Sunday, February 1, 2015
The Work of Serious Writers
Writers write. That is what we do. We may not publish; we may not sell, but we write all the same. A committed writer, like other committed craftsmen or women, has a vested interest in maintaining the integrity, precision and truth of the craft. When we meet we speak of quality, of story lines, character development and the use of the language to make a serious contribution to the lexicon.
Recently I have met with a small group of people who seem to have confused the art and craft of writing with street peddling or carnival barking. I have met their ilk before. Most writers have had the misfortune to be trapped in a meeting room or lecture hall with people who insist that the writing, the work, the quality of the craftsmanship is irrelevant because a professionally designed and snappy cover is what the reader wants to see. A slick one liner or tight, yet empty, blurb will draw the reader in because they haven't the time or intellect to think much about what they read.
Well if this were true there wouldn't be much point in the serious work of writers. However, I don't think it is true. I don't believe that literate people have to be tantalized like children or seduced like hormone soaked adolescence with sugar and trickery.
There is no doubt that marketing plays a part in selling books. Accordingly I submit, indeed I insist, that the foundation of a good marketing strategy is an excellent, well written, beautifully crafted book. Flummery is not the work of serious writers, and is best left to professional peddlers.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
The tinkeling sound of ice pellets
ReplyDeleteHitting my bedroom window
Occasional gusts of wind
Howl through the trees
I close me eyes and envision
The Aesir ride to battle
Freya leads moist air from the South
The Frost Giants descend from the North
Helplessly we await
They battle overhead
And here below in Midgard
The blizzard has begun
Surrounded by the smell of damp wool
I step outside into the white darkness
The snow is crisp and beginning to drift
But it's not particularly cold
I love the sounds of the storm
Everything is hushed
Only the wind , my footsteps silent
an occasional tree branch cracking
The wood pile is a white dragon
With rounded scales
My guardian and friend
Long hours building , many years ago
An armload to the basement
Stir the coals to shake down the ash
The chore is quickly done
And back out into the drifting snow
My tracks in are almost erased
Left a mere five minutes ago
So I know the snow is falling fast
And the storm is just beginning.
Stunning my friend. What a lovely piece of work. Thank you.
Delete