“Quit the bitching on your blog, and stop pretending art is hard.” – Amanda Palmer
A conversation between me and another writer friend of mine–whom I deeply admire, both personally and professionally–wherein I am complaining about the difficulty of my life, an awkward situation with one of my best friends, and an amazing fellowship opportunity:
Me: They need 25 pages with a synopsis, logline and whatever-the-hell-else by 5 p.m. today. Friendships are hard; I’m not good at them. Is your kid being something cute for Halloween?
Him: He’s just going as a ninja. I think he’s developing shame, so he doesn’t wanna get too far out there. Are friendships hard, or just when they overlap with writing? It’s women. They talk in code. Who knows what they mean? The good news is you’ve got a nice deadline, at least.
Me: Your shame-filled ninja child is killing me.
Him: Yeah, having a kid is awful. It’s basically sending all your vulnerability into the world without any of your coping mechanisms.
Me: That’s why we only have a dog. Did you read Mona Simpson’s eulogy for Steve Jobs in the NYT?
Him: I’ve basically stopped reading. The line between Jewish writer and anti-Semitic bibliophobe is where I live.
