Not Sure; But I'm Willing to Find Out

Here's my exciting plan for the night. I'm going to bed early.

I thought today would be a nice rest from book PR, but of course, I was mistaken. While I didn't have any radio shows, I did have to call and fax people. And when it was done, I was too fried to write anything.

I learned one piece of interesting news. The editor who used to publish my stuff locally is now in charge of the Sunday magazine at a huge metropolitan paper. Apparently, three of the magazine's core staffers are firmly ensconced there.

The last time I heard from him, I was already starting to cut back on writing. I was frustrated because I seemed to have no control over my career. I wrote things I was sure were good, and no one cared. I wrote relatively crappy things, and they got published. And almost no one except this editor would give me the time of day.

I remember submitting stuff to the-then-something-or-other editor of The Miami News, and she sent me an idiotic, clumsily written rejection letter which proved she was too dense to know what good writing looked like. And I got similar treatment from the Einstein who ran the Herald's comics page and the great genius who ran the Lifestyle section. Their attitude seemed to be that I had a lot of nerve, trying to get a few pieces or strips published by a third-tier local paper.

Where do you start, if that's not low enough? Are you supposed to engrave your columns on a turd? I was already getting published regularly in the Sunday magazine, which was considerable more prestigious than the rest of the paper.

I wrote very well, and there was no one else in Miami who wrote worth a shit except for Dave Barry, and I couldn't get anything published except in the magazine. Other editors treated me as if publication in piddlety-shit local periodicals was a big deal. And of course, it isn't. Getting little pieces published in the Herald's Lifestyle section or The Miami New Times is about as impressive as being elected to a condo board on the third try. It's okay for a few months. If you do it any longer than that, you're a loser, and you don't have what it takes, and you may as well get a real job.

I didn't know how the profession worked at that time. I didn't realize that politics and connections mattered and quality did not. I didn't realize hack editors disliked talented writers and got off on rejecting them and jerking them around. I didn't understand that sooner or later, if I kept trying, I would find editors here and there who were not complete assholes and morons. And I was starting to realize there was something about the smell of centrists and conservatives that put editors off, even if the material submitted wasn't political.

Here is the truth, which I did not understand: had the editors who were rejecting me been twice as talented as they were, they would still have been unfit to lick my literary ass. They were, and still are, zeroes. I confirmed that via Google. But I let them discourage me with their bullshit.

Anyway, the last time this guy contacted me--1989, I think-- he said, "Don't disappear." I think he knew I was worn out. I told him I wouldn't disappear, and of course, I was lying. I disappeared as soon as the call was over.

I sent him an email today, for the hell of it. I thought I'd see if they needed anything I could supply. Can't hurt. If there is one editor on earth who should have faith in my work, it's this one.

It probably won't amount to anything. I'm still what I was, and I will never fit into the establishment media. But maybe it will give him a lift to read that I'm back--the kid he discovered in 1986--and that I'm having a little success.

I'm working harder than ever to succeed now, and I'm starting to think it may be a tougher job than I thought. To illustrate, let me show you a piece of the email that got me started thinking about my old editor. A reader kindly wrote a newspaper insider, asking if there were any opportunities for me, and here's part of the response:

Hmmm...humor writing, like sports columns and movie reviews, are top-of-the-heap jobs at newspapers - they're given to senior writers who have worked their way up for decades at smaller papers. Both of our humor columnists have long histories at the Miami Herald - Dave Barry's home paper and a major incubator for sharp writing back in the 80s. Gene Weingarten was Dave's editor for years there.

If you've been here a while, you know that the magazine where I got my start was the one where Dave Barry worked as staff humorist. And even funnier, Gene Weingarten was the editor in chief.

Anyway, look at that email. I'll translate it. "When decisions regarding who gets to write humor columns are made, quality is completely irrelevant. Seniority and being part of the existing club are all that matter. We are not trying to generate the best product possible. We don't even think about that. We are trying to provide a series of perks and raises for people who manage to hold the same job for thirty years." It's the same spiel I heard from the editors who used to reject me all the time; I just didn't interpret it correctly.

I want to be careful here--I'm not saying Gene Weingarten can't write. I've only read a paragraph or two of his work since 1990, but I remember him well enough to know he can do the job. I'm just describing the attitude that prevails in the industry.

In any industry, insiders hate quick success. And they expect to be rewarded for prolonged service, even if someone new is flat-out better. That's what I had to deal with in the late 80s, and if I want to get published in periodicals, I'll have to deal with it in 2007. I think the same attitude also affects writers of books, although to a lesser extent. So naturally, I'm somewhat concerned that even though I have a pants-wetting-funny book out, and even though the competition is 98% garbage, and even though I'm busting my ass doing PR, I may be doomed to modest success for quite some time.

I thought about that tonight, and I realized I had to take the right attitude about it. If I set my heart on a warm welcome from the industry and a magnanimous willingness to accept an outsider based on the quality of my work, I am probably going to end up discouraged again. If my work is good, it will inspire some people to boost my career, but it will drive a lot of others--hacks who see me as a threat--to undermine me any way they can.

So I think the right attitude is to be absolutely determined to write as well as I possibly can. To grind my detractors' faces into the pavement over and over and over, by reminding them constantly that they suck, and that they will never be able to do what I can do. I should take satisfaction in producing work people have to respect, whether they want to or not. That will give me peace of mind, and it will give me strength to keep on fighting. In the past, I've said, "The important thing is not that I succeed. The important thing is that my enemies suffer." There is something to that. It may be a while before I can give my enemies migraines by making real money, but in the meantime, I can still make them bleed out the butt by writing better than they can, conspicuously and consistently.

I think that's an excellent plan.

Now I have to make good on my promise to go to bed early. Tomorrow I have three radio shows, starting at 9:00 a.m. If you're in Minneapolis, listen to KQRS at that time.

Good night.