This one goes out to everyone here in Literature. I might have changed some of the events but this story should be read by all Lit regulars.
The cursor blinked as Chris sat in front of his computer, hands poised like spiders over his keyboard. His mind has completely left him and he drew a long blank. He turned to the window on his left and looked outside. The street below was empty except for the occasional straggler or random car passing. He stood up and placed his hands on his head in frustration. Another one of his stories had been rejected by his publisher at Carron Publishing Ltd. According to Mrs. Wendy Santores, his work was too pretentious and had no feeling of personal attachment to the writing. In short, his works were horrible and never captured the correct view from any point or angle.
Chris sat down at the computer again, clicked a file on his desktop entitled, "Becoming the Butterfly," and read it over again. He sighed. Maybe his publisher had been right. The work was too forward and preachy with its message and the last time Chris remembered he didn't kill 35 people in a supermarket to prove an existential bull**** anomaly. So Chris began right where he started, staring at a blinking cursor on a white screen. Just then, his phone rang.
"Chris Seras speaking," said Chris in a flat, monotonous voice.
"Hey Chris, its Mal. Why the long sounding voice?" asked Mal quizzically.
"Oh nothing Mal. I just found out that my latest entry was rejected by that bitch Santores. I swear, it seems as though no one understands how hard it is for writers to even come up with material to write. Everyone wants to play the critic but no one wants to show their prowess with a pen or keyboard either."
"Maybe that's because people only want to see you flourish Chris, and your ego is letting your writing become stagnant and underdeveloped."
"Underdeveloped!? Dude, can you call "The Way We Feel" underdeveloped? Last time I checked, people actually bought that book!"
"See!? That's what I mean! You become defensive whenever someone critiques your work that you can't see anything behind that enlarged ego of yours."
"Mal, you know I would listen to anything you said to me in earnest. You've written some of the best work to ever come out of Fresh Font Resources Publishing. Of course I would value your opinion more than others."
"If you want your works to truly sing then why not let Frank's criticism be put to good use?"
"Frank is an asshole! Whenever I submit something to Santores, he somehow manages to get a hold of it first and rip me to shreds! I've gotten to the point where I just ignore him now."
"You realize that Frank is the reason I write as well as I do now right?"
"Elaborate Mal."
"When I first started I was just like you; fresh-faced, huge ego, wanting to let the world know what kind of writer I was. Frank took the first submission I ever gave to FFR and completely desecrated it. I was so shocked I couldn't write anything for a few months. And guess what happened Chris? I got back up and wrote "Creep World."
Chris sat in silence and shock. "Creep World" had been one of the biggest fiction series in recent time.
"Does that surprise you Chris?"
"A little. So are you saying that I should listen to Frank for once?"
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can do that. The way I write is my life and passion. I love to read and write and having one person criticize me doesn't seem like a very good thing to do."
"All I can say is that sometimes it's hard admitting to ignorance."
"What did you say Mal?"
"You heard me Chris. Now I have to go. I have some errands to take care of before I go to bed. Good night."
The phone clicked and the dial tone sounded immediately. Chris put the phone back on the receiver and sat with his hands folded. Admitting to ignorance is hard? Chris' mind desperately raced to put the pieces together. He understood what Mal had meant but he didn't understand how it applied to him. Could ego be ignorance? In a sense, yes it can be. However ego has a basis of substantial truth while ignorance is ignoring the truth in favor of something false. Chris went to the internet and pulled up the New York Times review of his best seller, "The Way We Feel." The review made him feel good about his ability in writing but did not lessen the pain of every submission after that being rejected. It just wasn't right.
Maybe if I get some coffee, I'll be able to think straight, thought Chris as he pulled his robe tighter around himself and walked to his studio kitchen. He pulled out the coffee machine and started a fresh pot as he leaned against the kitchen counter, deep in thought. He was a good writer but somehow he had lost his ability to see what his true potential was. It was what Chris' father told him as a teenager. Your achievements don't match up to your abilities and potential.
"So how do I do that Dad? Write a several hundred page book, throw it in the closet and read it two weeks later?" Chris asked to the empty space around him.
First thing was first. Chris had to understand what exactly was wrong with his writing. He grabbed a mug full of coffee and returned to his bedroom, sitting at the computer once more. He went into his email where Frank had sent his latest scathing review of "Becoming the Butterfly."
"you really have no idea how to write do you? are you talking about perspective like zooming out? because that's what "putting things in perspective" means. what you described is closer to coming to an understanding of someone else. not really perspective if the point is recognizing their views. and sometimes other peoples viewpoints ARENT as valid as mine, like right now. sharon and oliver are way wrong. this was horribly written. a good idea? maybe. creepy, but maybe. but it was horribly, horribly written."
Reading that paragraph made Chris angry every time he read it and this instance was no exception. However, Chris managed to accept what Frank was saying to some degree for the sake of criticism. In that moment, Chris understood what Mal had meant to admitting ignorance. Chris had to first admit to himself that he was being ignorant of his own mistakes and bad writing and not just putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard. Chris leaned to the right and pulled out a notepad with an ink pen. He was going to take notes on everything Frank and other people had said about him to look at and analyze. Chris looked at his clock on the wall. It read 8:03PM. Chris sighed. This would take a while.
*************************************************************************************************
Around 4:27AM, Chris finally put down the ink pen and rubbed his tired eyes. He had filled 14 pages of notes of criticism from Frank Fojar of Carron Publishing to Mr. Michael Mead from the New York Times and others. In the time he was taking notes, he came to gripping truths within his writing and within himself.
The first thing Chris had to break was his ego. He was as great a writer as he once made himself up to believe. He was above average but nowhere on the level of Mal or higher quality writers. The second thing Chris realized was that his work had no inner perspective from things he had experienced as a person. Maybe if he incorporated this into his writing, it would better serve him. Lastly, Chris had to apologize to himself for being an ass and to Frank for not taking his criticism constructively rather than as a personal attack. Chris picked up the phone and dialed Frank's extension at Carron Publishing. His answering machine came out and beeped.
"Hey Frank? This is Chris Seras calling to say...well I apologize for the years of disrespect that I had shown to you whenever you criticized me. However, you have to realize that being scathing and condescending in your tone does not equal a good critique. As a reviewer, one had to be sensitive to the subject at hand while also being stern enough in the critique to get the point across. Maybe one day, you will be able to give me constructive criticism and I won't call you a pompous ass and ignore you. Bye."
Once again, Chris stared at the blank screen on the computer, his hands poised over the keyboard like spiders. However this time, he began to write.
"The cursor blinked as Chromer sat in front of his computer..."
The End
The cursor blinked as Chris sat in front of his computer, hands poised like spiders over his keyboard. His mind has completely left him and he drew a long blank. He turned to the window on his left and looked outside. The street below was empty except for the occasional straggler or random car passing. He stood up and placed his hands on his head in frustration. Another one of his stories had been rejected by his publisher at Carron Publishing Ltd. According to Mrs. Wendy Santores, his work was too pretentious and had no feeling of personal attachment to the writing. In short, his works were horrible and never captured the correct view from any point or angle.
Chris sat down at the computer again, clicked a file on his desktop entitled, "Becoming the Butterfly," and read it over again. He sighed. Maybe his publisher had been right. The work was too forward and preachy with its message and the last time Chris remembered he didn't kill 35 people in a supermarket to prove an existential bull**** anomaly. So Chris began right where he started, staring at a blinking cursor on a white screen. Just then, his phone rang.
"Chris Seras speaking," said Chris in a flat, monotonous voice.
"Hey Chris, its Mal. Why the long sounding voice?" asked Mal quizzically.
"Oh nothing Mal. I just found out that my latest entry was rejected by that bitch Santores. I swear, it seems as though no one understands how hard it is for writers to even come up with material to write. Everyone wants to play the critic but no one wants to show their prowess with a pen or keyboard either."
"Maybe that's because people only want to see you flourish Chris, and your ego is letting your writing become stagnant and underdeveloped."
"Underdeveloped!? Dude, can you call "The Way We Feel" underdeveloped? Last time I checked, people actually bought that book!"
"See!? That's what I mean! You become defensive whenever someone critiques your work that you can't see anything behind that enlarged ego of yours."
"Mal, you know I would listen to anything you said to me in earnest. You've written some of the best work to ever come out of Fresh Font Resources Publishing. Of course I would value your opinion more than others."
"If you want your works to truly sing then why not let Frank's criticism be put to good use?"
"Frank is an asshole! Whenever I submit something to Santores, he somehow manages to get a hold of it first and rip me to shreds! I've gotten to the point where I just ignore him now."
"You realize that Frank is the reason I write as well as I do now right?"
"Elaborate Mal."
"When I first started I was just like you; fresh-faced, huge ego, wanting to let the world know what kind of writer I was. Frank took the first submission I ever gave to FFR and completely desecrated it. I was so shocked I couldn't write anything for a few months. And guess what happened Chris? I got back up and wrote "Creep World."
Chris sat in silence and shock. "Creep World" had been one of the biggest fiction series in recent time.
"Does that surprise you Chris?"
"A little. So are you saying that I should listen to Frank for once?"
"Yes."
"I don't know if I can do that. The way I write is my life and passion. I love to read and write and having one person criticize me doesn't seem like a very good thing to do."
"All I can say is that sometimes it's hard admitting to ignorance."
"What did you say Mal?"
"You heard me Chris. Now I have to go. I have some errands to take care of before I go to bed. Good night."
The phone clicked and the dial tone sounded immediately. Chris put the phone back on the receiver and sat with his hands folded. Admitting to ignorance is hard? Chris' mind desperately raced to put the pieces together. He understood what Mal had meant but he didn't understand how it applied to him. Could ego be ignorance? In a sense, yes it can be. However ego has a basis of substantial truth while ignorance is ignoring the truth in favor of something false. Chris went to the internet and pulled up the New York Times review of his best seller, "The Way We Feel." The review made him feel good about his ability in writing but did not lessen the pain of every submission after that being rejected. It just wasn't right.
Maybe if I get some coffee, I'll be able to think straight, thought Chris as he pulled his robe tighter around himself and walked to his studio kitchen. He pulled out the coffee machine and started a fresh pot as he leaned against the kitchen counter, deep in thought. He was a good writer but somehow he had lost his ability to see what his true potential was. It was what Chris' father told him as a teenager. Your achievements don't match up to your abilities and potential.
"So how do I do that Dad? Write a several hundred page book, throw it in the closet and read it two weeks later?" Chris asked to the empty space around him.
First thing was first. Chris had to understand what exactly was wrong with his writing. He grabbed a mug full of coffee and returned to his bedroom, sitting at the computer once more. He went into his email where Frank had sent his latest scathing review of "Becoming the Butterfly."
"you really have no idea how to write do you? are you talking about perspective like zooming out? because that's what "putting things in perspective" means. what you described is closer to coming to an understanding of someone else. not really perspective if the point is recognizing their views. and sometimes other peoples viewpoints ARENT as valid as mine, like right now. sharon and oliver are way wrong. this was horribly written. a good idea? maybe. creepy, but maybe. but it was horribly, horribly written."
Reading that paragraph made Chris angry every time he read it and this instance was no exception. However, Chris managed to accept what Frank was saying to some degree for the sake of criticism. In that moment, Chris understood what Mal had meant to admitting ignorance. Chris had to first admit to himself that he was being ignorant of his own mistakes and bad writing and not just putting pen to paper or finger to keyboard. Chris leaned to the right and pulled out a notepad with an ink pen. He was going to take notes on everything Frank and other people had said about him to look at and analyze. Chris looked at his clock on the wall. It read 8:03PM. Chris sighed. This would take a while.
*************************************************************************************************
Around 4:27AM, Chris finally put down the ink pen and rubbed his tired eyes. He had filled 14 pages of notes of criticism from Frank Fojar of Carron Publishing to Mr. Michael Mead from the New York Times and others. In the time he was taking notes, he came to gripping truths within his writing and within himself.
The first thing Chris had to break was his ego. He was as great a writer as he once made himself up to believe. He was above average but nowhere on the level of Mal or higher quality writers. The second thing Chris realized was that his work had no inner perspective from things he had experienced as a person. Maybe if he incorporated this into his writing, it would better serve him. Lastly, Chris had to apologize to himself for being an ass and to Frank for not taking his criticism constructively rather than as a personal attack. Chris picked up the phone and dialed Frank's extension at Carron Publishing. His answering machine came out and beeped.
"Hey Frank? This is Chris Seras calling to say...well I apologize for the years of disrespect that I had shown to you whenever you criticized me. However, you have to realize that being scathing and condescending in your tone does not equal a good critique. As a reviewer, one had to be sensitive to the subject at hand while also being stern enough in the critique to get the point across. Maybe one day, you will be able to give me constructive criticism and I won't call you a pompous ass and ignore you. Bye."
Once again, Chris stared at the blank screen on the computer, his hands poised over the keyboard like spiders. However this time, he began to write.
"The cursor blinked as Chromer sat in front of his computer..."
The End
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