I Heard Each Word You Said (Brave)

(Brave (And Other Things I'll Never Be)

By Seth King

Authors with mainstream publishers get the legitimate editors and their Google images have a pristine Photoshop quality (or dermatologist, orthodontist and professional make-up) that you won’t find in self-published authors. With all my own ranting and raving at typos I still can’t deny I find the raw uncensored self-published author rather alluring. Whatever super organizational skills (money and accolades) an actual publisher could have provided for this book, I am grateful that I read it as is, untouched by someone else’s idea of worthwhile. Beta reader is one thing; the “test audience” aiming for generic sameness is something else entirely.

Though mostly I hate reading self-help books. This, of course, is not that. People going on ad nauseam about what will make me happy pisses me the f— off. I don’t want someone else to define my happiness. I can do that all on my own thank you very much. I’m also not entirely sure how I feel about reading essays in a collection (which, in turn, this is), though I have written an inordinate amount of essays myself.

A few years ago, quite a few years ago (before the phrase millennial was coined), I was writing a collection of essays I wanted to title or dedicate to “Stupid People Everywhere.” It was my bitching and moaning homage to every pet peeve I have.

To the driver who has the light to make a turn and has forgotten that pedestrian have the “right of way.” It’s the law you freaking moron. To the people who believe that tossing their refuse near a garbage can is close enough. You are not feeding pigeons (flying rodents or spaghetti monsters) you are feeding rats. New Rat City, yeah that’ll bring in the tourist. Wait, I’m not overly fond of tourist, carry on. In lieu of writing essays for all my gripes I bemoaned (it’s my albatross) to everyone who would care to listen and got it mostly out of my system.

That said it is quite possible that a collection of someone else’s essays is just not my cup of tea (really I like coffee). Besides, I’m on the fence about stilettos. I wore those for over a quarter of a century that time lapsed through the latter part of the 70s, all of the 80s and most of the 90s. And I seriously cringe at the thought that I may have read the author (I’ve no idea who she is) who thought spewing vile at a child was ever even remotely okay.

My all time favorite essay (thus far) is still Annie Dillard’s The Death of the Moth; I overly overtly empathize (feel free to check out my “Reality Bites,” essay).

Still, Seth King takes a moment to remind the world that a voice doesn’t have to scream out in echoes to the rafters or in silence to the void. I’m all for a young man whose half my age and walks into glass doors telling me about his world POV. We each have one, like opinions and __ (fill in the blank). His is one I want to hear.

And though “night pools wetly” at her (Dillard) feet, brave is something he (King) truly is. On that note I will heed his advice, I’m getting over my fear, I’m ending the endless editing and I’m releasing my book (soon-ish). Good looking out.