Is It Just Me?

Am I the only person who is depressed and disgusted that Bob Dylan has won the Nobel Prize in… Literature?

Does the word even mean anything any more?

I was never going to reach even the bar of being published for money, much less the Nobel committee, but this is like a shitbag in the face to anyone who ever sweated blood trying to make a work of fiction into a solid and living thing, or went back to a cycle of poetry year after year, shaping it like a bonsai tree.

I guess all of us who ever wanted to build something worthwhile out of words ought to just go fuck ourselves, or learn to sing in an abrasive, obnoxious tone of voice.


16 thoughts on “Is It Just Me?

  1. No. I asked on Facebook and while most whore replied were happy (because they like his songs), there were others who said it was inappropriate. I feel that way too. Love some of his work, but it is not great literature.

    Fifteen years ago, I decided to try writing romance because I thought I could easily get published and make money, as opposed to the impossible road of Serious Writing, but that proved to be incorrect. Now I have a pile of self-pubbed genre writing to my name and have made nothing from it. Might as well just write poetry then and feel intellectually satisfied.

    • I literally wept after a few glasses of Chardonnay with this evening’s dinner, because fuck, I love Story and I love language and Bob Dylan stole his name from Dylan Thomas
      in my craft or sullen art
      exercised in the still night
      when only the Moon rages
      And the lovers lie asleep
      with all their griefs in their arms…

      and people who have no idea about that, or about Dylan Thomas in general, time held me green and dying/Though I sang in my chains like the sea think this is groovy.

      Sometimes I think there is nothing more important than Story, and language is the next most important thing because you need it for the most important thing. And this is what America has to offer? Suck one big fat duck.

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