A great read

Man, I'm enjoying the hell out of Rafael Lima's novel Screenwriter. Here's why:

“Tried once.” He says, “Wrote a novel. Pretty good first novel.” I sit down. I want to hear about the struggles of a young novelist. The triumph of art over commerce. “Published by a pretty good house in New York.” He taps the eraser on the desk. “Made oh, maybe two thousand dollars.

 “But don’t you think there is more to being a writer than…” Than what. Than making a living? Than providing for your family? Than succeeding at what many would fucking consider to be a dream? The old writer gets up. He swings his coffee cup and coffee spills on the rug. “Who are you kidding? You want to be this writer. This artist. Get a grip son. You are here, look out the window. What is out there? Out there is nine to five employment in retail. Out there is some waitressing job for your wife and life as a union plumber for you. All those writers trying to get in here where you and I are, making six figures and riding around in fucking limousines. Who the fuck are you kidding? Get. A. Grip. The novel is dead. The novel is dead. Theatre is dead. We are the new theatre and we are what replaces literature.

 You have this idea that your writing is like this untouchable holy vision. Nothing is holy. There are no visions. There is commerce. Life is commerce. Everything in life Bobby, everything is negotiable. Everything is product. Your talent? Your writing? It's negotiable.

 You know what America is? It isn't the home of the free and the land of the brave. It's the land of the consumer. It's the land of the deal and the land of the dollar. America is the land of the buyer.

This is great dark comedy because it hits so close to home. What I like about my life now is that I'm living one of the few practical escapes from this trap: I'm subsidized as an artist. That is, this is how I interpret my retirement income. I don't have to do anything for it, after all. I assume, thus, that I'm being paid "to be myself," which is to be a writer. So I write, and I survive, and I don't have to be in the marketplace to do this.

 Of course, this also means having no audience, or a small audience of those who manage to find me. But that's fine, too. It wouldn't be fine if I had not had my time in the sun, the features and profiles written about me in the 1980s, etc, but I experienced this and so have no romantic notions of what you think it is when you don't have it.

So I'm perfectly fine with doing what I do and putting the results in my archive, where it may or may not have a future after I pass. In this context, as Camus says, the struggle itself can fill a man's heart.

Back to my first point: this is an enjoyable, incisive, darkly comic novel. I recommend it. (It may only be available as a Kindle book.)