Poe:

Scott:  J.D.?  As in Salinger?

Poe:  Yes, didn’t you hear?

Scott:  Oh, I heard.  I’m just curious how the news got to you since I don’t have the Internet or the radio in here.

Poe:  Oh, you know, when you’re a famous writer, you tend to just know when one among us has passed. 

Scott:  Ah.  Well.  You see, you’re not really a famous writer.  You’re a fictional construct manifested by my imagination in the form of an action figure.

Poe:  Details, details. 

Scott:  You know, I have been thinking about Salinger lately, though.  I have to admit, when I sat down to write The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys, there was part of me that really was trying to capture the same authenticity of voice that he did.  I’ve even described the story as Catcher in the Rye meets Thelma and Louise. 

Poe:  So what are you saying?  You want to move to New Hampshire and live as a hermit?

Scott:  There are days.  But no, I’ve been thinking how there’s this rumor Salinger has a safe full of manuscripts.  I mean, he hasn’t published anything in over 50 years.  He told the New York Times a couple decades ago that he still writes, but just for him.  I’ve been thinking about whether that’s a good or bad thing. 

Poe:  How so?  If it makes him happy, what’s the difference?

Scott:  To him?  None.  Catcher made him extraordinarily rich, so he didn’t need to write for money any more.  But there’s something about writing for an audience, for readers, that I think demands a certain amount of engagement with the world.  Writing is communication, after all.  If you’re not communicating with anyone other than yourself, are you still communicating?

Poe:  Ah, but that’s not to say my friend J.D. wasn’t writing for readers.  He just didn’t feel rushed to share those later works with readers.  There’s a big difference between publication and writing.  Once it’s written, what’s the difference whether it’s read or not?  It doesn’t change what it is.  Take the Diary of Anne Frank.  An extraordinary work, and yet there’s no indication she was writing for anyone other than herself. 

Scott:  Well, that’s what I’m driving at.  That’s one book, not a career.  Sadly, we’ll never know what Frank would have written after that.  If I want to become the best storyteller I can be, how can I do that without some kind of feedback?  I’m not talking about critics, per se.  I’m talking about audience.  If you make a movie, how do you know if that movie entertains unless you screen it?  But there’s the other side of me that says you’re much more likely to stay true to your own unique vision, your own voice, the less you let others influence you — at least directly.  Influences are all around us. 

Poe:  Perhaps it’s best to do both.

Scott:  What do you mean?

Poe:  When you’re writing, you write only for you.  You shut out all the other voices.  But when you’re trying to get better, when you’re trying to learn, you have to be willing to open your mind.  That means you might get stung.  The key, of course, is to be able to shake off criticism without ignoring it completely.  It’s a balancing act.

Scott:  I agree . . . Hey, since good old J.D. is your pal, do you know if there really are dozens of manuscripts locked away?

Poe:  You’ll know soon enough.

Scott:  Hey now!  How about some gratitude?  I do put a roof over your head.

Poe:  Put an Internet connection in here and you’ll see some gratitude.

Me

Poe:  You ride the bus?

Me:  Don’t change the subject.  Look, I think every writer who wants to be read must have certain exhibitionist tendencies.  I’m not talking about flashing private parts in front of strangers — I’m talking about “the act or practice of behaving so as to attract attention to oneself,” as my dictionary defines it.  Otherwise, why send out your work at all?  

Poe:  Well, some writers may not care about the attention.  Maybe they just want to get paid.  

Me:  Okay, if that’s true, then why publish under your own name?  You could send everything out under a pseudonym and avoid the spotlight entirely. 

Poe:  Some writers do. 

Me:  Yes, but most don’t.  Most writers — or musicians, or artists, or marionette performers, whatever — seek some level of attention and accolade for their work.  They’re saying, “Hey, world, look at what I did here!”    

Poe:  All right.  I’ll accept that.  What’s your point? 

Me:  I’m not sure I have one.  I’m just expressing some concerns.  The Internet has made it incredibly easy to not only share your work with a wider audience, but to share every aspect of your personal life with the wider world as well — whether it’s who you’re dating or what you had for breakfast.  I think every writer/artist/performer has to find their own comfort level with that, but the thing I struggle with the most is that person’s family.  Are these people on board with their photos/names/intimate details of their lives being made public? 

Poe:  I suppose that’s up to the family to decide. 

Me:  But what about children?  When I see someone putting photos of their children online — I’m not talking about Facebook, or a closed social network, but a public Web page that anyone in the world can see — I wonder if it’s appropriate.  Even if they give their consent, is it right?  Maybe they should be shielded from the public eye until they reach adulthood, and then they can decide for themselves if they want to tell the world what they had for breakfast each morning.  

Poe:  So where do you come down on this? 

Me:  Well, I’m a writer.  Of course I’m at least part-exhibitionist.  But I’m of the belief that my family is off-limits except in the most general sense.  They didn’t sign up for to be supporting actors in my writing life.  So you won’t see me posting photos of my kids on here.  Or hardly ever even mentioning their names.  I can’t help but talk about them at least in general, because it’s my life too, but they deserve to decide for themselves how public they want to be with their lives.  Here’s the problem, though:  You no longer have full control.  Other people will take photos of you or your family and post them online without your consent.  It’s only going to get worse, too.  In this era of YouTube, social media, and reality television, good luck trying to control your level of privacy. 

Poe:  You’re not exactly sounding a hopeful note. 

Me:  I guess it depends on how much you value your privacy. 

—-

I’ve got an Edgar Allan Poe action figure in my writing office at home, complete with a miniature raven on his shoulder.  After a while, I started talking to him, sharing my concerns about writing, family, and life in general.  One day, amazingly, he started talking back. 

Me: You know, looking at a lot of the online self-promotion that writers do, I sometimes wonder if most of it is just being seen by other writers — book trailers, guest blogging, that sort of thing.

Poe: Is that such a bad thing?

Me: Well, the hope is that your promotional efforts reach plain old readers too.

Poe: Aren’t writers also readers?

Me: Well, yes . . .

Poe: In fact, wouldn’t you say that writers are quite likely to be the most avid readers out there — not only buying more books, but also being the type of person most likely to thrust that beloved book into the hands of someone else?

Me: Hmm. What’s your point?

Poe:My point, fellow scribe, is that if your goal is to reach the most enthusastic readers possible, then you’re quite likely to find them among your fellow writers. It’s like in Malcom Gladwell’s Book, The Tipping Point –

Me: Wait a minute. You read that book?

Poe: Certainly. It’s on your bookshelf there.

Me: But you’re like four inches tall. How’d you–

Poe: I’m locked in your office all day. I have a lot of time on my hands. The point is, Gladwell writes about how those early enthusiasts of any product, call them early adopters or what have you, can by instrumental in getting the word out about any product — whether it be shoes, technology, or even books. I think it’s quite likely that by promoting your work to other writers you have a decent chance of reaching enthusiastic readers who might just spread the word to those readers who aren’t writers.

Me: Ah. You’re pretty smart for a piece of plastic.

Poe: Don’t insult me. I’m a poet.

A lot of people know that I’ve got an Edgar Allan Poe action figure in my writing office at home, complete with a miniature raven on his shoulder.  He sits by my computer and looks on while I type.  After a while, I started talking to him, sharing my concerns about writing, family, and life in general.  One day, amazingly, he started talking back. 

Me:  You know, sometimes I wonder if I’m working hard enough at this writing thing.  I’ve been doing pretty good lately, cranking out 1000 words day every day, but it never seems to be enough

Poe:  I suppose the question is, enough for what? 

Me:  Well, to achieve my goals, I guess.  To become a bestselling fiction writer.  To reach the largest audience with my stories as possible. 

Poe:  You think there’s a certain number of pages you have to write each day to achieve that?  I’d say it has more to do with luck and the fickleness of the reading public. 

Me:  I’m not saying luck doesn’t play a part, but I’ve got to believe that writing is a craft that one can achieve mastery in.  It may not be teachable, as I saw Stephen King say the other day, but it can certainly be learned.  And the best way to learn it is to read and write in great quantities — and the more you do both, the faster you will achieve success. 

Poe:  You really think so? 

Me:  Sure.  If I didn’t believe that, I’d have to give up now.  If I didn’t think I’d keep getting better, then I’d give it up.  Or take up drinking and end up dying in the gutter. 

Poe:  Not very funny. 

Me:  But my thing is, no matter how hard I work at it, I always have this nagging sense of guilt that I’m still not working hard enough.  Isn’t there a point at which I can pat myself on the back and say, yep, I’m doing all I can?  

Poe:  I suppose the problem is that you can never know if you’re doing all you can. 

Me:  Exactly.  In fact, there’s always writers working harder them me.  

Poe:  Therein lies your solution. 

Me:  What do you mean? 

Poe:  Acknowledge that no matter how hard you work, there is always another writer out there working harder than you. 

Me:  Okay . . . But that doesn’t make me feel any better. 

Poe:  I did not say it would.  I think, for the ambitious writer, living with that feeling of never doing enough is just a given.  Of course, you could always take up drinking.  Many writers do. 

Me:  Not very funny. 

A lot of people know that I’ve got an Edgar Allan Poe action figure in my writing office at home, complete with a miniature raven on his shoulder.  He sits by my computer and looks on while I type.  After a while, I started talking to him, sharing my concerns about writing, family, and life in general.  One day, amazingly, he started talking back.