Saturday, October 4, 2008

Adventures in fund raising

So at one time today I thought that I had a whole post on Chassidus vs. Mussar worked out, and life would be all hunky-dory. I'd type it up, post it, and go to bed. Then I discovered that in fact my post would not answer, and that's why I'm writing now. If you're lucky, you'll get a well-thought out post; if you're not lucky, it'll look like Thursday night. So here we go!

There was an article in New York Magazine which explained why I'll never be the next great American Jewish writer. See, I'm an American, and I'm Jewish, and that disqualifies me. All the really great writers are immigrants, and they wrestle with their religious fates as if they were characters in an arena somewhere in Ohio. Me? I'm as American as Apple Pie, and I'd as soon wrestle with my religious fate as attend a wrestling event somewhere in an arena in Ohio.

So what's an aspiring writer to do? Faced with this utter lack of external resources and an equally disastrous lack of internal fortitude-but wait, is that so true? Have I no experience, no mind-bogglingly dull toasteds that I can trot out at a moments notice, writing with all the flare of a man who has the past behind him and the future rosy with a nice little tint of jello.

Sorry, it appears that Thursday is upon us once again. But seriously, it does appear that the age of the great Jewish writer has left us. Having existential angst caused by a lack of existential angst is all fine and dandy, but it's pretty hard to make a living writing about it, unless of course you have the knowingly ironic touch. No, something more is required. Greatness comes not from a comfortable middle-class existence, but rather from hardship and privation. You have to suffer for art. Of course, I have no great aspirations to art, but would instead be perfectly satisfied with a comfortable living. The government bailout, for example, would be much better used by me than any Wall St. fat cat. Just think how much our glorious union would benefit if I had seven hundred billion tax-free dollars at my disposal. Our economy would positively shriek for joy as I lay down the cash for a few minor purchases, i.e. a BBJ, a house, and perhaps a couple of helpers around the house.

Writing is no easy trade. Not for us is the security of the office nor the excitement of the racetrack. And some people envy us our seeming indolence. The truth is far different of course. When we're not busy peppering our blogs with helpful/humorous links we're busy saving the world one pen at a time. I understand that these great humanitarians (that we are) are often unappreciated, and their (our?) work is maligned under the most false of pretenses. This is not a cry for recognition-"I don't need your eighteen dollars!", but rather a desire to truly understand the process behind making a quick buck off an unsuspecting public yearning to be cut free of the bonds which tie it irrevocably to those barbarians up north. So yes, give me your tired, your poor, your hungry huddled masses yearning for semi-decent literature at an exorbitant price. Open for me the eye of a needle, and I shall open for you my wallets (you can drop the cash there, or deposit the checks directly to my account. Please see my secretary for credit card payments).

18 comments:

Cheerio said...

i once wrote about this very issue. how could i write if i've never suffered passionately for my art?
then i decided that i would write anyway.
so far it's been working for me, although i haven't made any money either.

Nemo said...

Eh, spare me the middle class and give me riches.

The Real Shliach said...

Cheerio: Who needs to suffer passionately? Going without fishpaste for the last year should be tribulation enough.

Nemo: So why are you in law school?

Nemo said...

That statement was like, "Halevai riches!"

At least as a lawyer I might be able to kiss some rich guy's tachas (or sue it for all it's worth!).

The Real Shliach said...

As a lawyer you MIGHT be able to kiss? What do you think Shluchim do all day?

e said...

There's kissing, and then there's kissing...

SZB said...

Shluchim are the new Bush.

The Real Shliach said...

e: You would know?

SZB: How exactly?

SZB said...

Bush Derangement Syndrome.

Don't ask me what that is. Wikipedia is your friend.

The Real Shliach said...

If I'm thinking what your thinking, then, "Ouch!"

Anonymous said...

And the mad lib went where?

The Real Shliach said...

It died.

Anonymous said...

boruk dayan emet

The Real Shliach said...

Like a phoenix, another will arise, even better than before. Just give me ten minutes.

Anonymous said...

Okay good. I actually didnt see the other one. How does it work, don't we need to fill in the blanks and then you create somethin'?

The Real Shliach said...

Patience my son. All will be revealed.

Anonymous said...

Funny, I don't remember you being my dad....anyhow don't stress yourself now for I need to split achshav..

The Real Shliach said...

Split?