That is the question
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of publishers and editors,
Or to hold my words to friends and family, and by doing so, conceal them.
A bit pretentious, yes. But I like playing with words.
I was stuck next to a frat boy on the plane Friday evening. He wanted to chat so badly, it must have hurt. He didn’t care who, he just needed to chat. The fellow to his left feigned sleep. I pulled out my laptop and manuscript. Mistake.
I was rude, but didn’t want to be too rude. So I told him what I was working on. He asked if I would publish it. No, of course not. But why, he had to know. I wouldn’t tell him. I don’t think I could have found a better way to keep the conversation alive. Damn fool, should have pretended to sleep. Definitely shouldn’t have told him I was writing a book about the West Bank.
But why won’t I publish? I’ve been thinking about it the past few days. Simple. If Janet Wolinetz could imply I’m an antisemite, anyone could. What better record to defame me? What surer way to attack my character? To reverse the logic of the old Arabic saying "the enemy of my enemy is friend," the "friend of my enemy is my enemy." You can’t be both. You can’t find a mutually beneficial solution. The Israeli-Palestinian conflict is zero sum.