Wandering rant today. Don’t worry, forecast calls for a funny list tomorrow.

I was reading Claire Zulkey’s MBToolbox blog today, and found this quote in an article about financial issues for writers:

Unfortunately, ours is not a career often known for its big bucks (unless you are a celebrity writer/editor, in which case, please drop me a line. I do windows.)

Right after I read this, I took a shower. If you’ve ever tried to do anything creative, you may have realized what most writers already know: All the best ideas either come while dreaming or in the shower. And so, though I didn’t even really mean to, I came up with an idea.

The idea that I came up with was this:

We all know what she means by celebrity writers. I just read a NY Times article about Dan Brown– apparently he was in line at an airport but had forgotten his ID. Fortunately the guy behind him had a copy of The Da Vinci Code, so he was able to use the author photo to get on the plane. Dave Eggers is speaking here in Chicago this evening (at the Metro, 6:30 pm), and I’m sure the room will be packed. And Stephen King totally must get mobbed when he goes to the mall. It’s probably not in a boy-band-ish kind of way (although that would be interesting), but I’m sure you’d recognize the guy if you saw him.

So, yes, those people could all be considered “celebrity writers.” But really, if you’re a writer, you have to be a celebrity, no matter how many books you sell. Whether your book sells or not, the mere fact that you have readers, or even a single reader, means that someone knows you in a way that you have not mediated. Fame is inherent in the writer’s lifestyle. Celebrities are “famous” because they are known by many people who’ve never actually met them. The act of reading someone’s writing creates the same relationship– even if they’re someone that you know in real life, reading their writing will introduce you in a way that most likely isn’t familiar, like a back door into their personality. You may not like someone’s writing, but if you’ve sat down to read it, you’ve got a relationship with them, like it or not.

In that way, if you’re a writer, you have to be a celebrity. A writer is nobody without readers. Sure, you may not have any readers, and your books may never sell, but even if you’re published only once in an obscure magazine, at least you have a fan in your editor or agent. Someone, somewhere at least thought you were good enough to get published, and, at least with them, you’re legitimately famous. Zulkey may make a distinction between rich authors and starving artists, but every writer is a “celebrity” by the nature of the activity.

More importantly, writers, many times, are not just connected to their readers, but are the connections between readers. They’re like social tinkertoys, little nobs connecting the pegs of meaning and ideas. I think up a great idea in the shower (or, more likely, hear about and research one), and then I write about it, and then, by reading my work, the idea gets transferred to you. If there’s an idea floating around that only a select few have the time or experience to understand, I the writer can only hope to grab hold of it, twist and turn it, and push it into words that my readers appreciate (hopefully with an original twist of my own included).

This is also why blogs are quickly becoming the forefront of modern thought– everyone in the blogosphere is a writer AND a reader. Instead of tinkertoys, it’s like legos– there are tons of different pieces and colors, and they can all fit together in almost any configuration. I hear something, I write it, you hear it, you write it, your friend hears and writes it, and then I hear and write it again. Likewise, anyone can become a blogosphere celebrity at any time, because relationships are easy and frequent (all I have to do is link to your site, and likewise you to mine).

The other side of “the celebrity of composition” is exactly why so many people with low self-esteem become writers and artists. The mere act of creation (with the minor yet fascinating exception of outsider art) is a search for judgement. Art is, more often than not, an attempt at justification (or lack thereof) of existence. Even the writing of someone like Palahniuk, which seems to defy any sort of attempt at justification (he wrote a short story about a pool filter pulling a kid’s guts backwards through his rectum) can, I think, be seen as a wrestling match with himself about his own worthiness. What does it mean, I picture him asking, if I can create something so devoid of value and yet still have it be called entertainment, still be called art?

All writers, in their own way, are searching for the celebrity that composition provides. These are interesting ideas, the writer says, and here’s how I dealt with them. What, they ask the reader, sometimes desperately, do you think?