Shut Up and Drive the Car

I just wrote an extremely long post about a post on another litblog. But it’s lost. Just as well. It was the kind of arrogant fury I’m trying to steer away from these days.

I’ll only say this: If you’re spending a good chunk of your time waiting for some journalist to call you up, you probably shouldn’t be blogging. Because that’s not what blogs are about. It’s certainly not what the top-caliber litblogs are about. Deep down, all of us care very much about literature. And I would venture that it’s the honesty of those convictions that gets people reading.

So knock off the pity parties. You haven’t been snubbed. There are no gates to crash. Just keep thinking and keep posting. And remember that you have the advantage of being outside the box, outside the mainstream. So what are you going to do with the Porsche now that I’ve given you the keys?


  1. Ed,
    Perhaps it is arrogant of me to think you might be talking about my post from earlier today, but if you are it was meant with heavy sarcasm. I don’t really care if I am not interviewed, etc. I don’t have the expertise or the dedication or the humor to pursue fame through a lit blog and that is not why I created one.

    I do on occasion find it funny that the blogs referenced in these pieces are almost always the same, but I recognize lazy journalism when I see it.

    Some times the irony/sarcasm/emotion doesn’t come through in plain text. Glad to see you back by the way.

  2. There is —at the very least—something odd about the self-referential reporting about which newspaper dinosaurs are mentioning which web logs.

    So, yeah, I’m wid u,

  3. Well, okay, but it’s you’re loss: at my pity party, we’re serving Bartleby & James wine coolers and Smirnoff Ice.

  4. No Stoli, Beck? No dry martinis? If you’re going to throw a pity party, get a real bar! The party guests are all playing “Leggo my ego” and have self-esteem issues to be assuaged!

  5. Ed, do you have cats? That’s how I lose all the nearly completed posts I lose: when they decide to take the shortest path from one windowsill to the next across my keyboard.

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