“I wish… to thank you for your share in making life pleasant for me.” —from a letter, by a reader, to William Wallace Cook
In this little world, so crowded with sorrow and tragedy, what is it worth to have had a share in making life pleasant for a stranger?
—William Wallace Cook, in The Fiction Factory
William Wallace Cook, due to his prolificity, was called “The Man Who Deforested Canada”. Unfortunately for us, and I suppose him, his popularity with the reading public seemingly died when he did in 1933.
A search of the internet yielded no complete bibliography, nor even much of a biography. It seems none of his books are in print. And virtually none have been digitized. I suppose the lack of bibliography is due in part to the many pen names he used, and to a very large portion of his work being published under house names, and a considerable portion of his writing for the 5¢ and10¢ libraries of the day not being credited at all!
Would his present anonymity have bothered Cook? I’m sure I can’t answer that question. However, in his autobiographical The Fiction Factory (published under a pen name!), Cook does not seem to have had an eye to the future. He knew very well he was writing “disposable” fiction. He was not writing the great American novel — he was writing fiction to make a buck to pay the rent and put food on the table. He was an entertainer, much like TV scriptwriters today, and he seemed fine with that.
Then there are the quotes above.
While it’s clear Cook wrote hundreds of novels and stories for money, he was not averse to the writer’s higher calling: making life pleasant for the reader.
If he could, by his typewriter, help to alleviate someone’s sorrow, that was worth more to him then the check he got from the publisher.
I was a prolific poet: writing something over 2000 poems in the space of about 10 years, and seeing several hundred of them in physical and virtual print.
As I’ve said before, there’s no money in poetry. One must seek satisfaction in something other than the almighty dollar. For me, it was hearing from a reader how much one of my poems touched him or her.
Quite honestly, 99% of us will be forgotten by the time our peers and our children are dead. And some of us a lot sooner than that!
What matters most in life is how we touch others. We can be a vehicle of positive energy or one of negative energy.
As a writer, I can crank out books to make a buck — or I can seek to step a bit higher and hopefully make life pleasant for someone. The choice is mine.
I like money. I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t writing in the hopes of making money. However, at the end of the day, I’d rather touch someone, inspire someone, or make life pleasant for someone than bring home shopping carts full of money.
There’s nothing wrong with money. After all we do need it to live. If suddenly my sales took off, I’d be jumping for joy. And I wouldn’t give the money back. But if no one ever told me one of my books made life pleasant for him or her, I would be very sad. Very sad indeed. For though rich, truly I’d be poor.
Comments are always welcome! And until next time, happy reading!
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