Tuesday, November 20, 2007

From instant famemaker to hobby (and possibly failure)


I spent the weekend with my family. Like 40 hours in, I realized that we were chatting in a very surface-y way, and--feeling the need to make a real connection with my blood--ran through the list of things that matter to me that we could safely discuss.


I settled on this book I'm working on. Previously, when I have brought up my writing, there has been rampant speculation among family members about exactly how famous and/or rich this new work will make me: When will it be ready? Who will publish it? Will it be turned into a movie?


Not this time though. It was like, "Yeah, yeah, we're all working on books--difference is, none of us had a crazy pipe dream before. Yours must have died by now though cuz I ain't seen a blockbuster with your name on it."


I'm paraphrasing. It was actually mostly silence and then my dad started talking about his own writing, which is done in isolation. I am his audience.


At first, I was all like, "Hey, wait! I'm an actual writer! A real-and-true one! I'm working on a book that I will send to people, seeking publication!" That was in my head, of course. And then I was like, "Wait just one more second...this is nice. Pressure's off." Also in my head. Aloud, I nodded.


And now, both of those thoughts are engaging in fisticuffs in my head.

4 comments:

Sarah said...

Oh and also, I forgot to mention that I really hated it that they thought that writing would make me famous. I hated that a lot.

So this current lack of belief in my impending fame is preferable, but still makes me feel weird.

Meghan said...

No one should ever talk about writing. Acceptable topics for conversation include kittens and television, especially Flipping Out, the episode where he screams into a rug.

Sarah said...

Yeah, you're right. But my sister has three cats, so it's tough to get a word in edgewise on that topic.

Megan said...

my dad and your dad are the same person, except that my dad golfs instead of writing.