I bounce between my dining and kitchen table for work because I work at home. When I’m at my dining I have a perfect view of the bar stools that line the bar to my kitchen island. This provides ocassional scowls.
A yearish ago I had them redone. No let’s rewind. They are from ScanDesign. If you’ve ever been in that store you know it is overpriced minimalism. But as a minimalist I’m their patsy, I can’t resist. These chairs cost more than they should have and I was hooked, line and sinkered.
About a year into owning them they started flaking and falling apart. Guess that wasn’t real leather. After years of cleaning up the flaking I had them redone. This time I went the opposite direction and found the cheapest guy I could. I wanted to throw the chairs out, disgusted I had spent so much on what amounted to fancy crap. I didn’t because I strive to put as little in a landfill as I can.
Anyway, if you’re an intuitive reader you know this worked out about as well as could be expected. As I type I’m looking at the piping from a couple of them hanging down and popping off. Rrrr.
Pay more/Pay less. It doesn’t matter. Quality comes from craftsmanship. From caring about what you’re putting out into the world. When we write we have to do the same. We have to read, learn, practice, revise and strive to be better and better. There’s the idea that making writing and publishing accessible to the masses lowers it’s quality. I say bull doohickey. I say it opens up voices that would have been stifled by the lording few that forced us to read what they deemed worthy.
But with this power comes great responsibility and we have to rise up to the challenge to put words to paper the defy the elitists who smugly (yes, adverb) judge our every error. For me I’m am investing in my writing in a way I haven’t before. It’s paying off. I’m realizing I have lazy techniques that benefit my fluffy genre but I also know I’m outgrowing this genre and so I need to tighten things up. I toyed with the idea of an MFA but my life and schedule don’t allow for this sort of indulgence right now.
As I continue to flex my muscle I hope to get better. I’ve long since given up the idea that I’ll be successful. It’s a hard truth that most writers, even the best of them, aren’t. Now all I want to know is that what I put out into the world was the best of whatever story I was writing. Critics will always be there, but if I laid it on the line and their main complaint is that they don’t like my story ideas, not the technical way in which I write them, then I win.
Because there was a time when the Great Gatsby was considered nickel and dime fodder. So I rest my case.