And another thing. A small thing, really.
“I am among the finest writers working today.”
Who the fuck even says that?
Writers are permitted ego. You need ego to think that any silly shit that comes out of your head is worth the time and money of others. I have typed THE END to stories, thought, “This one’s gonna sell right away,” and been right; I have also, tellingly, been wrong. I have pegged certain stories of mine as certain award nominees, and been right; I have also, tellingly, been wrong.
But asked if I am among the finest writers working today?
I think I’m pretty good, but I live inside this head and know all the effects I can’t reach, the places where I failed to polish, the errors that torment me years later. I am able to point at many dozens of other writers who routinely pull off miracles that will always be beyond me. I read a good story, any good story, and I sink into a deep despair that I will never be able to match it with my work, which is fair to me, because every story is the product of a particular mind, and while I have written some stories that may approximate what Stephen King or Harlan Ellison or Joe Lansdale or others do, when I was writing in similar modes, I know that I am not that mind, not that particular brand of specialness.
Ask David Gerrold if he’s a fine writer. He will immediately tell you reasons why he’s not. Ask Neil Gaiman. He will thank you for asking but will immediately deflect.
Ask Stephen King. He will laugh at you. His collected words about his works are full of self-deprecation. Ask him that question and he will give you a long list of writers who he sees as better than himself.
As Harlan Ellison the same question. Okay, bad example. He is, in brag mode, in love with his own work. But at other points he will name dozens of folks for whom he harbors undiluted awe, who he will trumpet as not just his superiors but as monuments he will confess that he cannot even approach.
Hemingway knew he was a great writer. I bet if you had asked him the same question he would not have given a reply that didn’t include another dozen names, who he read and delighted to and tried to emulate, in example if not in specific, when being tormented by a story problem.
“I am among the finest writers working today.”
That, my friends, is the kind of statement that immediately casts doubt on itself.
Comment By: Eric
August 25th, 2015 at 12:45 pm
Quoted for truth:
Comment By: John Cameron McClain
August 25th, 2015 at 2:17 pm
Well, he did note that he was being modest about making the statement.
Comment By: Adam-Troy Castro
August 25th, 2015 at 4:17 pm
“Did you know, she’s married to that great, great polish actor, Joseph Tura.”
Comment By: Laura Antoniou
August 25th, 2015 at 5:19 pm
World famous in Poland!
Comment By: George
August 25th, 2015 at 5:54 pm
If the crap I tried to read is any indication, no he isn’t.
Comment By: Jim Wright
August 26th, 2015 at 12:19 am
Now just a damned minute. I read the whole article by the self proclaimed world’s finest writer.
Melinda, help me out here. We were standing about ten feet from PNH during the reception. John C. Wright, in the same article Adam-Troy Castro is quoting above claims that PNH “screamed” and “cursed” at his wife. It would have had to have happened within our earshot. I don’t recall any such event. Of course, I was drinking ice water, so I might have been a little loopy…
Comment By: Robert J. Howe
August 26th, 2015 at 2:20 am
Even John C. Wright’s wife says it didn’t happen the way he portrayed it in his blog: http://www.donotlink.com/gg8f
Comment By: Jay Ramsperger
August 26th, 2015 at 9:18 am
Part of the problem is that this shining example of humility is in full-on May The Bridges I Burn Serve To Light My Way mode.
Comment By: Teemu Leisti
August 30th, 2015 at 8:29 am
Another completely objective observation from John C. Wright’s blog you might enjoy:
Comment By: redheadedfemme
August 30th, 2015 at 12:27 pm
“another imp in hell laughs in the delight and the Empire of Lies grows another inch.”
Thus proving that, at least in Hell, size does matter.
Comment By: Kurt Busiek
August 30th, 2015 at 2:19 pm
>>Each time they claim to be what I am, an refined aesthete of exquisite literary accomplishment, >>
To be fair, there’s only one writer I’ve seen make that claim, John C.
But you’re wrong.
kdb