Written by Brendan O’Meara
I should probably be doing work, but my train derailed and I figured and I’d better atone for my sins. I wrote a post here saying Charles Bethea’s profile in Outside Magazine had the worse opening paragraph I’ve ever read. It was hyperbolic and hurtful. The post was written by a bitter hand. Worst of all, I attacked a fellow writer, which is minor league baseball. I’ve had my work raked over the coals and it hurts. I was a rock-eating troll.
My wife sent me an image of a poster that says, “How to Feel Miserable as an Artist”. Almost every one hit home, especially the first one: Constantly Compare Yourself to Other Artists. This is what prompted me to rail Bethea’s Outside piece, which I have since read and is well done. It was done purely out of insecurity. I also came across this: 20 Things Mentally Strong People Don’t Do. Again, I was weak-minded.
What prompted this mea culpa was Bethea defending himself in the comments of that post as well as in an email to me where he said, “Have some balls and publish this comment on your site.” Go read it. It’s smart, funny, and well written, a total zinger. I also wrote a long reply with my tail between my legs.
I told him in an email that sometimes freelancing puts me in a dark, dark place. I’m alone for hours upon hours when I’m not shadowing a character. Even then, it’s likely a story that will barely pay for the gas it took me to get there. This makes me bitter. That’s a ‘me’ problem. And reading his opening graf to that story hit me at this intersection. It doesn’t make it right. It’s just what happened.
I wondered if the blog post would somehow reach him. These things have a way of flowing down the river of the Internet to the source of our angst. I feel slimy.
Still, as a result of my childish tantrum, we’ll likely have some civilized discourse about writing and magazine journalism. Remember when I spoke about luck? Maybe in this instance I made a friend out of a crummy thing I did. That’s luck. Undeserved, but luck no less.