The Shark has Officially Been Jumped (Alternately: How I almost killed myself at Barnes and Noble)

I'm going to share a secret with you guys: I've kind of always wanted to be a writer.  Like, for reals.  I even had a one time shining star moment in my single digit educational years when I pulled off some trophies and such for my "writing".  My creativity.  My unique je ne sais quoi - if you will.  Those days have clearly passed as my brain has been plundered by too much nonsense and filled with too many quotes from The Simpsons.  The only things I've managed to pull off in the realm of published work has been the world's most boring Master's Thesis (only quoted by a few poor students in China and likely an obligatory mention by the NPS), some articles for Jacksonville's Folio Weekly (thanks John for the opportunity! wave) and a rejection from Jane magazine (but only because they were closing their mag, holla! it's almost like I got published! They said they really liked my article... right?).  Even though I've had a rather blah writing existence, I still harbored hope that one day I'd have the fortitude and enough Vodka to pull off something that a few kindered spirits would read, come to love... and maybe purchase on their Kindle or something - or even just borrow from the library.  I harbor no delusions of NYTimes bestseller lists or any of that, really.  So I clung to my tiny hopes until an innocent trip to Barnes and Noble brought me to this:

What. The. Fuck.

Really?  REALLY?!  Hillary "songbird/actress/tween sensation" Freaking DUFF?!  Is now a published author?  Hello world?  Um, how is this fair?  Possible?  ARE YOU SHITTING ME?!  Now, don't get me wrong, I harbor no ill will towards the Duff.  I'm sure she's a very nice person, I mean that.  She's never made it onto my specific list of scorn or anything, but come on!   And the kicker?  The kicker is that it's apparent that Ms. Duff has found herself so inspired by the current (and hopefully flagging - because really?  if Hilary Duff is publishing in this theme, it's time for the literary world to MOVE ON.  Maybe compelling tales about secret Repbulican/Democrat lovers?  That's just about as likely as vampires, right?) paranormal/vampire/werewolf/things that go bump in the night - zeitgeist that she was so compelled to ink out her own tale.  I, of course, gathered this information from reading the cover only.  Now, not being a huge fan of the Twilight series (although I openly admit to having read them quickly while very pregnant and yearning for trashy escapism) I do not know this for sure, and do not want to risk infiltrating my computer and FBI traced cookie system to any websites that may likely contain what is probably thousands upon thousands of wannabe fanfiction excerpts - but a LOT of crap is getting penned.  There are THOUSANDS of people out there writing their little hearts out without a fly's chance in a honey factory of getting published.  I feel for them, and even though I have no interest in writing anything using somebody else's creations, I do give them credit for being inspired enough to actually put pixels to screen and write something.  Anything.  Even if it's crap.  Even if it's crap based on mind-boggling bad writing that somehow captured the imagination of much of the World's (mostly female) population.  *sigh.  Once again, I'm off an a tangent (hence the reason I am not a published author - although, James Joyce is the biggest tangential writer I've ever read, and yet somehow he continues to be considered brilliant... perhaps my deep loathing of his work is really a nefarious connection.  I am Joyce reincarnated! Or likely not).

So anyway, where am I going with all this.  Well, seeing the well meaning and likely hopeful budding author, Ms. Duff, with a stand at Barnes and Noble caused me great pause.  What the hell am I doing?  The thing is, I don't even know what kind of writing I'm even interested in putting out there.  I've got relative tomes on my laptop filled with craptastic prose.  At least Hilary actually DID something.  (I'm assuming she wrote this all by her self, of course, benefit of the doubt here...).  And, of course, being a celebrity, had no trouble finding someone to represent her.  Because, if you're a peon like moi, you will NEVER GET AN AGENT.  Just sayin'.  Even if you're Hemmingway.  But, I just like to whine about how I don't have time to get anything done, am too exhausted to finish the laundry and before I know it, it's ten o'clock and time for night night.

I read, A LOT.  Tons.  I'm really good at reading.  I should be a professional reader, I think.  I can speed read, retain a lot of information, and pass reading comprehension exams like I was the one who wrote it. I'm that good.  I'm a huge fan of Margaret Atwood, whose own brand of science fiction is chilling, disturbing, and highly engaging and thought provoking.  I love essayists like David Sedaris and I love me some trashy romance novels as well, (hellooooo Kindle!)  I love to read biographies about famous politicians wives.  I scour parenting books hoping for light bulbs to flash over my head with brilliant suggestions for not screwing up my kids.  I devour the Times and WSJ online, and I enjoy a good perusal through Tattler now and again, just to keep my hand in.  But how would I write?

Part of me has such a short attention span that I'm sure essays and short stories are the way to go.  But, the last thing I want to become is the poor man's David Sedaris.  You know, like Chelsea Handler (who, to be fair, can be pee your pants hilarious at times, but really, there's only so many tales of one woman's oft used vagina that I can take, you know?).  I've brewed up a few novellas, dabbling in weird Asimovian themes (much to my father's delight, I am sure), but they suck.  So, DELETE.  I've never been into poetry, so don't even suggest it.  Except for the occasional humorous Haiku, I'm pretty much the anti-poet.  I've considered children's books, but I use "like" and "fuck" too much.  I might accidentally slip something inappropriate in, and that would be tragic.  (Remember Carri Bradshaw suggesting her magic cigarette children's book to Big's ex wife?!  LMAO!)  I've considered screenplays and stage plays, but I'm too improv-oriented for that to be serious.  Plus, writing dialogue is a pain in the ass.

Where does this leave me?  Well, back where I am currently.  Sitting at my kitchen counter clacking away on my aging Macbook, sipping on some wine and squinting at the screen while thinking, "Jeez, I need to get some new glasses".  The Duffster's foray into tree murdering publications might have inspired this post, but really, this kind of thing is always on my mind.  What I'm not doing.  What I'm not doing that I wish I was doing.  And that, my four dear readers, is what this post is about.

So, well, I guess it just comes down to me, once again, doing what I do best.  Bitching about the world and not doing a damn thing to change it.