There are an increasing number of writers who have the tendency to write to please. Or perhaps they tend to write about what has pleased readers in the past. Itís not wrong. But theyíre probably screwed for life. Whether or not this shift is caused by fear of getting hate e-mails or nasty phone calls from car dealers is really beyond me. I wouldnít go to the extent of saying that their creative span is short, perhaps even shorter than a fat manís penis. But I do reckon they hear thunderous accolades and they believe them, even if the accolades are merely to polish the writerís nuts.
There should only be one final judge of writing and that is the writer himself. Iím a nobody and a pretty lousy writer but even I know these basics. When you get swayed by the readers and their comments or other writers and car dealers, youíre finished. Youíll be floating down the dirty river with the posers and the turds.
Thereís nothing to stop a man from writing about anything under the sun, be it honesty or lies, unless he decides to chicken out (maybe that's why we have this weekly column). If a writer truly has the pure desire to write, he will do it at all costs, even if it's going to cause a little chip off his shoulder. Rejection and ridicule will only strengthen and encourage him. The longer he is held back, the stronger he becomes - like a mass of rising water against a dam.
Perhaps there is no losing in honest writing. Youíll have the advantage of exposing the wrongs. You'll always have the upper hand. Itís whether or not you want to put in the effort. Writing a powerful piece or even a mere sentence will make you stride like a tiger, eat like a pig and make love like a chimpanzee. You will die a fighter and people will remember you, even if itís just an innocent collapse at an airport in Korea. You will be honoured in heaven. Or hell. Go with it, send it out. Be the laughing stock in the room full of turds. Itíll be fun.