Putting It Out Without Paranoia

(part 2 on this particular issue)

There was a time, shortly after I had become known as a writer and performer (in a small town sort of way), when I demanded payment for every performance and every poem. Money was a mark of acceptance, the affirmation that I was indeed what I claimed to be; a poet, a performing artist, a real writer. Although I wasn’t paid much on the grand scale of the material world, I would not work without monetary compensation. Even the New Age philosophy and psychology advised people to define their self-worth in dollar signs. “Ask for what you are worth and you will receive it” was a popular phrase. But I’ve always found that difficult to do. How does one set a monetary value on self-worth? It’s invaluable.

News flash folks: Poems are seldom reading material found on the desks or bedside tables of the rich, politically powerful, or the famous. In fact, as a bookseller I can tell you, books of poetry are most often purchased by other poets. Really, we would probably do just as well to trade books. In fact, trade may be the answer to our monetary woes. The bards of old were cared for by their tribes. I’m still open to folks bringing me green beans, potatoes or a chicken in return for a well-done reading.

As I grew in my philosophy of poetry, I grew less paranoid, more generous, and easier with my words. I quit worrying that somebody might “steal” my stuff. Although I wouldn’t be thrilled if I saw one of my poems tagged with someone else’s name, I figured this would be a rare occurrence. Not that it doesn’t happen. I know it does. I’ve seen it in my college poetry writing classes–students who stole the words of the Masters, rearranging them to suit their purposes and make that “A” they felt they deserved. The really surprising part was how the teachers didn’t recognize the work of Frost, Stevens, Plath. The key word here is “Masters.” I mean, somebody might steal a metaphor or phrase or a made-up word and claim it for their own, I guess. But who is going to want your WHOLE poem? Such is the world of letters--we put them out there for others to read, be inspired by, steal if they want. You aren’t going to need that copy write lawyer anytime soon. And don’t worry, there’s more where that came from. Creativity is a generous Mother.

I know from whence I speak. I wrote my first novel 15 some odd years ago. I sent it to a new publishing house that was actually soliciting new material. This is a rare and beautiful discovery for new writers. I sent the finished work to the publisher and hoped for the best. In a month or two, I was astonished to receive a phone call from said publisher who said they loved my manuscript and would begin writing up a contract. They told me to “Go Celebrate!” I did. I told everyone. I borrowed money against the advance they promised. This is a typical new writer response. I had no agent and no advisor other than artist friends who assured me that “I shouldn’t quit my day job.”

Anyway, to make this horror story short, they kept my manuscript for a couple of months and never contacted me again. I tried to be patient, but eventually they sent the manuscript back saying they had reconsidered. Just about a year later, a new book hit the bookstores (I know because I was working in one) which was acclaimed in California newspapers (the location of said Press) and was obviously being well-received in fantasy circles. My friends, who read the book and who had also read mine, said that this new book bore an awful lot of resemblance to my book. They said it seemed more than coincidental and I should look into it.

I didn’t. I never read the book, published by this same press, one year after they had received, accepted, then rejected my manuscript. I couldn’t bring myself to do it and I was not ready for a legal battle which as a new author I probably couldn’t have won. It worked a number on me. I became bitter and selfish and played my words close to my chest. I never wrote another novel either, but I will.

To my credit, I did continue to write--everything but novels. And I continued to submit, to enter contests, to let my words out into the living, breathing air of our world. And the older I got and the more experienced I became, the less important the thought of plagiarism or “monetary compensation” became. I don’t want someone else to take my words for their own. I don’t like copycats or thieves. But I won’t keep my words bound in a closet for fear of these things. The reason we write is to get the work out there. We write because we need to put the words down. The control comes from what we do with them on the page, not what happens to them afterwards.

Now, I give my work away. After a reading, if someone requests a copy of a poem or essay, I lead them to the copier myself, run it off, sign it and hand it to them, often with a hug of recognition or appreciation. If we are writing in order to make the world a better place, a more thoughtful and compassionate place, then I say “Here, take mine. Trade me yours. I could use an apple, a cup of coffee, some inspiration.” And I bet you could, too.