I Can See Your House From Here - Archives
vol 2 number 7
My friends and family often ask when I'm going to write something else. Of course, they don't mean a review of Spandex-Man and Nasty Boy #124, or a cover story for the Birmingham Weekly, or a scathing letter to the head of the local Republican Party. Sadly, they don't even mean this column. They want to see a new short story, or a new script, or hear some new music.
I'm flattered that they ask me this question unprompted. It's the snack-sized version of feeding my creative ego. It's no secret inside my circle of loved ones that I write for myself, not for anyone else, so the fact that they enjoy my creations is icing on the cake; the fact that they want more is a la mode (chocolate, even).
The ugly truth behind the answer, though, is that I don't write stories. Neither do I write screenplays, or songs.
No, I'm not a plagiarist, nor do I have a small and weak creature haunting my life, cranking out words for me that I can claim as my own (but oh, how much simpler things would be!). I do put the words into the computer, or onto the legal pad that stays by my side at all times. I have a notebook full of ideas, sketched and complete and half-thought, and a few CDs full of unfinished songs, all of which came from my head. The thing is, I don't really believe that they started there.
As an example, Peggy Hailey, Goddess of Books, forwarded me a call for submissions for a forthcoming anthology. The basic gist of the email was that the story should be 2000-8000 words and centered on a bookstore, not as a setting but as an actual part of the story. I got to work immediately, but couldn't do anything but churn out crap. Utter, unprintable, unreadable crap. Three abortions and a turd factory, as an old musician friend of mine would have said.
Two days ago, I wrote 5500 words in about three hours. There is no second draft, as I don't believe in those; some tweaks and spelling corrections, and it was ready for people to read. Is it good? I don't know. I'm sure Rick Klaw will let me know. Of course the three people that have read it so far have said so, but they are aware that I know where they live, as well as one hundred ways of destroying whatever is most important to them without leaving a trace of physical evidence. Rick - well, he's a Texan, so I guess he's safe, for now…
Whether anyone else likes it or not is secondary, though. I'm proud of it, and to all the budding (and accomplished) writers, artists, and musicians out there, let me challenge you to find that feeling.
This is the reason that I am not, have never, and will in all likelihood not pursue a career as a fiction writer, musician, or screenwriter. I am not a fount of ideas - at least, not the kind that do anything other than fill a page, or a bridge section. I write about a screenplay a year, in the space of three weeks. I write two or three short stories, usually in a night. Maybe an album every two years, maybe every three. Could I be more prolific? Yeah, but would I be proud of everything I've done? Probably not.
There's a guy named Robert Fripp, heads up a group called King Crimson - maybe you've heard of him? He is a big proponent of art as necessity, of the actions of the muse, of allowing yourself as an artist to open up as a conduit, as a medium. I'm not a huge fan of his music (though VROOM is a brilliant piece), but I do believe in his philosophy. Yes, I think there are some artists so gifted that they can take an assignment and create a masterpiece. Tell some musicians to write a five minute piece in A minor, with a key modulation in the bridge, lyrics about homelessness, and centered on the 6th, and you might get the most brilliant song ever written. Same with painters, writers, etc. But I think that most of you can tell the stories and music which demanded to be written, and which ones were paid for; I know that I can, at least out of my own catalog.
There's a guy named Warren Ellis, writes a comic called Transmetropolitan. There's a guy named J. Michael Straczynski, writes a little number called Rising Stars. There's a guy named Judd Winick, writes The Adventures of Barry Ween. Perhaps you've heard of them? Sure you have. I'll also bet you can tell the difference between the aforementioned works and X-Man, Amazing Spider-Man, and Green Lantern. Not to say that the Corporate Writings are no good; in fact, I read as many Corporate Writings as I do creator-owned. Before anyone jumps my case, I'm not implying that any writer has sold out, or that people that work on established characters are crap, or that independent books are the only books worth reading.
I am saying that The Dark Tower series is better than Dreamcatcher, though, and for reasons found above. Necessity. The absolute and over-whelming need to create, to relate a story, to tell a tale through music, to translate a picture in your head for all the world to see.
I am saying that Devin Townsend's music is better than Bon Jovi's.
I am saying that I have a friend who paints a diary, and her work is more powerful than anything I've ever seen in a museum.
I am also saying that I am jealous of people like Stephen King, and Warren Ellis, and all the writers that have things that the muse demands, but also the patience and talent to speak when not spoken through. I don't know that King, et al, are proud of everything they've ever done, but maybe they don't need to be, and maybe that's what separates the hobbyist from the working professional.