Andrew Bill
Tom Edison knew a thing or two when he said, "Genius is one part inspiration
and ninety-nine percent perspiration." Just look around. Hemingway, Shaw
and Conrad all had to self-publish before they got noticed. Jack London received
600 rejections before The Son of the Wolf finally made it onto
the shelves. Gone With the Wind was turned down 400 times (too long,
too confusing, who's this Tara anyway?); Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance,
121 times (what's this guy on?); Jonathan Livingston Seagull, 40 times
(a talking bird--yea right!).
It's cold comfort that even Stephen King had to endure 12 long years of part-time
jobs, self-doubt and 40 terse rejection letters before Carrie, his fifth
novel, screamed into print. J.K. Rowling was an unemployed single mother on
public assistance, unable to afford even a second-hand typewriter, when Harry
came home.
What does this say about us writers? A cynic would point out that persistence
far outweighs talent; a philosopher, that only the nearly impossible is worth
having. Hunters will compare writing to shooting blackbirds on a moonless night.
Romantics will call it the price of art. Conspiracy theorists will claim it's
a plot by Xerox to increase photocopying profits.
And the true writer will say it doesn't matter. Writing is an incurable itch.
Andy Bill started writing to hide his travel habit. He was an inept waiter
and unfit for other, more respectable forms of employment. Today he contributes
to some of America's leading magazines and has been published in several travel
anthologies including The Gift of Travel: The Best of Traveler's Tales.
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