As I write my novel, I have to push away the internal critic in my head. Which up until roughly 2002 did not exist. It's not your everyday critic, it is the voice of the internet - the thousands, possibly millions of voices who rip apart art on a daily basis -- not just on a technical level, but on the increasingly subjective socio-political one. Over time, I've learned to hand-wave these voices...to realize some of what they say is worthy, the rest is noise. Troublesome. But noise.
It's not easy though. And makes me sort of miss the days before we could share our opinions and views, right, wrong or in-between within the blink of an eye to anyone who would care to read them or listen.
Been thinking about this off and on for a while now -- and have noticed a discernible pattern in how various critics amateur and otherwise review art -- particularly in fandoms. They have no issues with the art itself, the characterization, the plotting, no -- it's their interpretation of the theme or message conveyed that they are annoyed by. OR the travesty of a white author writing about a black character in a manner that is...dishonorable and prejudicial. OR the travesty of an LGBTQ relationship being broken apart by an untimely death -- a pseudo Romeo/Juliet (except Juliet is a boy) ending. OR that fascism seems to be the message of the work -- and really how dare they!
Here's the thing -- I can't help but wonder if people are missing the point of creating art? Or expression? In this propaganda soaked world, with every bit and piece of work being interrupted with marketing and advertising and product placement -- I can see why. How can you know the difference between propaganda and art or a commercial and a story? Particularly when many advertisers use stories to sell products. We're in a world -- where someone is constantly trying to sell you something whether it be an ideology, an idea, a product, a place, a point of view, a political candidate, a way of life -- it's something.
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