That Ego Thing Again.

My current pet hate: interviews with small press authors.

Having a story, or even a novel, published by the small press indicates a modicum of writing talent, but it really is no big deal. And yet time and time again I’ve read forum posts and interviews with said authors which leave no doubt as to their new-found conviction that they’ve joined the ranks of the JK Rowlings at least, if not the Franz Kafkas. They burst forth with an explosion of shameless ego projection, leaving the reader (or so they think) in thrall to their skill as a writer and their damn fine personal qualities. Here are three statements from one such interview I partly read last night. I’ve paraphrased them slightly so as to give an accurate sense of their meaning when taken out of context.

I still have my writing gift to share with the world.

Being a red blooded American, I like to go out with guns and kill things gratuitously.

Modern novels are too thoughtful, so it isn’t surprising they don’t sell. What people want is entertainment.

That was the point at which I stopped reading, and that sort of thing is precisely why I once withdrew my novella from a prospective publisher who’d accepted it. It goes without saying that I acknowledge everyone’s right to their opinion, but there comes a point when you just have be choosy about the company you keep for the sake of your own self respect.

And it might be worth pointing out that, as far as I know, Franz Kafka never gave an interview in his life.