Abuse of Capital Letters helps me make my point

For the last month or so, NPR's All Things Considered and Morning Edition have been featuring reading recommendations brought to the listener by librarians, critics, writing professors and sundry other literary experts. They glow about the works of talented authors, many of them new, breathing with fawning adoration in terms learned in high school English lit classes. These are authors who are producing Great Works, Literature with a Capital L, and the spotlight shining upon them, frankly, depresses me. I am a jealous creature, and I would be lying if I said that I wouldn't like to have some fawning adoration for myself. Everybody wants to be adored. It's a warm blanket in the middle of a cold and lonely life.

I will never be one of the writers featured in one of these segments. I do not write great Literature with a Capital L. My works do not lift the human spirit, and I do not reveal Great Truths about the Human Condition. I was deeply saddened by this during the month of November, but I've learned an important lesson between then and now.

This lesson was learned from The Light at the End of the World and to a lesser extent from Knight of Sorrows. What I write is not profound. It is not complicated, with beautiful words and elevated ideas. Perhaps that means that I have inferior talent, or an inferior mind. Perhaps it means that what I produce has less value than all of the Great Works highlighted in these reading recommendations. But does it? What is wrong with pure entertainment? Maybe what I write isn't moving, but it's fun. It's fun to write, and I'm told that it's fun to read. Isn't that valuable in itself?

Maybe I'm trying to convince myself, here. One thing of which I do not need to be convinced is that there's room for all of us: the Great Writers, the scribblers, and the hacks. We can't all write the Great American Novel, but I'll bet that not everybody wants to read the Great American Novel, either. Nobody ever accused Steven King or Anne Rice or, God forbid, Stephenie Meyers or J.K. Rowling of producing high art, but you can't tell me that they're not successful. They have thousands of loyal readers and they're laughing all the way to the bank.

There are different ways to measure success in writing. One is critical acclaim, and another is financial gain. I'm not likely to experience either one. Another way to measure writing, though, and the way that I can achieve and have achieved, is enjoyment. I like writing what I'm writing. I enjoy myself, and the Crickets who have communicated with me have told me that they enjoy reading it, too. That's worth as much as a glowing review and a fat paycheck.

It may even be worth more.

Google eBooks is still processing my submissions. I am getting impatient and may have to start shaking my spear.

Also, Not Named is now named: The Light at the End of the World. I am trying hard to avoid outright cheesiness while still accepting the basic pulpiness of the story.

Also, in good and awesome and excellent news, I believe my second migraine in six days has finally released my brain from its loveless claws. Let's hear it for pharmaceuticals!

Good news! My company, Irish Horse Productions, has entered into partnership with Google eBooks for distribution of Nightchild, Sacrifice, Collected Stories and Collected Poems. Any future works will also be part of this agreement.

Why is it that every time I start writing a new project, it turns out that there's a TV show/movie/book with virtually the same theme coming out at the same time? I constantly look like I'm plagiarizing!

Yes, Crickets, I have recently learned that my new project, Not Named, features certain elements that also feature prominently in some new TV series (I'm not even sure what network it's on) called Lost Girl. To say that I am annoyed by yet again managing to play Cosmic Coincidence is an understatement.

I choose to believe that this means I have my finger on the pulse of public interest, rather than that my muse is two-timing me with people who have better connections. It makes me feel marginally better.

Granted, some of these same elements have been part of Western European and Christian mythology (yes, I used that word) for the better part of a thousand years, so maybe I'm getting irritated by nothing, but still... it's irksome.

To once again quote Commodus from Gladiator, it vexes me. I'm very vexed.