Diary of a Mad Editor

I’m not going to suggest to you that there are no writers out there who are sane, well-adjusted, free of ego and cool as hell — there are. But, a good many of us creative types aren’t.

Poets may be the worst species of animal. There is a surplus as a matter of fact. A vast number of them are a vain, needy and insecure lot. Like this guy I know who sucks all of the air out of the room every time he enters it. This man (we’ll call him Poet X) writes poetry (or what passes for poetry in these parts) and he is one of the rudest, most self-centered, vainglorious assholes you’d ever want to meet.

The thing is, this guy can’t have a conversation relating to anything to do with poetry without talking about himself and his poetic accomplishments. I mean, he’s always giving you his C.V. He thinks, because he teaches creative writing as an adjunct at a local humpty-dump community college (and once upon a time took a workshop with Stephen Dunn) that he’s a literary superstar. You could be talking about Walt Whitman, Langston Hughes or the price of oil in the Arab Emirates and not only will he claim to know more about it than you, he’ll find a way to turn the conversation onto himself and some poem he wrote. And you’ll likely hear some variation of the phrase, “my poem”, “my award-winning poem” or “my most inspired poem” at some point — usually more than once.

And since he’s a local poet, he tends to be very condescending towards anyone who gets more attention than he does on the local scene. Last weekend, for example, Poet X, took great pleasure mocking and insulting the honor of this local female poet who featured at a notable local venue. Granted, the woman wasn’t a great talent and her presentation was unpolished at best. Granted, she was also a bit of a kook (by her own admission actually). Sure, I wouldn’t dispute that. But she was a nice enough lady and hadn’t done Poet X any harm. So you’d think a mature adult would just sit there, politely listen to the woman read and give her some measure of respect — you’d think an adult would do that or else just shut the hell up and leave. You don’t sit there talking at a high volume for the entire half hour the woman is reading at the mic. You don’t go on Facebook the next day and attack the woman’s character and make snarky comments about her sexuality, her physical appearance, and her mental state — and for no reason other than the fact that you are an asshole and jealous little shit who hasn’t been asked to be the feature in the joint.

Be careful what you wish for, Poet X.