The Novelist's Dilemma
Now that I've become a bona fide mystery novelist, I've run into an interesting dilemma.
And no, it has nothing to do with killing off my characters, as I've already come up with various methods of getting that done (deadly vipers, bombs, exotic poisons, etc.)
No, my dilemma is this:
Everyone knows that even a halfway competent writer is required to have some sort of horrible psychological and/or medical problem.
* to wit:
1. Johnathan Swift: nicknamed the "mad parson", was obsessed with counting and bodily functions, in his old age his manservant showed him off to the public for a small fee
2. Hans Christian Andersen: hypochondriac, constantly carried a coil of rope for fear of being caught in a hotel fire
3. James Joyce: an underwear fetishist who kept a small set of "doll's knickers" in his pocket and pulled them out at parties
4. Marcel Proust: wrote most of his novels while lying in bed in a room lined with cork, had a sexual fixation with butchers, pierced live rats with hat pins
5. Samuel Johnson: apparently suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder and hypochondria, was unable to tell time by reading a clock
I have come to the conclusion that, in order to be published, I must acquire some sort of eccentric malady. Asthma doesn't quite seem to fit the bill, so perhaps I should cultivate a fear of staplers or squeegees?
I shall ponder the question.... because I am sick of looking at my horrible novel.
* information retrieved from The Mammoth Book of Oddballs and Eccentrics by Karl Shaw
And no, it has nothing to do with killing off my characters, as I've already come up with various methods of getting that done (deadly vipers, bombs, exotic poisons, etc.)
No, my dilemma is this:
Everyone knows that even a halfway competent writer is required to have some sort of horrible psychological and/or medical problem.
* to wit:
1. Johnathan Swift: nicknamed the "mad parson", was obsessed with counting and bodily functions, in his old age his manservant showed him off to the public for a small fee
2. Hans Christian Andersen: hypochondriac, constantly carried a coil of rope for fear of being caught in a hotel fire
3. James Joyce: an underwear fetishist who kept a small set of "doll's knickers" in his pocket and pulled them out at parties
4. Marcel Proust: wrote most of his novels while lying in bed in a room lined with cork, had a sexual fixation with butchers, pierced live rats with hat pins
5. Samuel Johnson: apparently suffered from obsessive compulsive disorder and hypochondria, was unable to tell time by reading a clock
I have come to the conclusion that, in order to be published, I must acquire some sort of eccentric malady. Asthma doesn't quite seem to fit the bill, so perhaps I should cultivate a fear of staplers or squeegees?
I shall ponder the question.... because I am sick of looking at my horrible novel.
* information retrieved from The Mammoth Book of Oddballs and Eccentrics by Karl Shaw
Labels: authors, eccentrics, National Novel Writing Month, trivia
posted by L at 9:36 PM
6 Comments:
This is exactly why I would never even consider writing a mystery novel. All the good men stuff has already been done.
They were all men so you can do just about anything to stand out. There's the untapped women's problem market. Or the hat market. Or the hats that have womens problems worn by a psychotic mystery writer.And there is that egg fetish you have going on.And the fruit eating. And strange festivals thing.
My god, I just realized you were born to do this..
So, that's why I never had any success! That's why Cross+Hairs is not in a theatre near you today.
I don't suppose laziness counts.
Perhaps I could give you Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, if you'd like, hmm? j/k
I think your love of Tesla since 1895 will go a long way in getting you published. I hope so.
If you want to read a strange and far-fetched work of fiction, try "The 9/11 Commission Report".
Happy and Blue: ha ha ha! maybe I was :)
mushy: well, MY laziness doesn't seem to be counting anyway...
professor: har har har. I'm not going to ask
cap'n rich: well, it's doubtful, as I think my "novel" is even weirder than Tesla ever was
anonymous: ?
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