In the beginning of the movie Immortal Beloved, there’s a line during Beethoven’s funeral:

It is the finest instruments which are most easily blunted, bent or broken.

An intriguing thought no? Tell me, how do people interpret that line? What do you make of it, in regards to the arts and specifically to writers?

I’ve always interpreted it as those most keenly sensitive to being the most vulnerable to being wounded most deeply and lastingly by events and words most would dismiss as inconsequential. And I do hold to the theory, or belief rather, that the kind of art capable of transcending time and generations need a creator whose heart, not mind, drives the impulse to create.

A tuned mind is one thing, a skill that can be honed to awesome results.

But the kind of instinctive empathy I envision here is a rare gift far too easily scarred. There is an aching depth of emotion in Beethoven’s music that seem utterly at odds with the bastard he so often was. I don’t think it’s an accident that so much of his music has an undercurrent of sadness, nostalgia, whimsy, threading it.

“You need a thick skin to survive in the publishing business,” is a piece of wisdom that’s become so common it’s accepted almost unquestioningly now.

And yet, and yet, while I can acknowledge the probable reality of the statement I will never reconcile myself to accepting it as ideal.

What kind of writers, after all, are we driving towards creating if that’s the truth of it?

Ones whose stories I can respect and admire and, perhaps, enjoy. But never love. I don’t see how a writer can make me love a story if that writer is unable, or unwilling, to tap into the deepest reservoirs of human emotion.

A thickened skin…the ability to shrug off whatever comes your way, to persevere against adversity…well. I wonder. In some, that might translate to locking yourself down like a fortress, to withdraw into solitude, to…eh, I don’t know. To protect themselves however they can, and at what cost?

The most common advice out there given to beginning writers is to develop a thick skin, to persevere, if they wish to succeed.

So the thick-skinned survive. That’s the set-up we’ve got going now.

But does thick-skinned equal most talented, the best? If it does, then of course none of this matters. But if it doesn’t, then it could be that we’re nipping our most promising before they have a chance to bloom. For the sin of being too sensitive, of feeling too keenly. An aspect of their personality which is not at all something to be ashamed of.

And perhaps that, too, is not such a bad thing. Without proper training and guidance as to how to deal with setbacks, most (we are assuming that this kind of creative person exists) will probably quit. Never write or compose or draw ever again. Or do so in solitude, where no one will see it.

And those rare few among them who do go on, who do find a way to persevere, it is possible that they only way they manage that is by locking themselves down, by not investing in the world and seldom allowing any person to come close enough to hurt them. They stop caring. They stop feeling.Eventually, they become incapable of forming emotional connections to other people. Their own defenses work against them.

What I’m talking about is not an uncommon defense mechanism for people who’ve suffered trauma or abuse of some kind. It’s the only way they are able to carry on.

But that keen empathy hidden inside needs an outlet and perhaps that’s what leads them to create.

Enough rambling.

It’s a beautiful sentence, the one from Immortal Beloved, no matter how you interpret it and theories on art and the puzzling impulse that drives individuals to create will always remain just that — theory.

So…my first sub to ROF came back, although in a rather unexpected way. The envelope says “unclaimed” and was just returned to sender [me]. I see dates scribbled there, and it sat for about a month before finally being sent back. [returned Nov 29]

This is the address I used. Am I missing something then that has to be added in as well?

I’d like to know for future reference; this particular story I’m just going to send off to another market. Not worth the hassle, and is just too expensive to try and re-send it. otoh, it is expensive so I’d also like to know what I did wrong before sending off more subs that get mailed back to me unclaimed.

ta to whoever can unriddle this for me.

Edit: oh, and more intriguingly — how does one write this one up in the submissions logs? I’m going for no response, cause I don’t really know what else to put it in as.

EditEdit: oh, and Virtual Clarion has closed. Not enough tutors, it seems.

What’s everyone working on? if you don’t want to talk about it then post a snippet*. Especially the nanowrimoers. As ever I’m curious how it’s going, regretful that I didn’t join in (again) and knowing full well that I probably won’t enjoy it if I did.

Failing that — what are you reading that’s interesting?

Me:

I fluctuate between [for lack of a better title] Spider and Catgirl.

With Catgirl, I discovered to my surprise it’s possible for her to travel the entire projected distance in one year.

Spider right now has no magic or supernaturals involved. Strangely, it’s just a plain boring story about a family but that’s what interests me and adding supernatural elements keeps making it something else.

I’m really itching to get at them full time but right now I can’t, too much other [non-writer] stuff to finish first. Well, they’re writer involved just not my writing.

Reading — I read M.A. Murray’s The Splendour that was Egypt. A very engaging book, covering the entire history of ancient Egypt briefly but with a surprising amount of depth. A lot of it was ringing old forgotten bells in my head, stuff I knew and had forgotten I knew. A great deal of it was stuff I didn’t know and found very interesting, want to read more of. Mostly, this book brought back to me just how much I love history and how badly I’ve neglected reading more on history in the last 10 years. Was my favourite subject in school, you know, and I hated not being able to do it after std7 (grade 9). No practical value so — it had to go. I took math and accounting instead.

Yeah. That worked out well.

I love history. Fascinating, often more so than the current world and time. There are enough people concerned and interested in the present. The present is just not me. Dug out my book on The Hittites, which I’ll be getting to next.

Fiction, I’m reading J.G. Ballard’s Empire of the Sun, which is brilliant. The movie, but different enough [in presentation, not subject] from the movie to be a fresh story.

oh, and Garth Ennis’ The Boys? Kick-ass!

Fables? I heart this comic. So inadequate a statement but there’s nothing else to say. The true love that’s Snow White and The Big Bad Wolf; Gepetto as fascist ex-despot of a 1000 worlds; super seekrit, super deadly secret agent Cinderella; Hansel [brr!]; Flycatcher’s story arc was one of the best Arthuriana sequences I’ve read since Rosemary Sutcliffe’s trilogy; hyper communist revolutionary Goldilocks; Jack of the tales, the legend of legends…according to Jack. oh, the list goes on and on.

Forget the fact that it’s comics. Fantasy lovers do yourself a favor and get the graphic novels.

That’s Fables. Written and created by Bill Willingham. Published by Vertigo.

well, can’t have only videos on the blog for the rest of the year…

Saw a part of an interview with Ethan Hawke (of all people) on the Hallmark channel (of all places today), and he had this to say on jealousy and River Phoenix (referring to after Phoenix died):

I didn’t get more jobs because he wasn’t there. I didn’t get better because he wasn’t there. I realized then he was my ally. And all that time I thought he was just in my way.

Hawke then used a methaphor which Eric Flint (or Mike Resnick, is possible) used in an essay for JBU, and I’m going to substitute Flint (or Resnick)’s words instead of Hawke’s semi-coherent…statement:

where is it written there are only so many slices of pie in the world?

(obviously, this is my memory of them not the actual sentence. yes, I have developed a bracket infatuation).

actually, I’d argue that thought as incorrect — there are only so many slices of pie in the world:

1. There is a finite amount of people in the world.
2. There is a finite amount of literate people in the world.
3. There is a finite amount of literate people in the world who have the money, time, opportunity and desire to read.

having said that, I don’t disagree with the sentiment and would amend both Hawke’s and Flint (or Resnick’s) statement to a simpler form:

where is it written that you can only succeed at the expense of another?

People have moments of jealousy. It happens. We have it and then we need to get over it. We don’t need to gloat at someone else’s misfortune. We don’t need to tear down others to thrive. The pie is not infinite but it is large enough to accomodate everyone.

Oscar Wilde says, “Those who find ugly meanings in beatiful things are corrupt without being charming.”*

Well, again, I’d argue that last word since the “corrupt” I’ve noticed often have large cheersquads and are even accorded respect and awe. But it seems an accurate summation of the kind of personality that needs to destroy others in order to thrive.

Ultimately, as applied to writer kind, I suppose it comes down to the difference between those whose primary skill lies in attacking the personalities of peers and those who devote their efforts to creating work that brings pleasure to strangers.

Wilde also says, “All Art is quite useless.”

That made me smile. Because it’s true.

This is something I think on, sometimes (usually late at night when I’m getting high on whatever sorry-for-myself chemicals the brain shoots off in those moments). Along with the desire, the dream as it were, of aiming towards writing stories for a living, surely at some stage every author must face this — that you are essentially engaged in a pursuit that has no practical value, no genuine quantifiable use.

All art forms are the domain of leisure not necessity.

What actual difference can they make in the world? What lasting influence can they exert, except in the realms of wishful thinking?

When people say that books and writers can influence the world I am tempted to disagree and say no, that’s backwards. It’s the world that influences writers who in turn write stories that reflect that world with all its fears, anxieties and, perhaps, also its hopes and dreams.

But, if you are an aspiring author how do you answer that question? Do you ever think on it?

The writer road is hard enough and authors have enough anxiety just trying to get published, trying to stay published, trying to build careers that will sustain them. It’s a road with enough hardship and anxiety that many authors no doubt spend endless nights wondering if they should quit, should throw in the towel and concede defeat. Perseverance, the ability to endure, the will and the attitude to get back on your feet time after time after time of being kicked down are crucial.

Is it wise, then, for an author to even for one moment contemplate whether the very pursuit s/he’s engaged in has any actual use, genuine value?

In the face of that then the question of who has the biggest slice of pie and who has a share of pie that rightfully should be yours is a matter so moot, so trivial, as to truly be an obsession particular to the humanly vacant alone.

I have no answer to that question. I think on it sometimes. It bothers me. There is no mystery to any art. It is the urge to create, itself, that’s the mystery. Throughout history the primary intended result of that urge appears to have always been to bring pleasure to strangers. It’s a most vexing cycle.

On that note, I present:

John Williams, a tribute:

*my thanks to S. Boyd Taylor for the link.