A while back I read another writer’s impression of publishing a book: it’s like carrying a bucket of water to the sea. There’s something so perfect about that analogy. The loneliness, the hope, the utter unnecessity of the act. In an ocean of words and ideas, characters and phrases and stories, each of us has only a bucket to contribute. And once we pour out our offering, what is left but an empty plastic pail, waiting to be filled again, one drop at a time.
Does it ever bother you? Having put everything you have into a piece of work, do you ever feel a pang of regret that there’s already so much out there, and your hard-won bucket of words is as puny and insignificant as a bubble on the surf. Or do you revel in the idea of being part of the conversation, maybe only a small part but it doesn’t matter. You’re in there. And after all, the beaches are yours to enjoy whenever you want to take a dip.
How do you feel about the size of the ocean?
Photograph by Russell James
The size of the ocean is not what’s important. The ocean is a great place to be. The important thing is staying away from the sharks.
Also, never put on a wetsuit that’s too tight… or get a dangling participle caught in the zipper.
Oh lord. My oldest son got his participle stuck in a zipper once when he was about three, and I thought one of us was going to pass out trying to get it unstuck. Thanks for the memories.
Oh but I have another oceanic analogy for you! Stephen King apparently said that writing a novel was like setting out to cross the Atlantic in a bathtub. How do you like that? And then you empty your pail back into the blue and put on your sun cream and get sand where sand should not be..
Ah shit, yes indeed. A bathtub, a cracked oar and a current pulling you out to sea.
I’m pretty sure I’m in that bathtub, but I think shore is just about in sight. I’m going to keep rowing, broken oar and all.
I could be in worse places.
Correction: I have been in worse places.
This bathtub is all right.
What?? I attribute the above ramble to my post-vacation cold and Zyrtec-D.
That’s not a ramble. You should see my first draft.
“All is vanity. What do people gain from all the toil at which they toil under the sun? A generation goes, and a generation comes, but the earth remains for ever. The sun rises and the sun goes down, and hurries to the place where it rises. The wind blows to the south, and goes round to the north; round and round goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns. All streams run to the sea, but the sea is not full; to the place where the streams flow, there they continue to flow. All things are wearisome; more than one can express; the eye is not satisfied with seeing, or the ear filled with hearing. What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done; there is nothing new under the sun. Is there a thing of which it is said, ‘See, this is new’? It has already been, in the ages before us. The people of long ago are not remembered, nor will there be any remembrance of people yet to come by those who come after them.” — Qoheleth
The sea is warm, the sun is shining. May as well swim.
Sounds a little like Ecclesiastes.
I just remind myself of the ocean of people who AREN’T carrying buckets and count myself lucky not to be among them.
Sometimes I agree with you. Other times I see everyone chillin’ under their beach umbrellas and wish I could set down the pail.
(Yes, I am planning to surf this analogy until the the moon rises over Miami.)
I don’t know why you coulldn’t have both.
Beautiful post. Not sure how you do it.
But…to your question! We are ONE. I actually believe that. What you do, or you, or you, or you over there, is in my name as well.
We are one.
Do we have to be one with E.L. James, because she’s totally bumming me out.
But so many fascinating things live in those waters—some things we will never see (feel/taste/smell/know) any other way.
If they aren’t brought there by our little, plastic buckets . . . then how?
Very long garden hoses?
Hey, that’s your department—I mostly just write sharks and clownfish.
How, exactly, did you read my mind? Today has been one of those days of feeling insignificant – and I don’t have anything to boast of to your degree. It happens to all, right? I bet Nabokov…ok, maybe not Nabokov, but some of the best writers sat in their studies, worrying about the futility of it all. If they greats can do it, we are permitted, I think.
The more I learn about myself and my writer-friends, the more I realize we’re all prone to the same insecurities and worries. Some of the best writers I know are riddled with doubt–which is oddly comforting, in an ‘all in this together’ sort of way.
No! No, we do not. I say this because I just read this article in our paper: “Need MORE Fifty Shades of Grey? Read this list!”
The first book on the list: Lady Chatterley’s Lover. Now, I don’t know about you, but no way is a Fifty Shades reader going to be interested in Lady Chatterley.
Oh my god. Every book from now till the end of time will be compared to Shades of Grey if there’s anything remotely erotic about it. But Lady Chatterley? In what world would someone recommend one book to the readers of the other? (Our world, Averil.)
I will not be reading the reviews when my book comes out, because I envision a chorus of “not as good as Fifty Shades!” in the Amazon comment section.
D.H. Lawrence was considered the porn writer of his time, which is where they get the comparison I guess? Read Sons and Lovers in a college class once…the prof read a piece out loud and said, “Did you catch it?” We all looked at him confused and he said, “You missed the sex scene?”
Lawrence’s sex would be way too subtle for today’s 50 shades fanatics! Lol
Also, in case we’re wondering what the ocean is full of…
That is so fucking depressing.
A long time ago, I saw an astrologer at a sort of expo for mystics in San Franciso. He smiled at me knowingly while studying the short version of my chart and told me I was attracted to shadowy, deceptive Pisces men, that my Venus was in Leo, and that the two didn’t go together well. He said I hated to be ignored. Venus in Leo supposedly means I need a lot of attention, but I actually do reasonably well with less than he seemed to think. Knowing that my words are insignificant drops in the internet ocean, puny, largely unread drops, bothers me. A lot.
My Venus is shaking her ass in Leo with a smile plastered on her face because she doesn’t want to seem ungrateful that anyone has come into her yard at all. The size of the ocean doesn’t bother me as much as not being seen on the waves by the ones who’d love my boat. If we write with care, I think there’s an audience for each of us. Dealing with not being found is the hardest part for me. I guess for many of us.
That’s it exactly. At Betsy’s place today there’s a conversation about traditional vs. self-publishing, and though I’m all for self-publishing in theory, for me it seems almost impossible to be found by the people who might enjoy our books. I’m just not that good at marketing, I need a partner. (And an editor, and a copy editor, and a cover designer, etc.) But those are services I could probably beg, borrow or steal. Distribution is another thing altogether.
There are people who do self-publish and get out there and build a readership, but they write a lot faster than I do, and most of them write for a younger crowd. I’m not sure how I’d show up on anyone’s radar, working alone.
You ask the toughest questions. It would be enough, at this point, to be a part of the literary conversation. But even then, so vast is the ocean, that I would not be sure if or when that has happened.
I think you are already part of the conversation. After all, you’re in the driver’s seat as a book review editor and you’ve had tons of work published. If you’re not in the ocean, no one is.
The ocean is vast, but it doesn’t care about all of us equally.
The ocean doesn’t give a shit at all. It’s just there, waiting to absorb us.
But you, my friend, are singlehandedly filling Marshmallow Bay. Congratulations on the new book! You’re a machine, you’re a dynamo! Your drive and determination never fail to impress me.
XO
I keep thinking your icon is a chipmunk.
Thanks! I do go a bit crazy on things when I find something I like, or a new business venture.
My deep, dark secret? I fear that, as with the other things, I’ll lose interest within five years. Thus, I need to get the work piled up before I move on to something else. I’m hoping I can just change genres in five years and that’ll be enough. It is a ridiculous fear, but aren’t most fears?
I guess it would bother me possibly to feel lost among others in a vast ocean. But I’ve wanted to be an author since elementary school, so getting out there at all would be such a thrill. Probably my happiest and proudest moment.
Yes, I’m of two minds about it myself. I do feel a bit lost sometimes, but of course the size of the book pool is not a surprise and it still feels like an accomplishment to contribute. Also, between you and me, the volume of books is a comfort; if mine sucks, having it get lost might be a relief!
There are several oceans really. I’m happy to be in my little bay but that doesn’t mean I’d like to be in every ocean on the planet. It’s interesting to be published yet restricted to one country with the great land of the free remaining locked up tight to me.
Yeah, I don’t get that. Is there nothing that can be done with US rights? All these red, white and blue credit cards are going to waste.
How do I feel? So small it doesn’t even matter. I’m just pouring my bucket in the sand here. Can’t even make it that far, but still.
I just finally, finally finished a book I’ve been trying to read for months. It is such a good feeling to have read a book I thoroughly enjoyed. It’s totally worth it. The book makes a difference to me.
That’s great. What’s the book? Teri’s got a good one up on her site that I’m going to check out next.
Books are more interesting than buckets of water. This is what I cling to.
Yes, and they’re like snowflakes.
I’d be lying if I said this didn’t bother me. It totally does, and more often that I’d care to admit. But you know what the good news is? When I’m writing, really writing and involved in the work, I couldn’t give a shit about the great big ocean. So at least I have that.
I hear you, sister. Writing is the cure for outside distractions, whatever they may be.