REDUX
As I noted in a previous post about “Mute Inglorious Miltons,” attaining fame through their writing can be a key motivator for scribblers like me, for example. Writers crave recognition because their stories are personal and intimately related to who they are. After all, storytelling is not simply the crafting and plotting of a tale. AI can do that. Rather, good stories bring together the author’s spirit and life experiences and then cobble them into a work of art laid bare for all to see in the hope that it will be admired. It’s personal.
To illustrate the point. Imagine that two authors improbably write the identical story word for word. One author is a robot (AI), and the other is flesh and blood. Both attend a book signing at Barnes and Noble. Which author’s signing table would you gravitate to and why?
I submit you would be drawn to the human because she is the body and soul from whence the story came, and her presence as the “author” engenders added interest in the content of her book. On the robot’s side is a bloodless exoskeleton containing a set of cyber rules promulgated by random teams of nameless techies. Dull.
As if to underscore the important relationship between a novel’s content and its author, note that most novels feature the writer’s photo and bio on the back cover for the reader to peruse. It’s common practice. This is not by accident. Readers want to know from whence the content of the book came. Reading raw text divorced from its author, apparently, is not as interesting as reading the text, learning about who wrote it, and why they wrote it.
Now, let’s examine mute and inglorious and how those two concepts interplay with the author’s deep need to be seen and recognized through their work.
Sharing your writings with friends, neighbors, and family technically addresses muteness. Your manuscript is now facially public and that probably feels good. But such a limited disclosure is obviously inadequate to earn gloriousness. Glory is a big word and offering your manuscript to Mom and Dad will not achieve it. What will?
Publishing will. First, being published means you are the opposite of mute. Your work is now public (beyond friends and family) either through self-publishing, small-press, micro-press, hybrid publishing, or commercial (traditional) publishing. Of these outlets, which ones would most likely make your story the least mute, i.e., loudest? A commercial publisher, of course: Harper Collins, Simon & Schuster, or Macmillan, to name a few. Being published by one of them speaks loudly that your work is marketable, has survived a gauntlet of corporate naysayers, and that you belong.
All good and well you say. Who wouldn’t want to be a published author who is recognized for their work and maybe even paid for their work. But what if you don’t get commercially published? What then? Do you become that Mute Inglorious Milton you spoke of at the outset?
Yes, to answer your question, notwithstanding the rare success by a self-published author. It’s hard but true.
But I redirect. I submit that being published was not your original goal. That came later. Your original goal was to write a manuscript that you harvested from who you are, who you were, and who you ever will be. The task of writing is too arduous, too demanding, and takes away too much of your family life to do it simply to get published.
Would you like to be an unmuted and glorious author of a commercially successful manuscript? Of course. Who wouldn’t? After all, this essay on Milton began with that premise. But remember, publishing was not your original goal. Completing your manuscript was your all-consuming goal until it was finished and you opened your eyes for the first time after a deep-dive into your soul to produce a work of art. You may be mute, and you may be inglorious, but you are the author of a book. Congratulations on your accomplishment.