You can Write a novelWrite a novel.
Three Pennies: Marias, Seven Causes
There are seven good reason why I shouldn't write novels: There' re too many fiction and too many folks who write it. It is not only that those already composed should still persist and be forever reread, but there are also always thousand completely new books published in catalogues and bookstores all over the globe; then there are the many thousand that are refused by the publishing houses, which never reached the bookstores, but still they do.
This is therefore an everyday job that is theoretically accessible to anyone who has studied writing in schools and for whom no higher or specific qualifications are needed. Secondly, because anyone, regardless of their occupation, can write a novel, it is an occupation that is lacking in credit and secrecy.
But it seems that despite all the insufficiency of merits and enigma, there is still something oddly tempting about the novel, or is it just a coveted orament? So what's with the novel? Thirdly, to write a novel will certainly not make you rich: in fact, only one in a hundred published novelsâ "and that is an upbeat percentageâ "deserves a respectable amount.
It is unlikely that the income you earn will make a difference in a writer's future, and it will certainly not be enough to go into retirement. What's more, it may take months or even years of work to write a novel of medium length that some folks might want to be able to read then. To invest all the while in a job that only has a 1% opportunity to earn cash is ridiculous, especially when you consider that nowadays nobody, not even the aristocracy and housewives, has that much to do.
Marquis de Sade and Jane Austen did, but their current counterparts did not; and even more badly, not even the nobles and homemakers who do not write, but rather write, have enough reading space to do. Fourthly, the novel is no guarantor of glory, or very little glory, which could be achieved with much quicker and less costly means.
Everyone knows that the only true glory comes from TV, where authors of fiction are becoming rarer and rarer, unless the author concerned is there not because of the interest or excellency of his novel, but in his part as a jester or a buffoon, along with other comedians from different areas, artistically or not.
Composed by this really illustrious novel writer, the books will merely serve as a lengthy and soon forgot excuse for his fame, which will be less dependent on the qualities of his forthcoming works, which will not really interest anyone anyway, but rather on his capacity to carry a cane, to dress in style or to dress in shawls or shamans or ugly vests and to declare how he can communicate with his non-Orthodox god or how easy and authentic one can be among the mores.
Besides, it would be silly to write a novel just to become popular (even if you write in most street style, it would take time), if you donâ??t have to do much to become such these days. Fifth: The novel does not provide mortality, especially because there is hardly any mortality left.
Every writer who thinks otherwise lives in the past and is either very vain or very naive. It is therefore ridiculous to think that our works will never go under because they will be taken off the bookshelves only a few month after the novel was born (provided there are still bookshops).
If most of them have died before they were even birth or have come into the worid with the lifespan of an animal, how can they possibly beternal? Six: Not even temporarily does novelists caress the egos. In contrast to film director or painter or musician who can see the audienceâ??s response to their work and even listen to their clapping, the author never sees the reader. He is never there to experience their consent, agitation or joy.
Concerning getting fervent conclusions, that is highly unlikely: if a novel gets repeated, the reviewers can easily let the author off the first but not the second one; or the author can believe that the critics like his novel for the bad reason; and if none of these things happens and the laud given is open, generous and smart, probably only about two and a half times that particular conclusionâ" is a further source of upsetting and disappointment to the author.
I' ll mention here all the common, dull grounds, such as the isolating way the writer works, his pain while wrestling with words, and above all his syntactic, his anxiety about the empty side, his squeezing relation to the great realities that have revealed themselves to him alone, his eternal aversion to the forces, his equivocal relation to the real world, which can make him mistake fact for lying, his Titanian fight with his own figures,
which sometimes live their own lives and perhaps even run away from them (although the author would have to be a little cowardly for that), the large amount of booze he drinks, the particular and essentially deviant lives one has to live as an artists, and other such little things that have enticed blameless or stupid spirits for far too long, making them believe that there is much love and torture and romance in the rather humble and pleasant arts of storytelling and invention.
That leads me to the one argument I see for novelists, which doesn't seem like much compared to the previous seven and undoubtedly conflicts with one or the other of them. Authors can write fiction that allows them to devote much of their own free space to a fictitious environment that is truly the only place, or at least the most tolerable.
What is known as a realist writer who, when he is writing, stays deeply rooted in the physical universe, has mistaken his part for that of a historicist, or of a reporter or documentarist. It is not the true writer who reflects the truth, but the unreal, if we do not understand it as the improbable or the fantastic, but as what could have and could not have occurred, the exact opposite of facts and facts and events and the exact opposite of what is going on now.
âWhat âmerelyâ is still possible, ever possible at any ages and in any places, which is why we still continue to study Don Quixote and Madame Bovary, with whom one can spend a while living and believing in absolute, instead of disparaging them as impracticable or fitting or old hut.
While this has nothing to do with oneâ?? s own mortality, it means that there is a chance for any writer that what he writes will both shape and become the kind of futures he will never see. Javier MarÃas, Spain's most important writer of the day, has had his work transcribed into more than forty different tongues; his most recent novel is The Infatuations, written by Knopf in America.