Over on his blog (http://weblogs.sun-sentinel.com/features/arts/offthepage/blog/), Chauncey Mabe, the books editor for the South Florida Sun-Sentinel, offers the following advice for aspiring writers: “Stop. Give up. Quit. Don’t write another word.”

He’s not kidding, either. In summary, he believes that there are a lot of untalented writers out there wasting their time, and that they “gum up the machinery for those few who are gifted.”

It’s an interesting position, and I’ve been tempted to take the same approach when speaking to various groups of wannabe writers. The truth is, many people think they can write. Most of them are wrong. I’ve seen the work. I’ve held it in my hands. Plenty of it is absolutely horrid.

But here’s what I’ll add to Mr. Mabe’s thoughts: Even if you do “make it”--even if you are a talented writer with a quality product to offer--getting published probably isn’t what you think it is. Chances are, your print run will be much smaller than you expect, and so will your advance. You won’t be making any bestseller lists. You won’t get reviewed in the New York Times. You won’t be appearing on Oprah or The Today Show. Fans won’t be lining up at booksignings. After your book comes out, you could stand on a street corner in your hometown and ask random strangers if they’ve ever heard of you. They won’t have.

This is a downer topic, I know, maybe because it’s Monday. But it’s the truth. Most authors toil away in obscurity, hoping that they can slowly build an audience and climb out of the ranks of “midlist” authors. Of course, very few make it, and that’s simple mathematics. There always has to be a midlist.

What’s my point? Frankly, I’m not sure. I know that it’s disheartening when someone like Jenna Bush “writes” a book and receives tons of coverage, plenty of money, and a place on the bestseller lists. (Current ranking for her book on Amazon: 152; current ranking for Gun Shy: 111,334.) It’s discouraging to know that there are literally millions of people out there who would enjoy your books--if they’d ever heard of them.

So why do most authors continue? Many would say it’s for the love of writing, and maybe that’s true. I also think many of them believe that their next book will break out and get them the attention they deserve.

For me, it’s a combination of reasons:

I do enjoy writing. Wait, that’s not exactly accurate. I enjoy the sense of accomplishment I get from having written. The actual writing itself can be a chore at times.

I enjoy sharing my thoughts with thousands of people (though I wish it were millions).

In spite of the innermost thoughts I share with friends and family (they see a lot of cynicism on my part), I AM optimistic enough to think my next book can be a bigger success than the last one.

Honestly, I do it because it’s what I know how to do.

Right now, I’m going through the copyedited manuscript for Holy Moly. What that means is, a freelance copyeditor hired by the publisher goes through a hard copy of the manuscript and marks things up for typesetting. She also suggests minor (mostly) changes to word order, grammar, vocabulary, syntax, etc. When she does this, she writes a little note to me in the margins, asking if the change is okay. I’m lucky, because the woman who copyedits my books is outstanding, and she has sharp eye for detail. I take 95 percent of her suggestions. (If she were reading this, she’d change “95” to “ninety-five.”)

I always worry a little at this point. What if, for example, she pointed out that I have a character in two places at the same time? In other words, what if she caught some major flaw that required a massive rewrite? That would be a hassle. See, by now, I’ve forgotten a lot about the story. After all, I started writing it more than a year ago, and finished it five months ago. Things are a little foggy. Even the minor suggestions she makes can require a little brain refreshening.

Next, in a few months, I’ll see the typeset version of the manuscript, and, once again, I’ll have to read it thoroughly. Being honest here, most authors are sick of their manuscripts at this stage. Reading through it can be painful, like listening to a Hee Haw song over and over. If I’m lucky, I run into a few passages that make me smile and think, “Did I write this? This is really funny.” Other times, yes, I’ll cringe at something I’ve written. It’s only natural, I think, and most authors report feeling the same way.

People often ask me which of my books is my favorite, and that’s always a tough question. The answer changes depending on my mood. But I can honestly say that I think Holy Moly is the best one yet, and I sure hope the readers and reviewers agree.

I don’t know the pub date yet--probably May or June or sometime thereabouts. I’ll share the date as soon as I know.

I first received the essay below at least fifteen years ago, via fax (remember those?), and I thought it was one of the funniest things I've ever read. I needed a grin this afternoon, so I tracked it down and pasted it below for your amusement. Did an 18-year-old really write this? If so, and if the credited name is correct, I'm surprised this guy hasn't since gone on to a life of acclaim and best-seller lists.......

Hugh Gallagher, at the age of 18, wrote an essay that won the Scholastic Inc. high school writing contest in 1990. This essay eventually made its way onto the internet and spread as an actual application essay to NYU. This essay is found below.

3A. IN ORDER FOR THE ADMISSIONS STAFF OF OUR COLLEGE TO GET TO KNOW YOU, THE APPLICANT, BETTER, WE ASK THAT YOU ANSWER THE FOLLOWING QUESTION: ARE THERE ANY SIGNIFICANT EXPERIENCES YOU HAVE HAD, OR ACCOMPLISHMENTS YOU HAVE REALIZED, THAT HAVE HELPED TO DEFINE YOU AS A PERSON?

I am a dynamic figure, often seen scaling walls and crushing ice. I have been known to remodel train stations on my lunch breaks, making them more efficient in the area of heat retention. I translate ethnic slurs for Cuban refugees, I write award-winning operas, I manage time efficiently.

Occasionally, I tread water for three days in a row.

I woo women with my sensuous and godlike trombone playing, I can pilot bicycles up severe inclines with unflagging speed, and I cook Thirty-Minute Brownies in twenty minutes. I am an expert in stucco, a veteran in love, and an outlaw in Peru.

Using only a hoe and a large glass of water, I once single-handedly defended a small village in the Amazon Basin from a horde of ferocious army ants. I play bluegrass cello, I was scouted by the Mets, I am the subject of numerous documentaries. When I'm bored, I build large suspension bridges in my yard. I enjoy urban hang gliding. On Wednesdays, after school, I repair electrical appliances free of charge.

I am an abstract artist, a concrete analyst, and a ruthless bookie. Critics worldwide swoon over my original line of corduroy evening wear. I don't perspire. I am a private citizen, yet I receive fan mail. I have been caller number nine and have won the weekend passes. Last summer I toured New Jersey with a traveling centrifugal-force demonstration. I bat 400.

My deft floral arrangements have earned me fame in international botany circles. Children trust me.

I can hurl tennis rackets at small moving objects with deadly accuracy. I once read Paradise Lost, Moby Dick, and David Copperfield in one day and still had time to refurbish an entire dining room that evening. I know the exact location of every food item in the supermarket. I have performed several covert operations with the CIA. I sleep once a week; when I do sleep, I sleep in a chair. While on vacation in Canada, I successfully negotiated with a group of terrorists who had seized a small bakery. The laws of physics do not apply to me.

I balance, I weave, I dodge, I frolic, and my bills are all paid. On weekends, to let off steam, I participate in full-contact origami. Years ago I discovered the meaning of life but forgot to write it down. I have made extraordinary four course meals using only a mouli and a toaster oven.

I breed prizewinning clams. I have won bullfights in San Juan, cliff-diving competitions in Sri Lanka, and spelling bees at the Kremlin.

I have played Hamlet, I have performed open-heart surgery, and I have spoken with Elvis.

But I have not yet gone to college.

Newsweek received a couple of letters to the editor in response to my column two weeks ago. Here they are:

Dogs That Get Bad Press

As a veterinarian and pit-bull owner, I commend Ben Rehder for "A Dog Who Was Pure Muscle and All Heart" (my turn, Sept.17). Rehder states what everyone should know about pit bulls: they are loving and happy companions. They receive a frustrating amount of bad press, but the pit bulls I encounter at my work are friendly, excited patients who only ever hurt me by slapping me with their wagging tails. It's true that not every pit bull is a wonderful pet, simply because not every dog is a wonderful pet. I have encountered just as many aggressive golden retrievers and Labrador retrievers (breeds that are often held up as the ultimate family pet) as I have pit bulls.
Wendi Velando Rankin, D.V.M.
University of Missouri-Columbia
Columbia, Mo.

I read Ben Rehder's essay about his beloved pit bull with very mixed feelings. While I can relate to his fond memory of his dog's friendliness and loyalty, I am struck by how similar his description is to the one given by the owner of the pit bull that mauled my Belgian sheepdog, resulting in a permanently severed jugular vein and 50 stitches across his body. Stories in newspapers across the country report maulings by pit bulls whose owners almost always describe their pit bulls as friendly and loyal. It's amazing that pit-bull owners are willing to accept the risk and liability of harboring such a potentially lethal weapon. It's even more incredible that they never think the "killer instinct" label applies to their dog.
Roger Nys
San Francisco, Calif.