By Mark Antony Rossi
Ingratitude is the cancer of literary pursuit. You do your best to support all partakers of the craft only to find a number are not ready for prime time. They got more excuses than plot lines. They ramble off ungrateful nonsense on social media. They fall off wagons and vomit victimhood even in the midst of friendly outreach.
What do you do to signal this crap is unacceptable? Do you beat yourself up for poor judgement? Are some more self destructive when you give them attention and accolades? Does anyone give a goat’s beard that the more you help others the less you are helping your own writing trajectory?
The human condition is front and center in the writing world and I’m sorry to say it is a butt ugly sight. Instead of instructing a wayward planet, as good writers should, far too many act like the non creatives: jealous and juvenile. I’ve had to block people and advise writers of their responsibility to each other and the world at large. But most would rather believe they are the only heavenly body in the universe. I suppose it’s hard to see your neighbor when you are staring at the mirror all day.
Perhaps there are some who write for the wrong reasons. Or others with natural talent who would rather waste it on self pity. I don’t have any more patience for either group. It is such a gift to write anything of merit and slog it out in the never never land of negativity and finally find an editor who sees what you see. What joy to finally balance the months of submission solitude. It’s worth the pain like child birth.
This is the writer’s life. And if you don’t hear the calling please get out of the way because I am not holding another hand of a half-hearted homebody. This is not tough love. I am simply disgusted by ungrateful fools who spit on those who help them while wasting their talents crying the blues.
Come prepared. Put on a rejection-proof vest if you need one. But be honest and be honorable. Why any of this is so difficult for so many speaks more about our society than about writing. Do me a favor — just write more than you whine. And do yourself a favor, stop worrying about this flawed President — you have more problems than he does — and one less friend.