It’s a bit of a slow news day and I’m not keeping up with the news quite as much as before since I got booted off from commenting at the Huffington Post. If I can’t leave comments there, it’s really not that much fun to read it, and there are plenty of other news sources. I’ll get around to the other sources, for the moment I’m just linking to anything anybody links to my facebook page, on the theory that anything that is earth-shattering, be it a typhoon or a flood, a civil war in a 3rd world country, or the fact that Miley Cyrus either did something, said something or wore something, will make its way there soon enough.
As a writer, if it’s not too much self-flattery to call myself that, I have a lot of other wannabe writers on my facebook page. As in all fields of human endeavor, they can be broadly divided into two groups. The good ones, and the not so good ones.
Of course, one does not have time to visit all of their fan pages, much less read their books, and I should be quicker to trim them from my tree, but it’s the Peter Principle of facebook. It’s easier to add than delete, so everybody’s friend list exceeds their number of actual friends by quite a bit. Unless I’m different from everybody.
But it’s the writers I want to address in this blog. I will be scrolling through and come to a post that says, for instance “Woo hoo! Launch date for “Season of the Stud is 2 wks. Can’t wait!”
Woo hoo? Woo hoo? You call yourself a writer and the best you can do is woo fucking hoo? Additionally, “can’t wait?” That is not a writer’s thing to say. That is a commoner’s thing to say, when what you really mean is “waiting is exquisite torture. My every waking minute is consumed, either with flights of fancy and visions of fame and fortune, or bleak worst case scenarios in which hordes of critics and angry readers line the streets just to turn their backs on me as I walk by,” or perhaps “I feel as nervous as my first day at college, looking forward to meeting fascinating, interesting people who would change my life, but with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that it was just going to be 4 more years of high school, albeit with more alcohol.” Or something.
You are a writer. Act like it.
www.gurukalehuru.com 