My dad is hyper and probably too tightly-wound for his own good. Growing up, I learned from the master of rants how to unleash venom like nobody’s business. While he did like a good tirade, my dad also knows how to just let shit go. People who know him are probably like, “What? Donny lets nothing go.” Oh yes, he does. You don’t get that mad, that often, and not let some of it go or you’d spontaneously combust.
So, how does a drama queen (or king) prevent combustion in a world full of unfairness and inequality? One word: Fuckit. No, I know you think it’s two words, but it’s not.
I’ll explain how to use it.
Boss is an asshole? Always riding your ass? Fuckit. Just because you have to deal with him nine to five doesn’t mean you’ve gotta take him home so your family can deal with him too. Fuckit. Here’s a beer. Drink it. Stop moaning and grow the fuck up. All bosses are assholes.
Can’t find time to write? Family, friends, work, kids, etc. sucking your time away? Fuckit. The world won’t stop for you, honey. You must stop it yourself.
Got your thousandth query rejection? Oh muffin, it hurts. I know. You are devastated. You want to quit. You can’t possibly send your manuscript to anyone else and endure this rejection again. Fuckit. Just be happy you don’t have to do shit like they did in the “olden days.” Imagine mailinga thousand letters and having a bigass pile of tangible rejection sitting on your desk, as well as the cost of postage eating up your bank account. Fuckit. Send another one out, or write a new book. Do something other than bitch about it. Those jerkoffs can’t hear you anyway. Might as well be pissing in the wind. Fuckit. Cheers.
Seeing fifty shades of crap on the bestseller list is eating a hole in your guts. God, you are so much better than that, your work is fucking brilliant in comparison. Your stories mean something, they say something, damn it. It’s not right that you aren’t published while hacks like that are raking it in. Fuckit. How do you know you’re better than that? What makes your work so different? What’s that? Exactly. You knew damn well that your book wouldn’t appeal to the masses. You knew that only serious readers could appreciate the plotting and deep characterization you blended to create an epic tale of whateverness. Write commercial or don’t. That’s your choice. But don’t bitch about a book that requires a specific audience taking a long time to publish. Such things only occur with the right agent, the right publisher and the right moment in time. That doesn’t happen just because you wish it to be so.
Pissed that everyone and his uncle are self-publishing these days? You think self-publishing and e-books are destroying the craft of writing? Are they destroying the meaning of “author” and “art” for the world? Fuckit. What makes you the judge of good or bad writing? What makes a novel “art” versus “entertainment?” Is one better than the other? Get off your high horse fucknut and worry about yourself and your writing. The only thing you can control in this universe is you.
See how that all works? Life is not fair. It will never be fair. There will always be something to make you angry, hurt, sad, frustrated, and whatever other negative emotion you might be feeling. This industry doesn’t care about you or your hard work. Face it; you’re one in a million, but not in a unique way. Fuckit. Just worry about yourself and shit takes care of itself in the end. Don’t believe me? What have your tantrums accomplished? Your rants? Are you any closer to getting what you want because you spewed your venom?
Of course you aren’t. It feels good to let it out, but after you do that, say fuckit. Grab a good stiff something and move on.