On writing and success
No one judges George Bernard Shaw, Upton Sinclair, or Jack London by what they wrote in their early youth when they were struggling up the long ladder and neither will I be judged by my earlier efforts, when the dust has drunk my brain and dreams.
But God, the utter futility of it descends on the soul of me like a thick fog through which I can see no light. Surely, for by the time I have gained the heights of success I will be old and hardened so by life that the taste of success will be as dust and ashes in my soul ñ a man without hope, without joy and without friends. The finished article -- and what care the accursed throng for the labor that went to make it?
There always remain, Sin's mockery be thanked, the longings of the flesh and if a man can never satisfy the mind and the soul, he can at least satiate the belly and its brothers. They promise nothing and though they desert a man in the end, they do not betray because, blind and torture-hunger, they promise nothing. Nothing beyond the moment -- but a man can live in a sort of manner, in that moment.
The emptiness of success I know -- though I have never tasted it -- is a reality for always through the cheers of the mob will come like a writhing serpent the memory of the jeers of the mob when I worked and sweated pure red blood. And I will always think: you uplift me now, but you scorned me then, and where is the difference? For I am now and I was then, and then I built the corner stones and the foundations, and now I stand on the spire and where is the difference? Damn you all. Thats what I will think in the days to come; but now I must bend my back to the corner stones and the foundations and make them firm so that my spires may rend apart the stars and all the world may see the glimmer of my skeleton against them when I stand on my spires at the end.
Robert E. Howard, October 1928
But God, the utter futility of it descends on the soul of me like a thick fog through which I can see no light. Surely, for by the time I have gained the heights of success I will be old and hardened so by life that the taste of success will be as dust and ashes in my soul ñ a man without hope, without joy and without friends. The finished article -- and what care the accursed throng for the labor that went to make it?
There always remain, Sin's mockery be thanked, the longings of the flesh and if a man can never satisfy the mind and the soul, he can at least satiate the belly and its brothers. They promise nothing and though they desert a man in the end, they do not betray because, blind and torture-hunger, they promise nothing. Nothing beyond the moment -- but a man can live in a sort of manner, in that moment.
The emptiness of success I know -- though I have never tasted it -- is a reality for always through the cheers of the mob will come like a writhing serpent the memory of the jeers of the mob when I worked and sweated pure red blood. And I will always think: you uplift me now, but you scorned me then, and where is the difference? For I am now and I was then, and then I built the corner stones and the foundations, and now I stand on the spire and where is the difference? Damn you all. Thats what I will think in the days to come; but now I must bend my back to the corner stones and the foundations and make them firm so that my spires may rend apart the stars and all the world may see the glimmer of my skeleton against them when I stand on my spires at the end.
Robert E. Howard, October 1928
posted by Bob Freeman at 10:11 AM
1 Comments:
You hit the nail right on the head Steve. The man was brilliant, but he was also so saddled with a manic deppressive personality that led him in a downward spiral that was just heartbreaking. Don't know if you've seen the Whole Wide World, but as a writer I consider it a must see. It really gives one a glimpse into the mind of an author...
Oh, and thanks for stopping by.
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