Sorry, God, but it just doesn't seem right/or seething resentment by me

Expectations are premeditated resentments

In continuing with my quest to become one of the finest human beings to have every walked the planet I realize I still haven’t made the living saint grade when it comes to ‘resentment.’

When resentment still rears its ugly head once in a while I get exasperated with myself. That’s because I detest ‘poor me’ people and I don’t want to be associated with them.

And I like to think ‘my’ God doesn’t like them, either. God hates whiners. By the way, my God looks like the Michelangelo Sistine Chapel God who touches Adam’s finger. I don’t know why, but mainly because that is what I’d like God to look like. Sort of like Ronnie Hawkins but slimmer.

“So, not happy wit’ what ya got? Take dat den!” says my God. My God has a Brooklyn accent when he feels he has to sound tough. Otherwise, it’s good old New Testament parlance. No, not with the ‘thees and thous and begats’, that’s English from the time of King James, but ancient Hebrew chat. Nobody can understand that much any more, so that’s why he goes to Brooklyn. He thinks it sounds cool and really digs Joe Pesci.

Anyway, enough theological digression, and back to resentment.

My resentment this week comes from the news I heard that somebody I know has had a book published. That really bites. I mean, I am usually happy for authors who get their stuff published, but in this case I’m resentful. I’m resentful because I know this guy. I won’t elaborate on how I do, but I am pretty familiar with his ‘skill-set’ as a writer. Familiar yet never impressed. By ‘never impressed’ I mean he is nowhere near as good at this soul-destroying, solitary craft as am I.

In saying this, I don’t mean to infer that he is a nasty or unintelligent person, for that would be true. It’s just that he never impressed me as much of a writer, so why in hell does he have a book published before I do? Whatever he wrote certainly couldn’t be more effective than my prose. I know it couldn’t be. I used to see the stuff he did years ago.

So, I have been left with a simmering and seething resentment. Do I hate him for meeting with a modicum of success? Not at all. I am happy for him. My resentment lies more in the direction of my own ego that tends to take rejection badly and tells me that just because a manuscript has been rejected by, say, seven publishers, then I must give up. My work is obviously inferior and how dare I impose such drivel on a self-respecting publisher? On the other hand, if I were to learn that my friend had his MS accepted after only sending it off to five publishers, I am going to be really pissed.

I also know I can be just the tiniest bit lazy about this whole publishing business. After I have done all the dog work of writing the book, painstakingly editing it, exhorting Wendy to equally painstakingly edit it, making whatever revisions are called for, and so forth, I feel I have done 'my' job and in truth publishers should be knocking my door down.

Unfortunately, that doesn't happen very much at all to virtually any writer. Publishers are self-involved bastards that believe that writers should kiss their pretty bums and approach them cap in hand, always. Well, I do a bit of the obsequious and smarmy stuff, and then grow weary of it. That is why at least two completed manuscripts are collecting electronic dust on my hard drive and on CD Roms while other jerks are getting published. RESENTMENT, I tell ya.

Back to my ego. I do tend to take rejection badly, no matter how long I’ve been in the writing business. I forget that other writers of note have had stuff rejected by, in some cases, hundreds of publishers before they meet with acceptance and a genuine blockbuster is released to avid readers.

I also must consider the wisdom of my initial premise which means I should never send off something with expectations.

I always do.

Rats!