The Bravado

Damn Twitter.  I read the biographies of two people, and, after shitting on other people and the way they turn over a dollar, their only claim to fame was, “I’m not them.”  When I looked these people up, (because when you market yourself as a professional, I expect to find you recognized as such), one chick threw dinner parties, the other pretty much had…well…a blog, and there was little else.  These things wouldnt’ have given me pause, and I would have had no commentary on their drive, hustle and struggle, had they not made it a point to take jabs at the folks in the struggle just like them.

It’s easy to elevate when you stand on the back of the next man; but can you levitate?

I tell my kids this all the time, and the first time I said it, they looked at me like I grew a third nostril, so I broke it down further:

Pointing out the flaws in others to make yourself look better is a lousy weapon.  Aim for excellence and let that speak for itself.

Now, it’s funny to hear them use that logic when they’re playing on MarioKart, but it feels good that they’re listening to me, even when it’s just to further their own interests and add salve to their egos.  I don’t settle for “good enough.”  I don’t believe in “at least I’m not that guy.”  I find “well, I did that and it was bad, but I could have been doing THIS,” wholly unacceptable.

So, I’m turning this in on myself.  The written word is my craft, and I take to task those that I feel are disrespecting their talent  Up until recently, I was extremely vocal about which genres and authors I would not read and why.  I could get on my literary high horse and implore readers to demand better and fight the literary good fight.  But I’m imploring them to supplement it with what?  All the brilliant. Stories. I’ve. Never. Written. The difference between me and “them?”  They had the gumption to get published.  So, rather than wasting my time belittling what others do, it is incumbent upon me to grind, and if I have a problem with what’s out there, I need to set a new standard.

And the reason it’s been a while since I’ve posted is because it’s gotten real in the field for me.  My goal was to be published by 32, and I turn 33 in a little over a month.  Do not think for have a moment that 34 will catch me unpublished.

I’ve also climbed back into bed with my first love, poetry, and I’ve let him get to third base.  Things look very promising, and I’m working on something now that has me in a tizzy.

The revolution may not be televised, but it will damn sure have a by-line.

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