I watched a documentary on Nora Ephron the other day, and I gained a lot of respect for. I had watched some of her movies, but I have to admit that I really never knew anything about her. I have probably written elsewhere about how I am not someone that is necessarily interested in the biographical data on someone as a window into understanding their work, even though all my training suggested that this was the best way. As I have developed as a writer myself, and have constructed many worlds and characters I would like to think that there is a distance between the creation and the creator. This, of course, may be mere fantasy on my part, and people may read my work and fully see my psyche laid bare – people may be able to read my work and dig into the deep history of the stratified layers of myself.
Everything Is Copy – that notion, and the philosophy underpinning it, made me look at how that matched up against my own thinking on my life, the life of others, and the content of my creations. I realised that there is a place where my own truth and my own story ends, and the story of others begins – when I am invested in the unpacking of my own story I am a writer, and when I am interested in the unpacking of someone else’s story I am being a publisher. Knowing where the line is and being able to pull forth the story from someone else involves an entirely different skill set.
To be a good writer and to be a god publisher, you must listen – this is a vital skill. Do I have to remind myself sometimes? Maybe. But the thing is, when I listen to someone else’s music I fall in love with it, and know that I have to put it out. My romance with my own work is more complex, but it is still there.
I have been digging through a site I thought inaccessible, but through the wonders of the Wayback Machine I am accessing it. I have to check it against what I have published already, but I think I have a book of old stuff to publish. Some days I love the internet, and I just ignore the parts that are poisonous.