Everybody’s an Author in a World Where Nothing Works

Over the past year I’ve developed two new mantras: “These days, everybody’s an author,” and “Nothing works anymore.” These insights have come about through some turbulent personal experiences—and a good deal of frustration. And I’m thoroughly convinced they’ve never been more apropos.

Last spring when I was spading the garden, the neighbor lady across the alley came out and inquired what was new with my wife and me. I related how excited I felt that my new book, And Eve Said Yes: Seven Stories and a Novella, was going to be released the middle of next October. “Oh, that’s wonderful!” she replied. Then added, “Did you know I too am an author?” Well, I didn’t, but in the bat of an eye she departed and returned with a copy of her book, autographed it and handed it over the fence to me with best wishes. It was titled Snippets of Life, Mine in Particular, self-published by Xlibris, and, I would discover, quite professionally conceived and well written, a memoir relating her experiences as a missionary in Africa.

The gist of that neighborly encounter had become the norm rather than an exception. It seemed every time I’d mention my forthcoming book to someone, they’d respond with the factoid that they—or their mother or their son or their aunt or their uncle—was also an author. Kind of deflating after a bit, to say the least. Whatever happened to the good old days when an aspiring writer getting an acceptance from an editor like Maxwell Perkins seemed like winning the lottery? Well, the internet, Amazon and Kindle Direct for one thing. And POD for another. My publisher, Waldorf Publishing, informed me that every day, worldwide, 4,000 new titles come off the press. So—how can a new author reasonably expect to gain any serious broad exposure? After all, as they say, everyone has a story to tell.

Concurrently another phenomenon has been repeating itself with distressing regularity. More and more things aren’t working properly or failing altogether. Last summer, for example, my wife and I ordered a new air conditioner from Sears for our modest vacation house at Lake Gardner. Perhaps because the billing address and the installation address were different, the process became a nightmare. The A/C never arrived and, after canceling the order, numerous efforts to obtain a refund have failed. We’ve had to lodge a complain with the Attorney General.

In the same vein, our phone bill consistently has charges attached that we didn’t incur and have had to spend hours debating with “customer care” (in the Philippines, no less) to resolve the amount due. Furthermore, when the snail mail arrives, it’s quite common to discover someone else’s letters in the mix. Makes me wonder who’s receiving some of ours? And we’re not alone—I’ve noted similar conundrums related on colleagues’ blogs I follow. To top it off, when dining out the other evening, I was discussing this sorrowful trend with the waiter, and he then described a fouled-up auto repair situation he’d just experienced. However, when he brought us our check, he’d confused it with one for another party! Unfortunately, these anecdotes are only the tip of the iceberg.

Now, I have a theory as to why the culture seems to be disintegrating. (And it has nothing to do with President Donald Trump or Congress.) We have human beings on the one hand, and technology on the other. And the human element relying on the technological one is becoming more and more pronounced. However, the interface between the two is discouragingly imperfect and flawed; hence, an accelerating decline in efficiency and performance becomes increasingly apparent. Or…maybe it’s simply because too many people just don’t give a damn anymore?

In the sixties the artist Andy Warhol purportedly asserted that, “In the future, everyone will be world-famous for 15 minutes” (like authors?). And Thomas Pynchon published the short story “Entropy,” depicting a world winding down and coming apart. Perhaps the future they predicted has, indeed, finally arrived!