Blogging for fame and glory

I'm not one to begrudge someone else their success (usually), but there's something a little icky to me about the ongoing anonymous blogger saga, as evidenced this week by Opinionistas. Maybe it's because I always thought that the way to become a writer was to write. Maybe it's because I just don't feel sorry for anyone making over 100K at some firm. I don't really care whether what she wrote on her blog was totally true or not, it's more the idea that the way to forward your career is to start an anonymous blog, rather than try to write something as yourself first, that I find kindof galling.

Part of it is certainly jealousy; I would love to be making big bucks writing, and I also would love sometimes to be anonymous. There is no going back and no erasing things I've written, and while I stand by them, I've grown up a lot and am not the same person I was when I started freelancing. So part of me admires and is enamored by those who just go ahead and create a persona, because I'm always smitten by things I can't do. I have no poker face, in real life or in my writing, which is why nonfiction is so much more my forte than fiction ever was or will be. I'd have as much trouble keeping track of a fictional blog persona as I would using a fake name, even though I know plenty of people who have a "real" name and one that most people in their life use for them, like a scene name or a pseudonym. I just know I'd be the kind of person, though, if I tried that, who would totally ignore it every time I was called by my other name. Hell - I often don't even hear people calling me "Rachel" because I'm just not expecting to run into people on the street.

For me, fiction is clumsy, like trying to speak a foreign language or drive a car (if you've ever watched me play Pole Position, this should frighten you), but nonfiction often doesn't even feel like "work" because once I've gotten to the point that I actually sit down at the computer, it's been percolating and sorting and shifting through my brain. So part of my disdain is certainly jealousy. And I do get the need for anonymity, especially this week with everyone I know scrambling to become someone else online. I guess part of me just wishes it weren't necessary. Since so many people of our generation have blogs, what's the big deal?

Maybe it's just that this Observer story seems like something that should be published, well, on a blog. I mean, it quotes Gawker, Nadine Haobsh, and Alex Balk. There's something kindof crass and mechanical about the whole "oh, I'm going to be outed/oh, I want to be outed" thing at this point, which Schneider-Mayerson pinpoints in the first sentence declaring Melissa Lafsky's bid for stardom the desire to become a "public commodity." I guess any writer, any artist, is that to some extent; you are selling yourself, your work, your words. Yes, I try to promote my work (and I know I've probably been annoying you all with incessantly plugging my reading series, but that's cause the bar told me they need me to up attendance), but is hailing your umpteen Gawker mentions under "Media Love" really necessary? I guess so. I guess that's how the game is played and I need to take a memo on how to win.

“I’ve thought about it and what it means, but I have no desire to do it anytime soon,” said the still-anonymous author of WaiterRant.net about a reveal of his own. “There are a couple of things to anonymity: Just from a purely mercenary point of view, if you want to pursue this for money—which every blogger wants to do—then you have to consider whether putting yourself out there too early sabotages the mystique that you’ve put out there or the mystique that has grown up around you.” [bolding mine]

Also, the whole bit about deleting parts of her blog? Did we learn nothing from Ms. Cutler? That whole Queen Bee/"nasal proclamations" thing is cached. Yes, maybe I'm being bitter and cynical. I don't apologize for that. I just have to try to learn and figure out how I can get myself a big fat book deal too. It's no secret that that's what I'm working towards, both to pay off my loans and because I think I have something to say that's at least as worthy as what Ariel Levy has to say.

Actually, though, at the end of the day, I am happy to have any audience I do. I wish I'd figured out a little sooner what I wanted to "do with my life," but I didn't. Spending this month meeting with fellow writers and artists, trying to get on track with my projects and writing, has helped me figure out what I want from life. Yes, I'd love to actually make money from editing books, but even if I don't, I'd rather do them than not. It's a massive pain in the ass especially when it's for what feels like pennies but I also love the thrill of reading other people's work, of getting to pay them in turn and publish them and feel like an explorer, an excavator, a guide. Confusing my love for it and the value of my work probably makes me a terrible businesswoman, but at least I can take pride in what I'm doing when I can manage to overcome my innate laziness. And know that there are amazing writers who actually blog because they have something to say.