“Publication is not going to change your life or solve your problems. Publication will not make you more confident or more beautiful, and it will probably not make you any richer.” ~p. 185
Hey! A little imagination here, please?
Of course all of us, aspired writers, aim for this specific goal: Publication. Yes, publication, where I thought would lead me to fame. Well, not exactly fame, for I’m never actually sure of it, but at least I could finally google my name and found it alongside my own book.
But Anne Lamott here, ruined my imagination by sharing her experiences about how publication is not where it ends, and that publication is just another beginning. Publication, in fact, is not the most important thing of all–like, if you’re a Moslem, publication is not exactly like finally being able to go to Mecca to finally experience the spiritual journey. It is not at all like finally going to the Holy Land of Israel for Christians.
In this chapter, what really matters–and almost touch my heart, really (I don’t wanna give you the idea that I’m all that sensitive and soft-hearted) is what and who you’re actually writing for.
Lamott then shared this experience about how she finally published her first book about his father who was sick at that time, as well as her other books which are mostly dedicated to people around her–her friend, Pammy who was also very sick at that time, and another book dedicated to single mother like her. She wrote and wrote in order to finish her book before sickness finally got the best of those people–so they would be able to finally read the book dedicated to them before their sickness finally got worse.
That is so sweet, you know.
It’s not merely about the publication, but it’s more about what the book meant for you and people around you.
“So first I wrote down everything that happened to us, and then I took out the parts that felt self-indulgent.” ~p. 193
Writing an autobiography of you might not actually interest everybody, unless you’re Jesus or Barrack Obama. I doubt that everybody actually read stuffs about Barrack Obama, really. But what’s important is the value and the story about your surrounding, I suppose.
Which is why Lamott ended up writing stuffs about people around her–as a present. As a gift, dedicated to them.
I honestly have no clue to whom my book, let alone my prologue, will be dedicated to. My family? My friend? My enemy?
Maybe as I write and babble I would figure it out. I suppose.
So I’ll get back to my writing now.
And eliminated parts that felt self-indulgent.
Okay. Eliminate them. Eliminate them.
A Bunch of Nonsense 