My last post
on this thing was a story I wrote a few years ago that I happened to stumble
across, mend a little bit and mutter to myself, ‘well, this actually isn’t too
bad and I’m too lazy (also sensitive about rejection) to send it to a journal
or something so I might as well publish it here and hope people bask in its
utter lack of subtlety.’
It dawned on me, however, that far from exposing
people to a work I thought would enlighten lives, I am really just asking
people to read what I have put down and say, ‘well, isn’t he clever.’ I am a
validation junkie. This is probably the main reason why I am in academics,
because the academy, so enclosed and cut off from the normal functioning of the
world, amounts largely to a self-sufficient circle jerk, albeit tempered at
times by jealousy and contests about whose brain is the largest and whose
abstract theory best captures the unknowable aspects of reality: ‘check out the
size of my theory!’ ‘No, no, check out the size of my theory! Look at its swelling genius!’
And, in most of its aspects (besides being a source
of emotional expulsion), A Ranting
Distraction is exactly an outward expression of my constant need to be
praised. Of course, it is characterized by some sincerity (and a larger share
of nonsense that can be seen ((at a stretch)) to transgress via my research
into Modernist movements like Surrealism) and, at least at some shallow level,
I do have the intention for people to read this and perhaps uncover something
in my prose (or lists) that illuminates some aspect of their own self. But
ultimately I just want to be admired, which is the crutch that almost all
writing leans on: a need for the stereotypical, but transcendent ideal from
which all writers are birthed, bookish nerd to be loved a little bit (not that I am a bookish nerd, I’d rather think of
myself as a suburban vagabond with a poetic heart … alright, a suburban bookish
nerd with some minor vagabond tendencies).
Usually one would think that this desperate, and it
is sort of (well, totally) desperate, reach for attention and validation would
be unbecoming. It is very much a ‘look-at-me’ type syndrome that mostly elicits
sighs and raised eyebrows and disapproving glances from people who think
restraint the characteristic element of a well oiled society. But somehow
writing often manages to evade this sense of distrust, and disapproving glances
become figurative comfortable and welcome pats on the writer’s head. It is one
of the very few professions where the desire to just be admired is not seen as
pathetic attention-seeking, but rather an integral part of the writer’s inward
expression that is given shape in the text, through words that take on their
own character in public so that the initial rationale behind their delivery is
lost in the appropriation of the work by its readers. The reader knows the
writer is reaching for them, but they’re quick to kill them off for the sake of
the work itself.
I guess the other thing about all this is that I just
don’t really care if people see another blog (or whatever) of mine appear on
their Facebook feed and say to themselves, ‘well have a look at this dick, just
seeking more attention, what a tosser,’ and then proceed to not read it. In the
end, they’re the ones losing out because I’m actually quite good at this. I may
be seeking approval, but writing and then exposing this writing to people actually
encompasses more than just its urge for attention, for the good writer does,
and must, write with some knowledge of his audience in mind. Yet, such is the
unknowable character of his/her readers, this audience can only ever truly be
the writer him/herself. So in writing for validation, I am only really
validating myself—the audience is blessed to witness this utterly circular
generative realization, and may indeed politely applause such a maneuver, hence
ensuring the continuation of validation as they partake in the author’s
self-realization. In this process, the writer unveils all sorts of fun
narcissistic and self-involved/obsessed tendencies thought well buried, but
which force their way to the surface like a peculiarly aggressive mole that
desires just the smallest dose of sunlight (and you’ll all wonder about the
relevancy or symbolic tendency of that simile and I’ll just smile and have no
answer but that it impressed me a little bit, or enough to write down).
By writing for you, I am writing for myself; and in
writing for myself, I am validating my talent; and in validating my talent, I
impress myself; and in impressing myself, I may impress you. Perhaps, you’ll
let me know about how impressed you are. Or how unimpressed you are. Either
way, attention, good or bad, is a glorious and about-right-rated thing.
Or you’ll think I’m a self-obsessed dick, which is
also kind of true. Back to the academy with me where we, as academics, can all
crow praises at each other like anyone outside this domain understands (or
cares, rather) what they hell we’re doing.
Best wishes.
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