About The Market

Post 94:

            I’m a big fan of the market. And like most people that aren’t prodigiously adept at managing my way through it, I also kind of hate it. That there are no better alternatives I’ll concede. I’m not here for that argument.

            So you’ve got your product. In my case we’re talking stories, so yeah, don’t even get me started. How do I stand out? Well, here’s where I’ve gotten hung up in the past. You stand out primarily by not stopping. Could be this is the way with most things, but in the arts, I think it particularly holds true. Just don’t quit. Let the others fall away. Unless you’re a ballet dancer or something. I think you need young joints for that. I digress…

            If you want to be an sprinter and you do nothing but lose races, I’d say it’s time to take more kindly to walking.

            Art isn’t judged by a guy with a Tag Heuer. There’s no clock except the one you put on yourself. Now, you could definitely suck, but that’s always going to be something that’s up for debate. I walk into modern art museums and see some of the most nonsensical crap hanging on the walls sometimes, only to be told by my artist friends that the piece was done with great skill and forethought.

            What do I know? Not much.

            What do you know? About the same.

            That’s why there’s this marketplace thing, where it all gets laid bare and gets decided by the unseen hand or the Force or whatever else you want to call it.

            But beware, writers and artists. The arts are susceptible to fad popularity more than most things. Kind of like fashion. You know what doesn’t go out of fashion? Sports cars, or awesome blenders, or washing machines. It ain’t up for debate, I prefer to go fast and hit those tight corners, I prefer not to be outside with the washboard chugging my chinos into the suds.

            Kind of a goofy post, but my main thesis is that you never know what people are going to like until it’s done. You just don’t. I’ve written hundreds of songs, novels, poems, short stories—you just don’t know.

            I find that my relationships with women and my relationship to the marketplace is about the same. When they like me, I don’t get it. When they don’t like me, I don’t get it.

            Here’s to confusion. Cheers. See you after.