James Dean was a decent pretty-boy actor - one of many - who became iconic posthumously having appeared in only three films. Van Gogh was either ridiculed or ignored during his life. Michael Jackson is selling millions more albums now than he was a few months ago. Death, the bandwagon effect, even notoriety, can influence one's judgement. I mean, is Robbie Williams actually any good? Can't put my finger on it but I quite like him -sorry- and it doesn't matter if there are a million better singers. Russell Brand has never made me smile, let alone laugh; others think his hair alone is side-splitting. And what about Picasso? - don't get him at all. Does anyone?
So, what does this all mean? Fuck all, probably. Or maybe that I ought to give serious consideration to swan-diving off Tower Bridge. Ultimately, it's impossible to second guess the public. So what if my books are better than Nick Hornby's or Tony Parsons'? (Bad example - anyone's books are better than Tony Parsons'). But until someone in a position of power comes along and validates me - and the public back his/her judgement by buying my books - no-one will ever know.
Now, where was my submissions list?
Memo to self. Must stop ranting.