Here’s the scene:
Copake Lake, NY. 80 degrees with a warm breeze and scattered white clouds of fluff. I am sitting on a beautiful wood porch high on a steep hill running directly into the lake garbed in only a bathing suite and slightly damp from a recent swim. My music is playing through the house speakers and I am looking out at a perfect view of the lake.
That being said, would anyone like to join me?
I was reading a book earlier titled November Criminals. It’s a good book so far, I can’t judge it much because I’m only on chapter 3 and the chapters aren’t very long. As I was reading, I was thinking about how authors can get away with writing almost anything they want and not be called out for being strange. For example: If I were a well-known author writing a book where the main character regularly engages in acts of bestiality and the book was popular, I would never be questioned for the subject matter. People would assume I was just using creative license. Creative license or not, what if I was writing the book as an autobiography in disguise? People would never know I was a bestiality freak because they just think I’m being an author solely to entertain the public.
Contrast this against a normal person who is not currently, nor has ever been, an acclaimed author. If this person were to start up on some rant about bestiality to a small gathering of people and even one person disagreed, there would most certainly be accusations thrown around. The ranter wouldn’t be able to defend his or herself and all would be lost. Moral of this person’s story? Don’t hold public rants about subjects that can’t be backed up by your non-existent status as successful author with a boat-load of creative license.
So, what I think I’m trying to get at here, because I actually have no idea why I thought about this, is that being a decent and successful author has it’s obvious perks. It would get you money, fame, possible movie deals, and the ability to write about whatever crazy, insane, and essentially disgusting crap you want without facing ridicule from the people around you. Imagine being commended for writing the world’s most grotesque and realistic novel about a serial killer… and it was all a dream you had one night.
Kinda cool? Right?