kinds of stuff it is a constant struggle to narrow the focus to a manageable handful and let the others go. But a few years ago I dipped my fingers into a poetry pie and of all my uncertainties, one thing that is no uncertainty is that it is one passion that must remain, so maybe that's the one. I do dearly delight in chopping up fictional works into stanzas and syllables.
This entry was posted in books, opinion, the way I feel about it, thoughts, travails, writing and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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