Victims of Emotion

When we’re concerned about someone we ask, “How are you feeling?” I don’t think I’ve ever said to anyone, “How are you thinking?” Some scientists believe that thinking begins with emotion rather than with rational thought.

As a writer, I know all about how emotion affects what I can write. Yes, it controls what I write. I’m in the middle of a couple of big projects. I find it hard to write on the same topic for long periods of time, but I really want to get this book finished. Sometimes I just don’t feel it.

Like today. I’m sad because a friend is moving away. I’ve been fighting the depression that usually attends such things, and I have managed to whittle this down to a persistent sadness. Sadness often brings out superior writing, but it means that the happy piece I’m working on will have to wait.

Well, it’s not really a happy piece. It’s more of a funny piece. At least I hope it’s funny. My Medusa novel is funny. Laugh out loud funny. Nobody was moving away then, however. I wrote it when I was unemployed. There’s pathos there, and publishers just don’t like it, I guess.

I’m not the one to ask what publishers like. They didn’t like Mark Twain either. Until the books he paid to have published started to earn money. Suddenly he’s a genius.

Writing is all about emotion. The way a story makes you feel. I read things that leave me unsettled. That’s because life’s an unsettling experience. You have people who make you happy, but they move away. A writer’s life is a lonely life.

When a story or novel expresses great depths of emotion it is universally praised. Experts say you have to give readers what they want, because they won’t work for it. If your writing is too difficult, they won’t read it. Then again, I’ve read through books I found inaccessible. Somebody published them.

Sad songs, Elton John suggested, "say so much." People like to listen to them for catharsis. Why don’t they like to read sad stories?

I’m sitting here in the dark, thinking about my friend. I have a funny book well underway, but I know I won’t touch it today. And I also know that chances are no agent or publisher will ever touch it either.

Comments

Dusty

My, this thing is dusty. My fans—hi, Mom!—perhaps believe me to have perished in the pandemic. No, it was nonfiction’s fault. Since the pandemic began I’ve had two nonfiction books published and have written a third. With a nine-to-five job something’s got to give. Unfortunately it’s been fiction. Well, the groundhog didn’t see his shadow yesterday, so it must be safe to come out. I shuffled away the rejection notes and began submitting again. I’ve got a backlog of weird stories and maybe some new publishers have emerged? The thing is, don’t you just hate it when you’re in the mood to submit and some lit journal has its window for submissions firmly shut? My last story, “ The Hput, ” was published about three years ago. Oh, I’ve submitted since then, but with no traction. Well, it is winter. I’ve got a lot of stories lined up. I’ve been sending them out again, dreaming of making a dime at what I love doing best. When you’ve been writing for half a century, you l

Neglectful Parents

If I was a parent I’d be accused of neglect. I have to say 2017 was the least published year of recent memory. Not that I’ve been neglecting my fiction, but I had a non-fiction book accepted and I work full-time and commute to that job—you get the picture. I’ve also had a personal epiphany. If you can write, you should get paid for it. I know a publicist (not my own; I don’t have one) and she says she won’t let her authors even write an op-ed if they don’t get paid. I guess I’d never get published then. My Medusa novel had a flicker of hope for a few moments. A publisher actually wrote back asking for the rest of the manuscript. That’s never happened before. Then the editor disappeared. Even called me by the wrong pseudonym. I’ve gotta wonder about that because the second half of the novel’s even better than the first. While looking for an agent for my non-fiction (couldn’t find one of those either) I came across several who said they liked quirky ficti

Too Much Writing?

Has this ever happened to you? Have you written a story that you’ve completely forgot? Not only completely forgotten, but made unfindable? I play games with my stories and sometimes the joke’s on me. Okay, I suffer from graphomania. I write constantly. I do try to keep organized—I use a spreadsheet that has all my submissions on it. It has rejection/acceptance dates (mostly rejection). Lots of information. I decided to list on it every story, whether finished or in process. There are far too many (mostly in process). When I finish a story I often submit it. If I get burned, I’m shy about resubmitting. I often rewrite at this stage. Then, when I feel brave enough, I try again. The spreadsheet is color-coded. There, in the color that indicates finished and ready to submit is a story cryptically titled “The Password.” I don’t remember this story. I can’t recall what it was about or why I thought it was ready to publish. Looking through my electronic files,

K. Marvin Bruce

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