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shadowkatI slept late, and spent the day cleaning out a portion of my hall closet. It was a mess. Such a mess - that every time I opened the door - it threatened to come tumbling out into the hallway. And I was afraid a dead mouse was in there (it wasn't - thank god, just dusty). I'd been procrastinating cleaning it out for years.
Did it from 12 pm to approximately 3 pm. Prior to that, breakfast, shower, making bed, watching a television show. Writing the morning pages - and completing the exercises.
The Artist Way and it's exercises lead to cleaning out the closet - when I'd intended on working on revising my novel today. Or rather reading the latest chapter in The Artist Way did.
[My self-help books are inspiring me to clean out my apartment of junk that I no longer use or need. I am afraid of becoming a hoarder - I shouldn't be, I'm good at throwing out stuff. Although I appear to still have four humidifier's of varying sizes that I don't know what to do with. And never use, and can't seem to part with. Anyone want humidifiers? Also couldn't get myself to part with the foot bath/massager or the numerous extension cords, television cable plug-ins (of various sizes, shapes and colors) or the chargers. I have bags full of these things - along with a bag full of batteries and tape. Despite all of that? I made a dent - got rid of boxes, an old broken broom, and junk. So yay me.]
The exercise that lead me down this path isn't what you might think. It did not tell me to clean out a closet.
It told me to revisit an Artistic U-Turn - or a traumatic abandonment of a work that I felt had promise and shut me down. I didn't have to think too hard about what it was. And it suggested that I find that work of art, revisit it, and see if I could salvage it and do something with it now.
They gave an example of a man who had shot a film, had it criticized and it shut him down. So he aborted it. Cameron, the author of The Artist's Way, asked him what happened to it - and if she could see it, because her gut told her that it was probably pretty good and he'd given up too soon on it. He was convinced it was lost forever. He'd put it somewhere - and the basement had flooded, so he was sure it was damaged. But - turns out it wasn't that it was still intact, he'd not lost it after all. So, he showed it to Cameron, who introduced him to someone who helped him rework it. And a year or so later - he produced it with his girlfriend, it won a few awards and got some acclaim, and they went on to do another documentary.
Cameron said the Universe (or the Creator) clearly intended for that work to get out there.
Last night, while talking to my mother about having hit the wall again on my writing - she asked me about my first book, the first one that I attempted to get published, and even for the space of maybe ten seconds, had a literary agent for. Not the one that I actually did independently publish, the one before it. The one that I even had a couple of people on fanboards read, and CW had liked. It's also the one - that I had people tell me that they liked my writing, but the story wasn't working for them or they didn't like the genre and wanted a cozy mystery instead.
The problem with being an artist (whether it's painting, drawing, writing, acting, music, what have you) - is you are often at the whim of others fickle and discriminating tastes. And let's face it - taste isn't logical. It's random. It makes absolutely no sense. And it is unpredictable. Also subject to things that the artist is oblivious or can't possibly know. In short - being successful as an artist - is magic. Having someone else love you work - whatever it may be - is magic.
I've figured this out over the years - because I don't often understand why people like or dislike what they do. I've tried to figure out. There is, as far as I can tell, no pattern or rhyme or reason to it. People are just weird. I mean why people loved Jo Jo Moyes Me Before You - is beyond me. How anyone can watch the Bachelor? Or make it through a Sophie Kinselli romance?? Or stand Brandford Anderson or make it through an episode of Real Housewives? Or loved Twilight? I don't understand how my co-workers could love the Twilight movies but not the Harry Potter films. (We were discussing the reboot of the Twilight films over the Harry Potter. They understood rebooting Harry Potter - but how could anyone mess with the brilliance of the Twilight films? And I thought, okay, did we see the same films? I barely made it through two of them - and everyone seemed really stoned.
Another thing? JK Rowling and Meyer went through hundreds of rejection letters before they got published.
It's hard not to resent people for liking things - I dislike, and disliking things, I love. Whether they be stories, characters, music, what have you.
I want them to like what I like and dislike what I dislike. But nooo. And to be honest? It's actually more interesting if they don't. The world would be dull if everyone liked and disliked the same things. It's kind of like brussel sprouts? I dislike brussel sprouts, my mother does too. Neither of us like cabbage much either. My father also did. My brother appears to like them, my co-workers love them. I know people who dislike chocolate, but love strawberry ice cream (sigh). Taste is non-negotiable.
The problem with the publishing industry - is you are at the whim of an acquisitions editor who has specific taste that may not and often isn't the same as yours. They may only like stories about immigrants going through hell, or hyper-realistic stories about mid-life crisis, or mothers and kids. Something that is relatable to them or makes them feel good publishing it. Or they may be hunting for the next best seller - that is like say Harry Potter or the Hunger Games or whatever is hot at the moment. They may want something similar to Colleen Hoover (who started out self-publishing her work because she couldn't get publishers interested.)
I write what I can't find on the book shelves. The stories in my head. That I'm channeling. I worked hard to learn how to write them down. I've always channeled them. I've been telling myself and at one point my brother stories since I was six years of age. I used to go outside - when no one else was outside - it would be an overcast or cold day - and I'd grab a tennis ball and throw it against the chimney, while orally telling the story in my head and acting out all the roles. If only I owned a dictaphone or a computer that could record and translate it all into words. But alas, this was the 1970s and 80s, so my parents got me an electric type-writer - as a hint to write them down. I was also writing them in long-hand.
Those stories are gone. But I didn't throw out the one that I had finished. I also didn't throw out my science fiction story, or the one I started writing in different colors of magic marker when I first arrived in NYC in 1996, before my computer arrived. I've written stories by hand, by type-writer, and by computer. I've also told them aloud to the air. Whether people get to read or hear them - is another issue, and not necessarily one I have that much control over. We don't. Artists. I like to tell stories through my artwork and my words - but I have no control over whether anyone gets to see them, if they will appreciate them, how they will perceive them or even understand them. It's not easy knowing that. it's frustrating, actually - and I often wonder why bother?
I think my Dad wondered the same thing. We used to talk about it. He encouraged me, but advised me not to give up the day job and to save. I've had co-workers who have advised the same - they too have encouraged me over the years.
At any rate - you may or may not be wondering if I found that first novel?
Well, I thought about it after my mother mentioned it to me. Then the Artist Way asked me about it. And I thought - okay, did I throw it out? I don't think I did. If I can't throw out humidifiers, it's unlikely I can throw out something I created and worked hard on. So I opened my closet, and sure enough - two plastic containers, buried under heaps of junk stared back at me.
I wonder if it's in there? But I'm going to have to clean out this closet to get to it. Dammit. I wasn't planning on doing that today. (Best Laid Plans and all that.) So, I rolled up my sleeves (so to speak - I was wearing a t-shirt) and sweated profusely (I had to change pants at one point) to get it cleared out. (Note to self - do you really need to keep all the tape, extension cords, computer speakers, chargers, and humidifiers? I did put one of the grounded extension cord things to use. Or all the different types of batteries? I have sacks for of these things, including a bag of knitting materials and a sewing kit. I'd decided I was going to knit at one point - only to get bored and ditch it. I am not a knitter. It requires counting and I can't count to save my life.)
It took two hours. Possibly longer. And a lot of bending that I probably should not have been doing. But I got it cleared out and re-arranged. I may have to clear it out again soon - since I apparently can't get myself to part with extension cords and television cables. Even if I never use them.
Finally, I opened the two plastic containers. And there it was, hidden beneath the sci-fi opus, which I'd already started re-writing in Scrivener, but have yet to finish. I got self-conscious about the accuracy of the world building. My inner critic which sounds a bit too much like the folks I've met across the internet shut me down. David Bowie said in the 1990s that he thought the internet was going to change the world in unimaginable ways - both good and bad. He was right - it did. Everyone has an opinion on the internet - and they have no worries about flinging it at you, regardless of what it might be, although they do get upset if you criticize them for it. Apparently it's okay to fling opinions at people, but not to be held accountable for doing it?
Anyhow, I found my book. Heir Apparent. It haunts me. So I've decided to look at it again. It has a synopsis written, and is complete. But it may need to be reworked a bit. And it is...well, I wrote it between 1996-2002, then revised between 2002 and 2004. Got shut down. Much like the film maker in the Artist Way got shut down.
Mother: Whatever happened to your first book - the one before Doing Time? Heir Apparent?
Me: I don't know, it's somewhere or I threw it out...it wasn't that good.
Mother: I liked that book.
So now, that book is sitting in a sack on the bottom shelf of my television stand staring at me with an accusatory grin. Come look at me again please.
**
While cleaning out the closet, I finished an audio book, whose title I forget. It's a chick-lit by Kristin Higgins, about a woman returning to her childhood home on an island in Maine. It's kind of cliche-ridden, and very tropey, also predictable, with a couple of twists, but nothing major. It took me two years to listen or read it. I took a six-ten month break, yet was able to pick up where I left off without any issues. It's that kind of book - not hard to follow at all, and you can half-pay attention to it, and still know what's going on. (See, there's a lot of mediocre novels published. I shouldn't worry about people criticizing mine. Which is actually my fear of putting it out there - having it picked apart by the peanut gallery.)
Then started another one, which I'm a quarter of the way through. Killing John Wayne, The Making of Genghis Khan, the Worst Film in History - which requires it's own post. It's basically the history of what lead to making the film, all the people involved, and includes a history of the atomic bomb testing in the area in which the film was made.
This is the film that resulted in half the cast dying of cancer several years later - as a direct result of being in that film. The description of the atomic bomb testing, and the government's incompetence at protecting the public from the results of the testing, and radiation is harrowing. Dear god, no wonder so many people in Arizona, Nevada, California and New Mexico have cancer. It's also rather harrowing in regards to how early Hollywood worked, and how it was run. Howard Hughes was a piece of work.
I also started a watercolor, made a spinach and green onion quiche, and watched episodes of Ted Lasso (S2) and Schimagoon (S1) on Apple TV, while robot vacuuming my apartment. And, finished the latest chapter of The Artist Way. And replaced my filter in my air purifier, and took down the garbage, recyclables, and junk from closet cleanup, plus two ratty old shoes to the basement. (Someone took the chickpea macronic and Polish chocolates I'd left last week - I was pleased to notice that.) The basement has turned out to be a rather convenient junk, dried packaged food, book and DVD depository.
Did it from 12 pm to approximately 3 pm. Prior to that, breakfast, shower, making bed, watching a television show. Writing the morning pages - and completing the exercises.
The Artist Way and it's exercises lead to cleaning out the closet - when I'd intended on working on revising my novel today. Or rather reading the latest chapter in The Artist Way did.
[My self-help books are inspiring me to clean out my apartment of junk that I no longer use or need. I am afraid of becoming a hoarder - I shouldn't be, I'm good at throwing out stuff. Although I appear to still have four humidifier's of varying sizes that I don't know what to do with. And never use, and can't seem to part with. Anyone want humidifiers? Also couldn't get myself to part with the foot bath/massager or the numerous extension cords, television cable plug-ins (of various sizes, shapes and colors) or the chargers. I have bags full of these things - along with a bag full of batteries and tape. Despite all of that? I made a dent - got rid of boxes, an old broken broom, and junk. So yay me.]
The exercise that lead me down this path isn't what you might think. It did not tell me to clean out a closet.
It told me to revisit an Artistic U-Turn - or a traumatic abandonment of a work that I felt had promise and shut me down. I didn't have to think too hard about what it was. And it suggested that I find that work of art, revisit it, and see if I could salvage it and do something with it now.
They gave an example of a man who had shot a film, had it criticized and it shut him down. So he aborted it. Cameron, the author of The Artist's Way, asked him what happened to it - and if she could see it, because her gut told her that it was probably pretty good and he'd given up too soon on it. He was convinced it was lost forever. He'd put it somewhere - and the basement had flooded, so he was sure it was damaged. But - turns out it wasn't that it was still intact, he'd not lost it after all. So, he showed it to Cameron, who introduced him to someone who helped him rework it. And a year or so later - he produced it with his girlfriend, it won a few awards and got some acclaim, and they went on to do another documentary.
Cameron said the Universe (or the Creator) clearly intended for that work to get out there.
Last night, while talking to my mother about having hit the wall again on my writing - she asked me about my first book, the first one that I attempted to get published, and even for the space of maybe ten seconds, had a literary agent for. Not the one that I actually did independently publish, the one before it. The one that I even had a couple of people on fanboards read, and CW had liked. It's also the one - that I had people tell me that they liked my writing, but the story wasn't working for them or they didn't like the genre and wanted a cozy mystery instead.
The problem with being an artist (whether it's painting, drawing, writing, acting, music, what have you) - is you are often at the whim of others fickle and discriminating tastes. And let's face it - taste isn't logical. It's random. It makes absolutely no sense. And it is unpredictable. Also subject to things that the artist is oblivious or can't possibly know. In short - being successful as an artist - is magic. Having someone else love you work - whatever it may be - is magic.
I've figured this out over the years - because I don't often understand why people like or dislike what they do. I've tried to figure out. There is, as far as I can tell, no pattern or rhyme or reason to it. People are just weird. I mean why people loved Jo Jo Moyes Me Before You - is beyond me. How anyone can watch the Bachelor? Or make it through a Sophie Kinselli romance?? Or stand Brandford Anderson or make it through an episode of Real Housewives? Or loved Twilight? I don't understand how my co-workers could love the Twilight movies but not the Harry Potter films. (We were discussing the reboot of the Twilight films over the Harry Potter. They understood rebooting Harry Potter - but how could anyone mess with the brilliance of the Twilight films? And I thought, okay, did we see the same films? I barely made it through two of them - and everyone seemed really stoned.
Another thing? JK Rowling and Meyer went through hundreds of rejection letters before they got published.
It's hard not to resent people for liking things - I dislike, and disliking things, I love. Whether they be stories, characters, music, what have you.
I want them to like what I like and dislike what I dislike. But nooo. And to be honest? It's actually more interesting if they don't. The world would be dull if everyone liked and disliked the same things. It's kind of like brussel sprouts? I dislike brussel sprouts, my mother does too. Neither of us like cabbage much either. My father also did. My brother appears to like them, my co-workers love them. I know people who dislike chocolate, but love strawberry ice cream (sigh). Taste is non-negotiable.
The problem with the publishing industry - is you are at the whim of an acquisitions editor who has specific taste that may not and often isn't the same as yours. They may only like stories about immigrants going through hell, or hyper-realistic stories about mid-life crisis, or mothers and kids. Something that is relatable to them or makes them feel good publishing it. Or they may be hunting for the next best seller - that is like say Harry Potter or the Hunger Games or whatever is hot at the moment. They may want something similar to Colleen Hoover (who started out self-publishing her work because she couldn't get publishers interested.)
I write what I can't find on the book shelves. The stories in my head. That I'm channeling. I worked hard to learn how to write them down. I've always channeled them. I've been telling myself and at one point my brother stories since I was six years of age. I used to go outside - when no one else was outside - it would be an overcast or cold day - and I'd grab a tennis ball and throw it against the chimney, while orally telling the story in my head and acting out all the roles. If only I owned a dictaphone or a computer that could record and translate it all into words. But alas, this was the 1970s and 80s, so my parents got me an electric type-writer - as a hint to write them down. I was also writing them in long-hand.
Those stories are gone. But I didn't throw out the one that I had finished. I also didn't throw out my science fiction story, or the one I started writing in different colors of magic marker when I first arrived in NYC in 1996, before my computer arrived. I've written stories by hand, by type-writer, and by computer. I've also told them aloud to the air. Whether people get to read or hear them - is another issue, and not necessarily one I have that much control over. We don't. Artists. I like to tell stories through my artwork and my words - but I have no control over whether anyone gets to see them, if they will appreciate them, how they will perceive them or even understand them. It's not easy knowing that. it's frustrating, actually - and I often wonder why bother?
I think my Dad wondered the same thing. We used to talk about it. He encouraged me, but advised me not to give up the day job and to save. I've had co-workers who have advised the same - they too have encouraged me over the years.
At any rate - you may or may not be wondering if I found that first novel?
Well, I thought about it after my mother mentioned it to me. Then the Artist Way asked me about it. And I thought - okay, did I throw it out? I don't think I did. If I can't throw out humidifiers, it's unlikely I can throw out something I created and worked hard on. So I opened my closet, and sure enough - two plastic containers, buried under heaps of junk stared back at me.
I wonder if it's in there? But I'm going to have to clean out this closet to get to it. Dammit. I wasn't planning on doing that today. (Best Laid Plans and all that.) So, I rolled up my sleeves (so to speak - I was wearing a t-shirt) and sweated profusely (I had to change pants at one point) to get it cleared out. (Note to self - do you really need to keep all the tape, extension cords, computer speakers, chargers, and humidifiers? I did put one of the grounded extension cord things to use. Or all the different types of batteries? I have sacks for of these things, including a bag of knitting materials and a sewing kit. I'd decided I was going to knit at one point - only to get bored and ditch it. I am not a knitter. It requires counting and I can't count to save my life.)
It took two hours. Possibly longer. And a lot of bending that I probably should not have been doing. But I got it cleared out and re-arranged. I may have to clear it out again soon - since I apparently can't get myself to part with extension cords and television cables. Even if I never use them.
Finally, I opened the two plastic containers. And there it was, hidden beneath the sci-fi opus, which I'd already started re-writing in Scrivener, but have yet to finish. I got self-conscious about the accuracy of the world building. My inner critic which sounds a bit too much like the folks I've met across the internet shut me down. David Bowie said in the 1990s that he thought the internet was going to change the world in unimaginable ways - both good and bad. He was right - it did. Everyone has an opinion on the internet - and they have no worries about flinging it at you, regardless of what it might be, although they do get upset if you criticize them for it. Apparently it's okay to fling opinions at people, but not to be held accountable for doing it?
Anyhow, I found my book. Heir Apparent. It haunts me. So I've decided to look at it again. It has a synopsis written, and is complete. But it may need to be reworked a bit. And it is...well, I wrote it between 1996-2002, then revised between 2002 and 2004. Got shut down. Much like the film maker in the Artist Way got shut down.
Mother: Whatever happened to your first book - the one before Doing Time? Heir Apparent?
Me: I don't know, it's somewhere or I threw it out...it wasn't that good.
Mother: I liked that book.
So now, that book is sitting in a sack on the bottom shelf of my television stand staring at me with an accusatory grin. Come look at me again please.
**
While cleaning out the closet, I finished an audio book, whose title I forget. It's a chick-lit by Kristin Higgins, about a woman returning to her childhood home on an island in Maine. It's kind of cliche-ridden, and very tropey, also predictable, with a couple of twists, but nothing major. It took me two years to listen or read it. I took a six-ten month break, yet was able to pick up where I left off without any issues. It's that kind of book - not hard to follow at all, and you can half-pay attention to it, and still know what's going on. (See, there's a lot of mediocre novels published. I shouldn't worry about people criticizing mine. Which is actually my fear of putting it out there - having it picked apart by the peanut gallery.)
Then started another one, which I'm a quarter of the way through. Killing John Wayne, The Making of Genghis Khan, the Worst Film in History - which requires it's own post. It's basically the history of what lead to making the film, all the people involved, and includes a history of the atomic bomb testing in the area in which the film was made.
This is the film that resulted in half the cast dying of cancer several years later - as a direct result of being in that film. The description of the atomic bomb testing, and the government's incompetence at protecting the public from the results of the testing, and radiation is harrowing. Dear god, no wonder so many people in Arizona, Nevada, California and New Mexico have cancer. It's also rather harrowing in regards to how early Hollywood worked, and how it was run. Howard Hughes was a piece of work.
I also started a watercolor, made a spinach and green onion quiche, and watched episodes of Ted Lasso (S2) and Schimagoon (S1) on Apple TV, while robot vacuuming my apartment. And, finished the latest chapter of The Artist Way. And replaced my filter in my air purifier, and took down the garbage, recyclables, and junk from closet cleanup, plus two ratty old shoes to the basement. (Someone took the chickpea macronic and Polish chocolates I'd left last week - I was pleased to notice that.) The basement has turned out to be a rather convenient junk, dried packaged food, book and DVD depository.
no subject
Date: 2023-04-30 03:45 pm (UTC)I don't think I'd even heard of the film but just the premise of the book seems to suit its title. Wow.
no subject
Date: 2023-04-30 04:55 pm (UTC)But I did know that Susan Hayward, Agnes Moorehead, and John Wayne all died of cancer due to exposure to the red dust making "some film in the desert". My mother couldn't remember the name of it - and never really saw it - but knew that's how they got cancer.
Talk about artistic failures - or what happens when big business, politics and art collide.