My sainted wife, The Duchess, is an inveterate and unapologetic fan of American Idol. Me, not so much, though I admit  it has a certain gonzo freakshow entertainment factor. The other night she was watching and wondered aloud how it is that people who are so obviously untalented could delude themselves into thinking they are undiscovered geniuses. I mean, its one thing to be modestly talented and think you’re better than you are; at least there’s some toehold in reality to grab hold of. But some of these people are fucking dreadful, how do they imagine they’re good?

Ah, but I understand. I’m a writer.

It does take a certain amount of arrogance to be a writer. I’d imagine it takes some arrogance to be any kind of artist. You have to push past negative criticism, rejection letters, heavy-handed editors who get angry if you resist some of their suggestions, and the mockery and disdain of your friends and the shame of admitting that you earned $12.34 last year from your writing. If you’re not 100% sure you’re hot shit, how in the world do you push past that?

A lot of people don’t, of course. I know a lot of writers who haven’t written in years, or who still write for themselves but who have given up trying to publish or sell what they’ve written. Some of them have talent, some of them suck and the world breathes a sigh of heady relief at their surrender, but I think they all lacked the sort of psychotic conviction that their work is some of the best work ever written. Like the one guy on American Idol said last night before launching into some of the craziest crazy mousic a crazy man has ever sung a-cappella in the history of crazies singing unaccompanied: “These songs need to be on the radio.”

Get it? Not “I think I’m pretty good” or “some folks at my job say I could be the next Meatloaf”. These songs need to be on the radio. Like the history of culture won’t graduate to the next level unless we hear this guy’s wacked-out stylings. That kind of arrogance I’m familiar with, because it’s what I’ve been saying about my writing since I was about twelve. Back then, everyone pelted me with trash and called me Writer Boy. Or worse things. But now? Well. . .now it’s actually kind of the same, but at least I can whip out my Amazon rankings to prove I actually have a book on sale.

That’s what it takes, I think–that sort of crazy certainty that you have talent, even in the absence of any actual evidence to that effect. That sort of arrogance is absolutely necessary for what we do. And also damned entertaining for you, considering how often the dying Pac Man  sound goes off around me, signalling yet anothe rterrible failure. Enjoy!

My wife The Duchess, our friend Karen, and I traveled to Upper Saddle River, New Jersey last night to attend a meeting of the Science Fiction Association of Bergen County. I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it turned out to be a great experience. Our friend Karen proofreads The Inner Swine and barely tolerates her association with me, but she lives in the area so volunteered to be part of my traveling audience. Of course, as readers of TIS already know, having Karen along as your traveling audience is a mixed blessing, as she thinks shouting rude things at you from the seats is “funny”.

This was easily one of the best experiences I’ve ever had promoting a book – there were a lot of interested, cool people there, I got to jabber on and on for a long time about myself which is always enjoyable, we sold and signed a few books, and Karen had us over her place afterwards for delicious cake – what more can a dessicated, aging hipster doofus of an author want? Nothing, that’s what.

The evening started off with the three of us locked out of the building where the meeting was held, pounding on the door and wondering if this was all some sort of meta-joke on me – I admit I looked askance at Karen, wondering if this was a plot of hers to humiliate me, which would amuse her. When we finally found our way in, there was a little informal chat session ahead of the actual meeting where I got to circulate a bit and meet a few of the members, who were all shockingly interested in what I had to say. My wife and Karen spent this time setting up books on the display table while I tried to look authorly – which, thank goodness, I define as “somewhat drunk and wrinkly”.

After a few announcements, I was put on the stage where I started rambling on about my life and writing The Electric Church. Nothing beats talking about yourself, but eventually I stammered to a stopping point as people began checking their watches and glaring at me – subtle signs I’ve learned over the years that I have been talking too much about my plans to enslave Helper Monkeys and teach them to mix me cocktails.

Then there was an extended question-and-answer period, with a lot of really great questions. We took a break to sing Happy Birthday to one of the members – any appearance I make where I get to sing Happy Birthday and am offered cake is a good appearance – and then a few more questions. I managed to not be completely incoherent, I think, though there were a few moments of incoherency. I did suddenly regain consciousness on the stage at one point and everyone was huddled around me, looking worried, but I sprang to my feet, shouted “TA-DA!” and that seemed to smooth over the awkwardness. In the end, my pants did not fall down around my ankles while I was talking, and that’s always a triumph.

My hat’s off to SFABC Director Phil De Parto for running a tight ship – he kept things moving, asked a bunch of really great questions himself, and was extremely friendly and helpful. All in all I’m jazzed I went. Here’re some pictures for ya:

Jeff Discussing The Electric Church with SFABC Member.

Jeff Signing Books at the End of the Meeting.

Jeff and Karen in a Rare Pose Where Karen is Not Assaulting the Author.