On Being The Asshole by Reb Livingston
Recently a thoughtful soul found it necessary to point out my “unknown writer” status. This statement was supposed to establish my futility, irresponsibility, selfishness, put me in my place and discourage my efforts. This soul, who I don’t believe I owe money, was preoccupied with where my money was going. How much money was I spending to support my poetry habit? Didn’t I realize my existence was offensive to all working people?
Sadly this is a conversation many writers and artists have to endure at some point. Never heard of you. How much are you making? Then why bother?
Ten years ago my friend Alisa met a guy named Brian. He seemed like a nice guy although poor and in debt, but she was crazy about him and lo and behold I found myself lost on a rainy day in Cleveland trying to find a synagogue before the start of their ceremony. I asked Alisa, who was working various jobs to support them both, when was he going to start looking for work too? I mean, they were married now, time to, what do they say, step up to the plate, grow up, be a man. She was annoyed with my question, reminded me that he was an artist and that kept him very busy. I knew that, she sent me several of his comic books that I considered goofy. She explained that he was going to do continue doing what he had been doing and she was going to help any way she could. Shook my head, comic books! My god, who reads comic books?
Apparently lots of people read comic books and it turns out Brian’s skills could also be applied to television and movies. Oh, and apparently he’s really good at what he does and was only a few short years from becoming “one of the highest-selling comic book writers in the industry.”
Well, wasn’t I the asshole? Yes, an incredibly immense asshole, but not because they’re crazy millionaires and he’s been mentioned on The O.C. on two different occasions. I don’t know if they laugh when they drive to the bank, but I hope so. And my ignorance of comic books is not what qualified my assholitude. I was asshole for
1. Believing it was my place to question his work when it made absolutely no difference to me what he did with life.
2. Assume that since I had no interest in comic books, there was no interest and since I couldn’t see the value, assume there was none.
I made my comment while I was working a corporate job, writing poetry and considering myself a poet. It was my plan to one day quit that job and write full-time, so extra asshole points for me for not appreciating the very obvious parallel. And if nobody ever heard of Brian Michael Bendis and if he never made a dime from his comics, I’d still be the asshole, because it has nothing to do with the money, fame and readership. He draws and writes and colors and whatever else artists like him do because it’s important to him and how obnoxious of anyone to ever say that’s a waste of time. That is the best use of time and if it’s something you want to do and are able in some way make it happen and continue living and meeting your financial and family responsibilities – how can you afford not to do it?
Nay to the shame-flingers, the ones who don’t know you or your work, the ones who don’t live your life, the ones who want you to be miserable and dissatisfied (probably just like them). Pay them no mind – they’re assholes.
Unless of course, if said shame-flinger is your mom and you’re living in her basement and you’re six months behind on rent and ate the last of the ice cream. There’s no excuse for draining her retirement and leaving her with nothing to snack. If that’s the case, get a job and get over yourself, nobody wants your crummy macaroni and hemp necklaces, you dirty beatnik.
Reb Livingston is a poet and editor of No Tell Motel and No Tell Books. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Best American Poetry 2006, MiPOesias, Coconut and other places. She is also writes the Crucial Rooster poetry column for this blog.
People generally fall into two camps - the easily impressed, who are just grateful that they know someone who calls themself an artist or writer, and the cynical, who only want to know how much you sold that short story for and why your novel isn't out there.
Thankfully, I have a number of friends in a third category - though not writers they are accepting and supportive.
Posted by: Debra Broughton | July 05, 2006 at 02:32 AM
reb, obviously i struck a chord with you. however, your little anecdote here has nothing to do with what i was saying to you a few weeks ago. also, you are easily offended and basically incapable of taking a little criticism, which is why i became so offensive on your blog.
here's the truth: i was merely giving you a little friendly advice directly from my experiences as a poet and parent. when my son was about gideon's age, i neglected him because i too was busy tapping away at my poetry. he would come into my office, play with my mouse and i did my best to shoo him away and put him in front of the television, hence we didn't have a very good relationship after that, and i had to work hard to repair the damage.
of course, my situation was different because i was working full time and trying to cobble together some existence as poet as well. then we had a second child and i swore i wouldn't do what i did to my first child, that my children would only be small for about 5 or 10 years, that they would be the important years where our relationship would be established and nurtured.
so my advice to you is still the same; stay with your child as much as you can. for christ's sake, he's not even two. if you can't even devote four years of your life to your child, what was the point in having him? (devotion, however, doesn't mean you have spend twenty-four seven with the kid, but he should certainly be your primary work at this time because you can afford it, whereas so many of us cannot, and why bother even letting yourself be open to the kind of harsh criticism i laid on you before.)
by the time gideon's ten, he'll pretty much be on his way, and hopefully it's a way that will always include you, his poet momma. and maybe when you're some gibbering old blue-haired banshee, and have squandered all your money writing and self-publishing, gideon won't think back to the days when his momma just couldn't deal with him all the time, because she had more important work to do.
and let me reiterate one thing, i'm not in any way miserable about my life, that i'm in no way even remotely jealous of what you're doing. i don't have a lick of envy in me. i regret nothing, not even fucking with you a few weeks ago, because, trust me, i was laughing the whole time. i still am. i guess we're both assholes.
Posted by: harrlynn | July 05, 2006 at 12:47 PM