Writing and Being Vulnerable

An author is constantly called upon to talk about his own writing, but that is not an easy thing to do. Unless a writer has thought of a book from the beginning as a commodity (something that I could not do even if I wanted to), it will mean something very different to him than to others. An honest author knows that he cannot objectively evaluate his own work, and everyone else knows that as well. A way out is to quote generic words of praise, which somebody else has written. But even praise seems to detract from what is unique and special about a book. A really “good” book is not better than others, nor is it worse. It is unique. Selling a book can seem a bit like trying to sell your soul. No price, however high or low, can ever be right.
Sophisticated authors often learn to work around, or at least conceal, this dilemma by cultivating a very delicate sense of tact. A writer can intuitively pick up some of the taboos concerning the marketing of literature, even though these are unspoken, situational and in constant flux. And the reading public is surprisingly indulgent about occasional, and inevitable, lapses. Readers may know, far better than we writers sometimes imagine, how much of ourselves we have invested in writing. They also know that even authors need to make a living.
I have always written in response to a sense of alienation, a feeling that I cannot hope to meet the expectations of society in any other way. By showing how I view the world, I try to create a place for myself, something that often seems otherwise denied me. My writing is not often overtly “personal,” let alone confessional, but that does not mean that I am any less present in it. I open myself to a great vulnerability. I then protect myself by a combination of perspective, detachment and distraction. But presenting my work to the world, like writing itself, is a perpetual emotional negotiation.
Negative comments can hurt a lot, especially when, as is usually the case, they seem based on a deep misunderstanding of a book. Praise can be more gratifying than I want to admit, but it can also leave me feeling a bit embarrassed. But neither of these are what matters most in the end. It is discussion that a book inspires. Ideas are my avatars in what is often an alien world, but they can come to life and have their own adventures.

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Imaginary Animals: The Monstrous, the Wondrous and the Human
The Raven and the Sun: Poems and Stories