Those inconsiderate bastards who've come before us

When you take it upon yourself to become a writer you inevitably run across the uncomfortable situation of finding that what you have so ingeniously and brilliantly created in the pages of another author. Many times these authors are your would be contemporaries and peers (because after all, you will one day have you name on the best sellers list with them). The emotion that arises from said situation is often a grudging admiration. Yes, they have obviously stolen your hard thought plot devices or characters, but you feel better knowing that your thought process follows, or I should say "coincides" with that of the contemporary greats to whose company you aspire. However, sometimes you find yourself stumbling upon your wonderful plot twist, or sinister villain in the pages of some long dead author.

The nerve of those worm ridden asses. The bold, unapologetic nerve.

In these cases you can never be sure if you struggled through plot purgatory, emerging victoriously through your own devices, or if you have simply pulled up some long lost factoid or anecdote absorbed through osmosis some long time ago. Either way, you enter the precarious position of deciding whether or not your ideas border on homage or plagiarism.

lately I've been encountering this scenario with a disturbing frequency. I could simply stop reading my favorite authors, but I suppose I would rather discover that I am a dirty thief for myself than have some editor or proofreader cut me down for it. It does get extremely frustrating whenever it happens, and it leaves me questioning my abilities like nothing else. As I said, on one hand it makes me feel good to think that I could conjure up something akin to the musings of someone like Neil Gaiman or Stephen King. On the other hand, what the hell am I supposed to write now? I am almost determined to through darts at a wall filled with unrelated absurdities, but somehow know that such action would only result in my finding that Chuck Palahniuk had already covered such great with defter skill and darker wit. Then again, there are always children's books, a market in which redundancy and similarity are both applauded and rewarded.

If all else fails there is still supernatural teen romance, which apparently doesn't require all that much in way of plausibility, originality, or talent.

Decisions, decisions......