Halloween for Would be Writers 


Since we have just passed the trick or treat fest, I will apply it to being a writer. Halloween a time for dressing up as a terrifying ghoul, a time for cowering from our primordial fears, a time for putting on a face that is not our own. You know being a writer in search of representation.

At least for me being a writer is from a personality that does a great deal of its living on the inside. An actor is a huge ego that wants to strut in front of you proclaiming look at me and be awestruck, I have become a different person.

A writer is if anything a larger ego saying I and I alone have created this entire universe to astonish you, I’ll just leave it here for your amazement and be someplace out of site while you discover it.

I have been at times in my life:

·         A teacher, I understand and will lovingly lift you to my understanding.

·         A soldier, Listen up, its my way or the highway! And while you are on the highway line it with rocks and paint them my favorite color.

·         An actor, Ta Da! You have seen me be somebody else! BE Amazed! BTW if you are not amazed, I didn’t write this. Don’t blame the performance, be impressed I could try and save what the writer attempted to do.

·         A writer, I’ve shaped my heart and soul into a collection of words. I love, believe in, am committed to these words, even knowing they could be better, I’m sure. I hope you like it. I did it alone, hiding from others. My characters are my family. Umm, you wouldn’t like to buy a book, would you? Please? I’ll be your friend.

The thing is a teacher has many moments and many days, it is all about interacting and building growing rapport, knowing your students one by one. A soldier you do what you can as you face the slings and arrows of fortune, because you have a duty. An actor your finished product is not the audition, you collaborate on your art and when you are ready you even adjust in the moment, feeling the response of your audience.

A writer must do his work alone. Admittedly before it is a final product he can collaborate with editors. However, the collaboration only helps produce a finished product that cannot be changed once it is presented to agent, publisher or public. Your new universe will be loved or hated on its own without any ongoing revision. Sure, you will be happy to collaborate with an agent or publish on revision after the fact, if they show interest.

The most horrifying part is now that you have borne your soul to be poked with sharp sticks, you must go trick or treating before your beloved child sees the light of day. You need to put on the mask of an actor, a salesperson, an extrovert. You wear the mask of the ghouls you were hiding from inside your head or deep within your word processor.

Worse this is a one-sided trick or treat. Classically the person in the masks asks for a treat, if you fail to produce a treat then the trick is pulled on the one withholding the treat. In this game of non-seasonal horror, the writer is instead not allowed to play the game as himself. He must wear the costume of the extrovert and salesperson before he is allowed on the porch to beg for his treat, representation. If the treat is not forthcoming, he also has no power to repay with a trick. He is in fact as insignificant as the strange basement dwelling fantasizer, he knows himself to be.

Wearing the uncomfortable costume required of him the writer almost hopes no one will be home. No response is at least not an active rejection of his very being. Keeping in mind that unlike a soldier or teacher the writer does not represent a societal framework, and unlike the actor he can’t blame the material. If the writer is rejected, he must own it all himself.

Itching in the uncomfortable persona of the outgoing, when a writer gets a response, it is usually a polite rejection. Cheerfully accepting that rejection the writer must trudge to the next house and face the horror all over again, without any treats in his bag to show for the masquerade.

At each house, which is an agent’s query page, the writer must wear a costume. A costume that is not his own, it doesn’t fit. If an outgoing person, he would be an actor or politician. So, this timid introvert puts on a confident, sociable persona, which does not fit, for the joy of facing actual REJECTION. At any moment he may open his defenseless email to find that not only was someone home, the resident of the agent query page resented being bothered. The agent instead of giving the hoped for treat of representation, they push the writer off their porch. They shove the writer down the metaphorical stairs. As the writer slinks away, the agent throws eggs and toilet paper at them. Too bad writer, you have received the spiteful rejection letter. To build the ego of an agent or ease their frustrations you get the word. Not only are you meaningless, and your beloved character children are despicable, it turns out you smell up the planet.

The last bit seldom happens but is always expected by our timid beginning writer.

So why, WHY, WHY write? You know that when you are done with one story you can’t simply go onto your next inspired story. You also must participate in this constant false flag trick or treating.

Why would you do it? In the end because you have no place to hide. A soldier can avoid the army, a teacher can never go near a school, an actor can avoid theaters.

What can a writer do? Observe:

Exterior woodland day. Former writer who has abandoned the craft is busy doing anything but writing. The day is crisp as seen by the fogged breath of the writer as he chops a wood supply for the approaching winter. There is no word processor nearby. In fact, the nearest electricity is miles away.

There are trees with leaves turning squirrels scurrying about collecting nuts. Nothing but nature and constant arduous work, distracting work. The former writer’s companion comes from the cabin. It is lunchtime.

                                                Companion:

Lunch is ready whenever you are.

                                                Former Writer

The woods are beautiful. The woods are empty. Little does the happy couple know what has landed in the pond over the ridge, but that night in the isolating blackness of night . . .

When a writer is specifically not writing, something will still suggest a story. No escaping. So, bring on the year long Halloween. Soon enough another writer will be wearing the costume that will never really fit.

 


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