Go on--give us a trick

I've been a magician for a while now. Amongst my friends, I'm the token magician (with the exception of those friends who are also in the business, of course, but I'm not speaking to them because they already know all about this stuff). Personally, I like it. I like being the guy who can do things other people can't do. It's not an ego thing, really, though I'm sure that's part of it. Mostly, I just like sharing things that people are unlikely to see anywhere else. I like the look of surprise when, say, the barista at my coffee shop sees her cell phone appear inside a rubber balloon. But I don't like to perform for close friends, and I especially don't like to perform for family.

To a poor magician (read: that uncle who does a card trick at the family reunion) magic is 90% methodology and 10% presentation. To a good magician, it's exactly the opposite. Sure, there are some real knucklebusters out there, and magicians in your audience are guaranteed to be astounded when you pull one off. But they won't be surprised. All you've accomplished is an amazing feat of juggling--not magic. To a lay audience, methodology doesn't matter. All they're supposed to see is the effect. So, that begs the question: what is the effect? On the surface, one might think the effect is, say, "my card showed up in his wallet." And sure, that is the effect. But on another level (I would argue, the important level), that is only the skeleton of the effect. The real effect is the show the magician puts on when presenting this miracle. The effect could be "he predicted what card I would choose and put a copy in his wallet." The effect could be "he made the card invisibly travel from the deck to his wallet." It could be "he hypnotized me and made me think I chose a certain card." Upon the framework of a simple Card to Wallet, there are countless different "effects" the magician could choose to present. And that, I would argue, is where magic lives.

Eugene Burger, one of my heroes in magic, and certainly one of magic's greatest thinkers and philosophers, describes magic as it is generally presented as a stunt. But that's not magic. Magic, when it's presented properly, is a true art. It points beyond itself to something else. It hardly matters what that something else is, but there is something to it. And so magic, at least the way I want to do magic, is all about presentation. It is about showmanship. And that's why I hate performing for friends and family.

Friends and family know me better than any other audience, and so in their ears, no matter what presentation I hang on a magical effect, it will certainly ring false. My mother knows damn well I can't do the impossible. And on some level, so does any audience--they aren't stupid. But when you're on a stage or in front of strangers, there is a willingness to suspend disbelief that is simply not present when performing for close acquaintances. You can't step into another character, you can't put on a show, because if you do, they'll know that you're just acting.

When I watch a movie, I know damn well that the actors are just actors. But because I don't know them personally, it is very easy for me to suspend disbelief. Mentally, for a period of about two hours, the actor really does become the character. But if I knew the actor personally, all I would be thinking about is how different the character is from the personality I know. I would see the performance, and not the art. Magic is no different.

There are other reasons I don't like performing to friends and family.

To me, magic is a business. It's what I do, at least in part, for a living. Sure, friends do work for each other from time to time, but I loathe the sense of entitlement that seems to come with knowing a magician. Try asking a friend who is an attorney for free services over lunch sometime. If you're in genuine need, a good friend will gladly help. Otherwise, he'll resent the feeling that you expect him to work for free. Likewise, if you're a friend or a friend of a friend and you've never seen me work, I'll be glad to show you something sometime. No problem. But beyond that, I'll dish out the freebies on my own schedule. And it's not that I don't like giving a performance for friends, either...but it's uncomfortable enough that I only like to do it when I'm really mentally prepared to do it.

And then there's the element of what happens if something goes wrong. While on some level it's nice to have people to try things out on and give new material a test run before I go public, on another level, it's exactly the opposite of what I need in many cases. If I perform to strangers and it goes wrong, it feels like shit, but then I'll never see any of those people again. If I perform to a close friend and it all goes to shit...it's bound to be a bit awkward in the future.

There's also an element of proper etiquette. When I'm performing to a stranger, they're generally expected to follow certain social norms. They're not, unless they've been drinking, very likely to be aggressive or pushy. When receiving a performance from a stranger, people don't heckle, unless they're given damned good reason to. When I perform for people I know, I can't always exploit these social norms. For instance, if I perform for a stranger, I know exactly what I need to do to make someone look away from the deck of cards at the moment of truth. There are numerous techniques I can use to accomplish this, and the methodology is not important here (nor will I reveal it anyway). Yet, just the other day, I was performing for my mother, and she was burning my hands like nothing I've ever seen. I think she feels like she's being helpful when she watches so closely and always points out if she sees a move. But that's hardly the point. I have people I work with (fellow magicians) to watch for moves. I also tape myself and watch for moves. If I'm giving a performance, I'm not looking for someone to try to catch me. I'm looking for the response I would get if I were performing for an average Joe Blow on the street. With friends and family, I will never get that same reaction.

So if you've never seen me work, by all means ask me to do something some time. I'd love for all my friends to see something of mine at some point. If you introduce me to someone and want me to perform, that's cool too. Just give me notice so I can know what I'm going to do. Beyond that, try to respect that when I'm out with friends or family, I might want to just relax. Card tricks may seem easy, but they're hard work, and they're infinitely harder when I know the audience personally. So lay off a little bit, and I guarantee I'll have something to show you some day. After all, I am a showman--I always like to show off. I just like to do it on my own terms.

Ethics for Magicians and Mentalists

I'm a magician who dabbles from time to time in a bit of mental magic. There are others who specialize in one field or other. There are those who see the fields as one and the same, and others who see them as completely different. Personally, I see them as two branches of the same tree. They use similar methods, and both are related to performing the impossible. The difference isn't the substance, but the "flavor."

There are forums and clubs and groups of friends who gather, both online and in person, to discuss this art form. Generally, I steer clear of the topics related to pure mentalism, because that's not my specialty, and because I often find myself getting pissed off when I read about it (such as the time I saw Uri Geller on the cover of a magicians' trade journal). But this evening, I broke down and peeked at the mentalists board on a forum, and found a topic in which people were discussing Sylvia Browne (if you're unfamiliar with Sylvia Browne, I suggest you visit www.stopsylvia.com for more information--that site, maintained by Robert Lancaster, has an amazing wealth of information). Anyway, the point is, I was prompted to post a discussion of ethics for mentalists and magicians, because apparently, common human decency are in shorter supply in my profession than I had thought.

I'll begin by trying to explain the difference between magicians and mentalists. A magician uses trickery, sleight of hand, psychology, and various other means of deception to accomplish the apparently impossible. Mentalists do exactly the same thing, but they specialize in apparently "mental" or "psychic" feats. Basically, mentalists are magicians whose effects are apparently accomplished with mental powers.

Sylvia Browne and Uri Geller, were they legitimate entertainers, would fall into the category of mentalists. Their apparently psychic feats seem to happen by mental power alone. But of course, they aren't really doing these things--it's all trickery.

So, back to the forum topic. A guy mentioned Browne, and here are some samples of comments posted to the forums.

While Browne is just a normal medium who earns a living like everyone else, I've always felt that the extent she takes it goes just a little bit far. Even among mediums there is a level of decency and more importantly caution that Browne doesn't seem to exhibit.

Another responded:

This may be the case, but she's out there doing it and making a living at it! That puts her on the top rung of the ladder. Who is to say what is the level of decency when it comes to this area?

She is quite a PRO!

And the same person later commented:

You guys are just too funny. LOL

No one twist arms to make people listen to her. Since you guys are talking about taking the high road when it comes to dealing with people, would one of you mediums (here) tell me where to buy/find the rule book for mediums and where it talks about the levels of decency and caution. You know, where it states that mediums must exhibited these trates. Anyone?

So I guess the levels of decency and caution is really something that you guys thought up on your own. How nice of you to judge others with what you think is right.

I could care less what other mediums do or their methods, but really would like to read this rule book that you guys must be getting your infomation from. I want my copy.

To be fair, there were some level-headed responses as well, such as the gentleman who remarked:

Who is to say? Anyone who finds her pronouncements to parents of missing children reprehensible. Anyone who thinks the parents of Shawn Hornbeck did not deserve to be lied to like Sylvia lied to them. Anyone who thinks her comments regarding Opal Jo Jennings were vile and disgusting.

I am one of those people, and I have no qualms about saying Sylvia Browne is a predator who takes advantage of the grief of her victims to line her pockets and does not care what harm she brings to them.

I take issue with a lot of mediums, but I will be more circumspect with most. Browne, however, is at the far end of the spectrum and deserves no respect, no circumspection, and no kind words.

Eventually, the conversation devolved into people referring to the Bible as the aforementioned "rule book," and I stopped reading at that point, as I suspect you probably already know what my thought are on that kind of thing.

But here's the thing, Sylvia Browne doesn't just earn a living like anyone else. What she does is fraud, and it's the worst sort of fraud I can imagine. She tramples the loving memories of the bereaved for a quick undeserved dollar. As Penn Jillette said about these psychics, they are in a very real sense, motherfuckers. Nor is Browne just making a living like anyone else in the sense that she charges something like $600 for a 30-minute "psychic reading," during which time she spends most of those few short minutes reading off the names of your guardian angels, rather than providing the "service" she's supposed to be.

And then when she gets involved in missing persons cases or anything related to that, she sends investigators on a wild goose chase, diverting attention from the proper investigation which could actually save lives. Listening to people like Browne will at the very least rob you of your money, likely cause emotional distress, and quite possibly cost lives.

When we get into this debate, though, we see people talking about the other mediums, such as ones on that forum. The fact of the matter is, there is no such thing as an honest "medium." There are honest mentalists, sure. They're legitimate entertainers and don't claim to be real psychics anymore than Hal Holbrook claims to be the real Mark Twain.

Yes, magicians and mentalists, even the honest ones, use deception. It's part of the game. But there's a big difference between lying to people from a stage as part of a show, and lying to people and claiming it's all real. It's what separates legitimate magicians from those scumbags who need to be behind bars.

But, since people seem to want a rule-book, I thought I'd provide some thoughts on ethics for magicians. Whenever someone joins a magical society, the first thing he or she needs to do is swear an oath. Generally speaking, it's all about protecting secrets. "I swear on my honor I will not tell how it's done." That sort of thing. I think we need some additions to these oaths. Magicians need to start policing their own ranks, because there are a few motherfuckers out there who give us all a bad name.

First, and most importantly: Thou shalt not claim real powers. Sure, by all means pretend to have powers while you're on stage. But don't start opening up psychic hotlines, or giving psychic readings to the bereaved on television programs, or pretending to assist police in finding missing children. If you do that sort of thing, you need to be behind bars.

Secondly, in situations in which people are likely to think you might have real powers, I think it is only prudent to publicly disclaim said powers. It's not going to hurt your performance to begin a show by saying "I don't have real powers--it's all trickery--but I bet that we can still have a good time."

We don't expect a magician who does a watch stealing routine to actually go out and steal watches. It's all part of the act. By the same token, I don't expect an entertainer with a psychic routine to pretend to be a real psychic. Anyone who steals watches is a thief and needs to be behind bars, and the same is true of anyone who claims psychic powers.

It's not that difficult to tell the difference between legitimate entertainment and fraud. Magicians, mentalists--if you're claiming real powers, watch your backs. There are a lot of us who are sick of this shit, and we're not going to take it anymore. Everyone else, I urge you to not take it anymore either. If you're not mad as hell already, you better get there soon. Law enforcement--start putting the frauds behind bars. We need a purging of our industry, and it's time we start enforcing some very basic ethics. We need to stop tolerating the rampant fraud in this business. Anyone who even hints at having real powers should be immediately barred from magical societies, shunned by the community, and sent packing. Because the longer they're allowed to stay, the more people will begin to associate them with the rest of us, and that's the last thing anyone needs.

Lowest Common Denominator

It occurs to me, after a bit of sleep and further reflection, that what I was really talking about last night was the lowest common denominator.  It seems that all too many performers try to make their craft appeal to the lowest common denominator in any given audience, and I think that's wrong.  I think that's why so few actually hit "art."

Magician are too afraid to inject a bit of literature or philosophy into their act, for fear of alienating those in their audience who don't read, or may not "get it."  Balloon artists content themselves to work for children, twisting cute little animals instead of balloon sculpture like those shown here.

There's nothing wrong with working for children, and there's nothing wrong with wanting to be accessible to the masses.  But consider aiming at a higher target.  Don't be elitist, but a reference to Shakespeare during a magic trick will enhance the experience for those who do get it, and will simply be overlooked or forgotten by those who don't.  You can aim high and create art without sacrificing audience appeal.  I think that's a worthy mindset to consider.

Searching for Art

It's after midnight once again and I'm sitting in a cold dark room with nothing but my computer, my thoughts, and a fresh pack of cigarettes to keep me company.  A dangerous situation because it often leads me to start thinking about strange little bits of philosophy.  In this case, I got to thinking about art.  What is it that makes something artful?

Traditionally, art was a term used to describe anything done with great skill or mastery.  But during the Romantic period, this definition changed (I think for the better), and art began to be viewed as a human pursuit equal to but separate from religion and science.  I would, of course, argue that religion should be disposed of and that art and science should take their places as the two leading instruments or expressions of human knowledge and experience, but that's neither here nor there.  The important part is that art is created in order to provoke thought or emotion.

This is separate and distinct from any number of skillful acts that I think do not deserve to be called "art."  Eugene Burger, one of magic's leading philosophers, makes a distinction between "stunt" and "magic," in that, though a stunt may be impressive, it doesn't point to anything beyond itself.  It simply is what it is.  There's nothing wrong with stunts, but they are not art.  Art should point beyond itself to something more profound.

In an episode of the comedy show Family Guy, a teacher instructs his class to remember the proper performance hierarchy: legitimate theatre, musical theatre, stand-up, ventriloquism, magic, mime.

It's an old prejudice, and is unfair to any number of performers.  But why is it still so commonly held?  Because the lower one falls on that hierarchy, the less likely one is to be working toward something artistic.  Entertaining, sure.  But art?  Sadly, all too rare.

Within the first few pages of the first volume of The Art of Astonishment, Paul Harris describes the reactions he received when he told people he was working on a book about magic.  I can certainly relate to his experiences.  One thought he was talking about children's magic.  It's another old prejudice that says magic is only for children.  Another insisted that he knew some card tricks.  It was only when Harris, instead of using the word "magic," said that he was working on a book about the moment of astonishment, that he was able to generate what seemed to be legitimate interest in what he was doing.

Roger Ebert, the noted film critic, recently wrote that video games can never be art.  In that case, he was more wrong that the video game industry deserved, but is it really any surprise?  It's somewhat understandable that an older man without gaming experience will lack understanding of the artful qualities of a video game, but it is also true that game designers could make more of an effort to truly create art, instead of just a fun game.  Some do, and I admire them greatly.

I was recently reading through the pages of a forum for magicians, looking to learn and share my limited knowledge as I was able, when I came across a section devoted to those who "table hop," or stroll at parties.  I don't particularly like the term "table hopper," as it immediately conjures images of a performer, little better than a beggar, going from table to table soliciting tips, rather than attempting to create an artful and memorable performance.  In all too many cases, the term seems to apply.  For the few exceptions, it is useful only in that it (somewhat) accurately describes the performing venue.  Within the pages of this forum, one finds many balloon twisters--performers who make balloon animals for children.

A repeated topic of conversation is the poor treatment of these performers by parents who feel cheated when the performers have to "cut the line" in order to get home or to their next gig on time.

Let me make myself clear.  If you want to perform for children, more power to you.  But in any consideration of "performance hierarchy," whatever your prejudice may be, can you think of anyone lower than a balloon twister?  I can't, and I think that's a shame.  Sure, they're not traditionally artistic, as painting can be.  But why should these performers confine themselves to the hell of working for overprivileged children, instead of creating art?  I've seen what a masterful balloon twister can create when not working for six-year-old yuppies-in-training, and it's quite impressive.  Sometimes, it even reaches a level of--dare I say it?--art!

Likewise, magic shouldn't be just for children, but should be used to create thoughtful or emotional experiences for audiences.  All forms of performance art should be thought of first and foremost as ART.

Am I a voice in the wilderness?  Whatever your skill, whatever your talent, whatever your interests...stop wasting your time with meaningless stunts or simple unartistic creations for children.  Start working on making your performance REAL ART.  Then, and only then, will a wider variety of performance arts become readily acceptable.

I've performed stunts.  But I don't want to be a performing monkey anymore.  I'm not going to do stunts.  I'm going to create art.  And I hope you will to.

Magical Etiquette: Tipping

People don't see magicians every day, and so many people are unsure of proper etiquette when dealing with a magical performer.  In this new series of posts, I provide a few tips to help put your mind at ease and make your experience a little more magical and a little less worrying.

Tipping

One of the first questions people typically have is "Am I expected to tip the magician?"  The answer depends entirely upon the setting.

Of course, in a theatrical setting, where the magician is performing on stage, tipping is uncalled for and would be entirely out of place.  You've either purchased a ticket for the show, or your host has paid an all inclusive fee to have a performer at your event.

If it's at a private function, but more of a walk-around, casual setting (ie., the magician is hopping from table to table, or is mingling with guests at a cocktail party), we begin to enter into the area where people don't know what to expect.  Generally speaking, it's safe to assume that at any private function, the magician has been well-paid for his appearance and tipping is unnecessary.  If you feel you've received exceptional treatment and want to show your thanks, a tip may be accepted, but you should feel under no obligation.  The magician is not expecting a tip at this type of event, and receiving one is the exception rather than the rule.

If you feel you want to offer a tip but are still unsure, I would advise you to consider the type of event you're at.  If you're at a wedding, or other type of "special" event, I would consider tipping out of the question.  Were I offered a tip at such a setting, I would likely turn it down, not to be rude to the audience member, but to be polite to the bride and groom.  At a casual cocktail party, I would certainly never expect a tip (if I'm performing in such a situation, it is literally the farthest thing from my mind), but would be far less likely to refuse it if offered.

Again, feel under no obligation, but if you have a strong desire, just use common sense.

If the magician is performing at a restaurant, hopping from table to table, we find ourselves in the situation where people become really uncertain about the proper etiquette.  A magician working in such a situation should be financially taken care of by the management of the restaurant and thus should not be soliciting tips.  In fact, I consider those performers who actively solicit tips (such as by wearing "I work for tips" buttons on their lapel) unprofessional and rude (and therefore, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, much less likely to receive a substantial tip from me).  But if the magician is not rudely soliciting tips, you might wonder if it's customary to offer one.

The answer is that tips are welcome but not necessary.  Though these performers are well paid by the management, they're not receiving the same level of pay they would from private functions (most restaurant performers work only a few nights a week and are available for private functions on other days), and tips are a nice bonus.

You should feel under no obligation to open your pocketbook if a magician happens across your table.  In fact, if tipping the magician is going to cause you to lessen your tip for the wait staff, I would advise against it most strongly.  Though the magician may be grateful for a little extra money, the wait staff actually work for tips.  The magician's hourly wage is substantially larger than the waiter's.  But once the wait staff are covered, if you still have a little money for the magician, it's certainly appreciated (but again, not necessary).

I would say, in a restaurant, if you enjoyed the show and the magician was not rude, it would be appropriate to offer a few dollars.  If you really can't afford it, though, just enjoy the show and don't worry about it.  The magician is probably counting on receiving some tips, but is certainly not expecting them from all (or even a majority) of the tables.

Another way to show your thanks is to make sure and pick up the magician's business card and keep him in mind for your next private function (or tell a friend who may be seeking entertainment).  Even more than tips, magicians count on these private bookings (many of which may come from having performed for someone at a restaurant) for their livelihood.

The only situation in which I would consider tipping to be strongly encouraged, is if the magician is busking, or performing on the street.  In this situation, he has received no hourly wage or up-front compensation for his time and labor, and is relying entirely upon the generosity of his audience.  So if you watch a busker's show, and have a little cash in your pocket, by all means drop it in his hat.

Would I consider tipping mandatory, even for a busker?  No.  By contrast, I would consider it mandatory for a waiter or valet (by which I mean to say, I consider it extremely rude not to tip these people, unless they've provided truly horrible service).  However, the busker needs to feed his family, and the only money he's getting comes in the form of tips.

Instant Gratification

What is it with people these days always wanting instant gratification?  I feel older than my years just writing such a thing (expect me to start shaking a cane and shouting “Damn kids, get off my lawn” shortly), but it’s really the truth.  We’ve become a society of instant gratification and while it’s occasionally a good thing, I think it does more harm than good overall.

It’s something I’ve been thinking a lot about lately, and there was an occurrence today that prompted me to finally sit down and write something about it.  I was at the magic shop to pick up an item I’d been waiting for (I won’t tell you what it was, even if you ask).  While I was there talking with the guy working the counter, a high school kid walked in with a very particular request.  He needed something (ie., a trick) with a  rose.

The shop was out of the usual fare of gimmicked rose tricks (perhaps some day I’ll share with you why I don’t like those effects to begin with, but for now that’s neither here nor there), so we were trying to brainstorm something that wouldn’t be too difficult for him to do.  We then learned that he needed it this weekend, and all our ideas went right out the window.

Now, I understand this kid isn’t a professional magician (or even a dedicated hobbyist), and so shouldn’t be expected to devote the years to the craft that I have.  But at the same time, how can he possibly expect to have something presentable in just a couple of days?

I’ve already performed with the item I purchased, even after a couple of hours.  Do you know why I was able to do that?  Because it was a replacement item for one that had worn out.  I’d already practiced it, already come up with a routine, already mastered everything about it that needed to be mastered.  From the time I got the idea for how to use this item and purchased my first one, to the time I was actually ready to perform it, I invested a good two months of work on it.  That’s work on the physical knuckle-busting mechanics of it, and work on the presentation.  It’s hard work.  I love it, but it’s still bloody hard work.  And I invested two months even though I could have physically done it in maybe two days, because my magic is stronger for having paid my dues and done the work.

Some of the ideas we tossed around were different ways of producing roses.  We talked about some “straight” productions, a production in which an origami rose turns into a real one, and a few others.  These aren’t physically hard to do, but there’s a lot of work that goes into them.  Let’s say we want to do the Floating Rose, in which an origami rose is folded, made to float, lit on fire, and transforms into a real rose from the flames.  A very nice effect, popularized by David Copperfield on one of his TV specials.

Were this young gentleman to try and achieve this effect, how long would he actually have to work on it?  A long time.  Let’s figure he could probably master the origami necessary for the first part in a couple of days.  It’s a bit knacky, but not too hard to do, so that’s reasonable.  I have some experience with such things and mastered the fold in one day, so a newbie could probably do it in two or three without too much trouble.

Then you have to make it float.  Two months of practice.  Then you have to learn how to produce a real rose from the flames.  Two months of practice.  Then you have to come up with a routine, storyline, patter, etc.  One month of work.  Then you have to piece all these elements together, and get the timing right, polish everything and make it ready for performance.  One month of work.  Then you’re ready to perform for your first audiences.  And based on their reactions and feedback, you’ll be working and polishing and refining for the next two months before you can achieve anything close to mastery.  That’s six months until the first performance, and eight before you’ve mastered it.  Not something to take lightly, but that’s the right way to do it.  Anything less will look exactly like what it is--something you threw together in a weekend “because you had to” or “because it looked neat.”  That’s not magic, that’s a trick.  Magic only happens when you pay your dues and do your hard time of practice.

But we seem to see this a lot.  Even so-called “professional” magicians are seen walking into the magic shop and saying to the manager, “I need something good I can throw into my act tonight.”  TONIGHT!  Even if they’re able to achieve the physical mechanics of the effect in that much time (sometimes they can, more often they only THINK that they can), all they’ll be doing is a poorly executed parody of what the effect’s designer did.  They won’t be bringing anything of themselves to the performance, and that’s what people really want.  That emotional connection between audience and performer is what distinguishes magic from cheap tricks.

Writers have a similar problem.  Professional authors all have one thing in common--they’ve paid their fucking dues!  They’ve written every day for years, dutifully sending off their creations to publication venues, and in return they’ve received rejection letters.  The good ones, the ones that eventually get read, are the ones that read the rejections, listen to them, learn from them, fix the things that need to be fixed, and start over again.  It’s a tough process, very hard on the ego, but it does what it’s designed to do--make you a better writer.  No one is born with the innate ability to craft a wonderful novel.  Yes, some people have more innate talent than others, but mostly it’s a learned skill: learned through years upon years of hard work and dedication.

Do you know why, though many of my friends are authors and I often post on writers’ message boards, I’m not usually seen giving advice?  It’s because I’m still in the middle of that process.  I’m still paying my fucking dues.  I haven’t yet earned my seat at the table of professionals.  Plenty of my friends have, and they’ve been a great help to me, but they’re only willing to help because I’m willing to listen to their advice, pay my dues, and not get caught up arguing the minutia of something I haven’t earned the right to argue yet.

But more and more, people aren’t paying their dues.  They’re looking for instant gratification.  They write a novel that they think is great--of course they think it’s great, because they just spend the better part of a year bleeding over it.  But it’s not great.  It’s rubbish, and no editor in his right mind will buy it.  Why?  Because in order to write a good novel, you first have to write about a million words of absolute shit.  Each one will be better than the last, you’ll begin to see improvement, but it takes fucking time!  Instead of working through the process designed to create good writers, though, they send their book off to a vanity press, pay a few hundred bucks to have it published (note to aspiring writers: money flows TO the author, not away from him--if you have to pay to be published, you automatically know that 1) the publisher is a con man and 2) you need to work harder and write better before it’s worth reading), and do you know what happens?  It isn’t hailed as the best thing since A Tale of Two Cities.  It’s either completely ignored by everyone except the author’s own mother, or, if the author is too aggressive in his marketing, gets slammed by a slew of brutal reviewers who are tired of being sent complimentary copies of self-published dreck.

Contrary to what some mentally ill people (like the individual known in the horror small press community somewhat less than affectionately as He Who Shall Not Be Named) may think, there is no conspiracy to keep some people from being published.  Rather, there’s a process designed to publish the good, and help the bad to improve.  There aren’t any evil overlords passing judgment on poor unsuspecting writers--there are just people making proper business decisions, and these decisions collectively create the process.

Whatever you’re trying to do, you need to pay your fucking dues, learn your fucking craft, and doing fucking right.   Yes, it will take years of hard work.  No, people aren’t going to immediately recognize your undeniable brilliance, because guess what!  Your brilliance isn’t undeniable.  I’m fucking denying it right now.  You’re not brilliant.  If you were brilliant, you’d realize the importance of hard work, and you’d pay your fucking dues instead of bitching that people are keeping you from that instant gratification you so desperately crave.

I leave you with this thought: if you receive instant gratification, it has no value.  True gratification comes from watching years of hard work pay off.

Bob