The Writer's Path

Every few months, I check out a few writing-related books from my local library. You know, stuff about "the craft of fiction" and shit like that. And, not surprisingly, most of these books are pretty terrible, filled with half-baked writing exercises, admonishments, and writing life advice.

But I don't know. Maybe I'm just not the audience for these books. Maybe they're just for fourteen-year-olds with stars in their eyes and sixty-three-year-olds with too much time on their hands. Maybe I'm just too post-MFA, post-publication jaded for the ra-ra tone of these works (or, worse, the knowing, quasi-hip voice in your ear tone) and they do help thousands of people become better writers. If anything, even a bad book on writing causes you to focus and think about the process, which is a good thing, right?

Unless you think too much. And add a stupid character. And everybody hates you! And you're ugly! Ah, suddenly the writer's path has led you to alcoholism, obesity, crushing debt, paleness, antisocial behavior, smoking, black tar heroin, and general wickedness!

AH! THEN THE WRITER'S PATH SUCKS! AND THERE'S A HUGE BOULDER ROLLING DOWN IT, RIGHT TOWARD YOUR FACE! Run, Indy, run!

Frenchie, on the writer's path.