Tuesday, August 24, 2010

How I Defy The Corporate Machine With My Rambling Nonsense

Mediocrity.  It’s a terrible word.  It’s even worse when applied as a lifestyle.  But if you’re gonna live it, you might as well own it.  That’s my philosophy.  And thus, here I am, pouring my mediocre heart into my mediocre writing day after mediocre day.
I am good at some things, but not very.  I try.  I succeed about half the time.  The other half…well, let’s just say there is a big E for Effort embroidered on my tunic.

I don’t write for attention.  I could really care less.  I have too many kids and too much to do everyday in my duties as Head Housefrau to be bothered by what people I don’t know think of some random thought that came crawling out of my brain.  I write because I love to.  Because I have too many thoughts swimming in my head all the time and sometimes you have to release the pressure before the whole operation blows sky high.  I write because sometimes, just sometimes, I really can, and the images I create astound me.

There are a lot of struggling writers in the world.  In fact, if you call yourself a writer you are probably poor, naked and insane 95% of the time.  Well, maybe not all three at once…or maybe.  Writers are some kinky folk.  Big sexy time.  But unless you have hit it big (and kudos if you have), odds are you are one rejection letter away from asking if Joey Suburbanite wants mild or hot sauce for his taco.  And that is a hard, sobering thought.  Killed my buzz.

So what, you may ask, is my point in all this?

There isn’t one.  I refer back to my previous point about mediocrity.  That’s me up there.  I am a Salieri among Mozarts.  It doesn’t bother me, mostly because I lack the ambition to care (afore stated; see paragraph 3).  But there are some moments of true genius on this site, some writers who really deserve a lot more praise than they receive, but because their name isn’t recognizable, because they don’t get big fat checks from big fat executives at major publishing houses, they are ignored or told Don‘t Even Bother.   And that is truly sad.  Because real talent isn’t often found on the New York Times Bestseller List (ye gods, Sarah Palin’s on there!).  It’s found down here in the trenches where no one, no one, gives a damn.