So I wrote a novel. And because of that, I’m starting a blog. In a sense, I’ve come full circle.
If life is indeed a myriad of over lapping circles, the Venn Diagram of Me would have several devoted to reading and writing. One of those circles would include me reading Catcher in the Rye upon Ms Fisher’s suggestion back in seventh grade. In that same circle would be the inspiration to become a writer. And you would also find a notation saying “disappointing mother, again.” That last bit was inspired by the paragraph where Holden is describing his family and says his older brother, a writer, went “to prostitute” himself in Hollywood.
Prostitute? That word had only one meaning to me back then, and it was one I had only recently learned. But according to my new idol, Mr. Salinger, if I were to become a writer I’d have to prostitute myself. How would I explain that to my mother?
Fast forward thirty years. I call myself a writer and I’ve actually completed a novel. I’m on the hunt for that perfect agent to represent me and lo! I must make myself appear more marketable. Upon the recommendation of nearly every writer-based magazine, conference, newsletter and website, I am convinced I simply must have a blog.
I must allow the body of my work to be taken at will, used and discarded according to the whims of whatever audience I can attract.
Yes, Ma. I’m a prostitute.