On Being a Player

I’m listening to an audio book about Ulysses by James Joyce. Ulysses is full of great and convoluted hidden meanings and poses a question for me. How did it get ever get recognized? Here is a daunting book of almost 800 pages that describes the activities of some truly idiotic people during the course of one single day, June 16, 1904. Who could be convinced to read on past the beginning of it? I am asking this because I want to understand how this is can happen. How can s.o. convince a publisher to print and distribute such a work? How do people find out about it? How in the world can s.o. sit down and read it? Some PhD’s spend years researching surrounding events, both historical and then current, study the text for its convoluted references to Homer’s Ulysses (Odysseus) and then relate all of that to s.o. like me who has, and will take, the time necessary to listen to all 24, 45 minute lectures. And, I have the book but I don’t know if I’m going to read it. I mean 800 pages!

I ask all of these questions because I want to know. I am incredulous about it because there are tons of books out there, written by a multitude of writers both living and dead, but getting published seems to be the hardest thing in the world to do; unless you are in some circle that keeps you in the proximity of those who know. Much of what is written is drivel, who decides what’s worthwhile?

When I met with my former writing professor, after he had time to look at my book, I was curious about his reaction to it. He didn’t have one. His lack of enthusiasm for my work told me everything I needed to know so we talked about him and life in general. On the one hand I think I am too old to succeed at writing; on the other, I look back and say it takes s.o. about five years to get going on s.t. like this, to get ensconced in the writing community, to find like-minded would-be authors, to pay the price of apprenticeship and get your journeyman’s reputation. But it takes a decision to dedicate yourself to same and DOIT.

I have two of the best excuses in the world, neither of which holds any water so I won’t even make them to you. Two other things holding me back are finding the entrance to and then entering the labyrinth, which is the world of writers. There is so much symbolism in the ancient writing that I never tire of it. Most of them have the hero finding himself in a situation and cleverly working his way through. My dilemma is finding the situation in which to get.

I joined a group of writers, what a waste. I wrote for my grandkids, fun but shooting fish in a barrel. I wrote for Open Floodgate, voila! Le lieu. Then it shut down so I published my book, the one that didn’t fire Ed’s enthusiasm. These and my classes made me aware of my need for an audience, people who will read and comment, for better or worse, on what they read. So now here I am blogging away.

There is another aspect of my life that is totally analogous to this. It is pocket billiards/pool. I’ve had a table for more than 10 years. People come over for parties and often we get involved in a game. Some of these people are very good, better than me. Then last year I joined a league of players at the Billiards Club of Louisville. My game has improved because my team mates are supportive and are more than a little willing to share their expertise with me as I struggle. I still suck at pool but I am light years ahead of where I was and win most of the time at home and about half the time in league play. The skill levels go to Super-7 and I am a three. There aren’t many men who are threes and I chafe under the shame of it but play I do. I study the game, practice it, play it, and compete in it and you watch, in three or four years I will be right up there at the top.

As I review similar forays into endeavors that require more than being able to talk a good game, I see the similarities. There is a long learning curve but one has to get on that curve if he is ever going to advance his skill. Okay so where is the 0-0 point of the curve for writing? For pool it was walking into the billiards club and saying, I want to get on a team. They were open to the idea and made sure I got on one. Where is the writing club, the entrance into the labyrinth?

As the result of a discovery about myself , a few months ago, I changed from talking a good game to working hard to be able to play a good game; and I’m referring to life in general, not just pool. There are many, whom I’ll call spectators, who are vicariously involved in life and I made up my mind to be a participant, a player. The danger in being a spectator is that one gets lulled into getting fulfillment from watching others play and becomes an expert in talking about the game. For me, the fulfillment is in playing the game. I am a player, a performer, give me a game and an audience and I’m there!