Gasp!

Audience Members and the Division of Roles

Six months ago, I wrote a casual entry about a celebrated writer. Several bloggers cherry-picked two or three sentences of the essay, quoted it, and the thing became some kind of viral nightmare. For almost a week, the thing drove traffic to this site and a slew of strangers stomped on my internet doorstep. Some wanted to know how much I knew about anything they knew, and if perhaps I did know things could they then disagree with me. You get the idea.

I've never been comfortable with that kind of attention. Sure, I don't mind when "The Real Deal" gets a marathon on television. It means triple digit visitors who want nothing more than to read someone else's opinion about an episode. People like to read about something they've just read or saw or heard. It provides a forum, an illusion of a shared experience. I get that. Those people are quiet and only occasionally leave a comment. I guess there really isn't much to fight about when it comes to home improvement shows.

But regular visitors here know I'm an odd bird. Those theater folks who I haven't successfully scared away remember my deep disgruntlement over the state of theater. It went on for years. I don't look fondly on it. In hindsight, I realize that it was an act of self-destruction to remain so miserable for so long. If I come down with some funky disease in a few years, I can blame it on all the negativity that I bottled up and tried to sell from 2003-2007. Four years of boiled-over despair. Yuck.

In any event, I've been considering the separation between audience, reviewers and producers (writers). Whenever I read book blogs, I get the feeling that they're written by audience members. They enjoy a book but they can't tell you why or how it works. They view the writer as a magician, meaning they don't understand how a book is composed and lack the empathy to understand the process.

That's not their fault. It's just a different perspective, one that definitely needs to be a part of the publishing world. But it doesn't replace the other perspectives out there - reviewer and producer.

It wasn't until I started reviewing books on a regular basis that I understood the delineation of these roles. There are times, for instance, that I forget I'm reviewing a book and will become an audience member. I'll merge with the book so mercilessly that by the time I finish I'll forget that I'm supposed to say something about it.

Some people have thought that this might be a good thing. They think reviewers spend their time only partially engaged, while the other half of their brain is thinking of something witty to say.

But that's not the case. I find that when I become an audience member, my critical mind is shut off. Rather than admiring the work, it becomes a part of my present. I no longer see the work because I'm so engaged in it. It becomes a part of me, and I can no longer see it. There is no value judgement in this merging. It is experienced regardless of how good or bad it is. By the time the last page is turned, my mind is blank. I have nothing to say about it, nothing logical or coherent anyway.

Which brings me back to the viral entry, the comment that ended up making the round of the blogosphere. Those who found the comment too "new agey" or touch-feely didn't realize that I play more than one role. I'm not only an audience member; I'm also a reviewer. But even more than that, I'm a writer. I can not only tell you about the structure of the book and why it didn't work, I can also tell you that, as a fellow writer, you better back the heck off of the material and process your emotional baggage before you pick up that pen again.

Only another writer could tell you that.

I bring this up because I think it's important to understand the role that you're playing when you comment on someone's work. There's no shame in being an audience member, so there's no point in trying to pass yourself off as a reviewer or writer. (You can always tell when someone is doing that. They tend to quote other critics and writers to lend themselves credibility.)

Remember, audience members are the most cherished piece of the puzzle. Without them, reviewers have no readers and writers have no clout.

I wonder why...

"One of the great problems facing the news media today is that the market for opinion is increasing, and the market for facts is decreasing."

---Al Cross, quoted by the Freedom Forum calendar

If that's true (and I think it is) then why are newpapers cutting back on their arts reviews?

The Origin of Certain Things

"It's said that the derogatory terms, "hillbilly," "redneck," and "cracker" all have Gaelic roots. It was plantation Southerners who dubbed lower-class Scots and Irish immigrants "white trash," and who described them in terms indistinguishable from those used for Blacks. The well-known actress and diarist Frances Kemble, to cite one example, described poor Southern Whites as "filthy, lazy, ignorant, brutal, proud, penniless savages," utterly lacking "the nobler attributes." Stanley Crouch has declared the Civil War "the biggest con job in the history of the nation... Those crackers who were never considered valuable as slaves.... were whipped up into believing that they were somehow defending themselves, their culture, their way of life, their liberties and all the rest of it.... (and) found themselves dying or maimed as a result of having defended a system that looked upon them with limitless contempt."

---Black Like You: Blackface, Whiteface, Insult & Imitation in American Popular Culture
by John Strausbaugh pp. 84

Joe Klein and the Bully Bloggers

"But the smart stuff is being drowned out by a fierce, bullying, often witless tone of intolerance that has overtaken the left-wing sector of the blogosphere. Anyone who doesn't move in lockstep with the most extreme voices is savaged and ridiculed—especially people like me who often agree with the liberal position but sometimes disagree and are therefore considered traitorously unreliable. Some of this is understandable: the left-liberals in the blogosphere are merely aping the odious, disdainful—and politically successful—tone that right-wing radio talk-show hosts like Rush Limbaugh pioneered. They are also justifiably furious at a Bush White House that has specialized in big lies and smear tactics. "

---Beware the Bloggers' Bile by Joe Klein from Time Magazine.

Omni-Americans

"(Albert) Murray coined a term for us all: Omni-Americans. Murray happens to be Black, and so wasn't naive enough to believe that race, ethnicity, gender, class and other social markers were of no consequence to how Americans live or to their opportunities to partake in the "American Dream." He was speaking of American culture: our movies and music, the stories we tell and the language and slang we use to tell them, the games we play, the ways we walk, dance, dress. Our mutt culture, bless its shaggy, unruly heart. A culture in which Whites, Blacks, and all manner of Others have been influencing, imitating, insulting, irritating, mocking, mimicking and ripping one another off from the very start."

---Black Like You: Blackface, Whiteface, Insult & Imitation in American Popular Culture
by John Strausbaugh

Proust and Diety

Towards the end of last week, I went to a lecture called “Why Read Proust” given by William C. Carter, PhD. If you don’t know, Carter is a renowned Proust scholar who has given lectures in Paris and Lincoln Center (NYC). There were only 14 people in the audience, which provided a kind of intimacy you don’t normally get in these types of events.

I haven’t read Proust… Yet. By right, I should’ve read him many years ago. A number of writers who I’ve been influenced by have been forthright in their devotion to Proust. Kerouac is just one example. I love Kerouac, therefore, I should love Proust.

But I don’t gravitate towards French culture. I’ve been to Paris and I didn’t think it lived up to the hype. (Heathen! Heathen!) While visiting museums, I walk swiftly past the Rococo exhibits. (Does anyone like that stuff?) I spent a year and a half learning French and regretted it. (The only place it was useful was in an old Normandy neighborhood. Certainly not in Paris.)

I’ve been tossing around a number of thoughts on love. In meditation, I’ve considered how love fits in the paradigm of life. Creativity is a kind of “energy flow” which can be a form of love.

At one point, Carter talked on how art connects us to each other through universal spirit. The role of diety/God/higher self/universal spirit in art has intrigued me for a quite a while now. When I’m attracted to a painting, play or book, it’s because I can feel the inspiration of the artist or writer. Art that misses that, misses me entirely. It feels hollow to me, self-aggrandizing and empty.

This doesn’t mean that I only respond to religious artists and writers. On the contrary, I respond to those who are able to transcend themselves. Frank O’Hara was, at the very least, an agnostic, yet his work connects with the commonality in all of us. He is an inclusive critic and poet. As a reader, I’ve never felt that he was better or smarter than me.

As a writer, I tend to gravitate towards being directly inspired by diety/God/higher self/universal spirit. In my experiences, I found that people in theater couldn’t quite relate to it. (“It’s that God thing,” someone once said about my work.) The funny thing is, I’m too busy dealing with my own raw issues with diety/God/higher self/universal spirit to preach to people. I’ve had a ton of anger towards God and have written plays about it both directly and indirectly. I’ve also had other thoughts about diety/God/higher self/universal spirit, but dealing with it in any form in that world just hasn’t been acceptable.

I’m at peace with all that, however. I’ve been a part of theater long enough to know that it works in cycles. Themes and forms come and go in trends. At this point, I’d rather work in a form where my themes will be tolerated, and perhaps even understood.

(I can just see getting flamed for those last two paragraphs. It’s not my intention to start heat. I’m just writing what my experience has been, and that’s that.

Wait. Why do I feel like I have to put a disclaimer every freakin’ time I talk about theater? Sheesh.)

At any rate, Carter’s lecture was a great introduction into Proust’s work. And I will read Proust, sooner rather than later.

Cyclically Speaking

For me, writing is cyclical. There’s a time for tremendous output, which is then followed by a time for contemplation. During such time, I read more and write less.

Over the past two weeks, I’ve felt the urge to pick up my paintbrush again. Deep inside, I’ve long suspected that I’m more of a painter than a writer. Painting was an important aspect of creativity back during my three year writing block.

I loved being able to share a vision instead of just a thought.

My desire to pick up my paintbrush again has to do with the idea that there are some things that shouldn’t be expressed through words. Secret knowledge should remain hidden to those who aren’t observant.

More and more, I’ve considered the past seven years to be a kind of aberration. It’s nice to have room to create now, without the influence of the "other".

Reaction Junkie

"In its purest form, truth is not a polite tap on the shoulder; it is a howling reproach."
--- Ted Koppel

Is truth always an ice cold bucket of water thrown onto an unsuspecting public? Can truth be a gentle recognition as well? Does a more genteel reaction make the revelation less significant?

Maybe this is where things got tangled up. The reaction to the revelation became more important than what was being revealed.

How many times have I thought something I wrote was good because the audience reaction was immediate rather than contemplative? Or maybe there was no immediate reaction at all, and I thought what I wrote didn't work. (Only to have the reaction come days later, after people thought about it for a while.)

In theater, the delayed reaction is harder to take. I want the applause now. But in publishing, the reaction doesn't have to be immediate because the form is more personal.

Theater is a communal form. If I'm the only one in the audience, I feel odd. The actors will hear me laugh, even it's not a laugh line.

Book are more personal. It's about reaching one person at a time. And I won't see the reaction as easily.

(BTW, I essentially agree with the above quote. And I also think that the reaction to a howling approach can be silence as well.)

No Prisoners

"If the outside puts a value on you and all your inside gets to be outside, yes, you may be a success, but in a way you are a failure." --- Gertrude Stein

You do surrender something when you become an institutionally accepted writer. Those who are so dependent on acceptance, those who believe that their work is being taken seriously just because institutions agree to support them, believe their own press. The most important writers are the ones you don't know, the ones you've never heard of.

You can't oppose the culture and demand to be a part of it at the same time.

On Theory, Part Two

I began writing in the 80s, under the heavy influence of therapeutic culture: the dysfunctional family, the alienation of abuse, and speaking truth. Writing became an outlet for dealing with emotions, and feeling became a substitute for thinking. It all came down to what I felt. At times what I felt was difficult to deal with. Thus, the work centered on violent power dynamics and living room dramas. I wrote what I knew.

But even back then, I wanted to get beyond the personal. What I was applauded for back then were all the things that horrified me in real life. I didn’t want to be one of those writers whose claim to fame was her own victimization, and I certainly didn’t want to write the same stories over and over and over again. We all know writers who never grow out of their comfort themes. Some of them are still canonized to this day. Each time I read those writers, I can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if they had just gotten therapy or religion.

In that way, the writer’s identity is important because it stands in the way of the work’s fullest potential. When a writer interjects her unfinished psychological or emotional business into her work, then the work ceases to be the focal point. The only way to avoid this complication is for the writer to resolve as much unfinished personal business as possible and to analyze the unconscious imagery she employs in her work.

Understanding unconscious imagery is vital. I was always at least vaguely aware that my issues with men played a part in how I characterized men in my plays. Through taking a look at the commonalities in my male characters, I began to see how my “real life” issues had slipped into my work. In dealing with those issues, I could then write better male characters.

You can see where I’m going with all this… My issues with men should not be an issue in my work. If it is, then it’s detracting from the artistic quality.

But that’s just my opinion. I’m also aware that artistic identity is extremely important in our culture because people feel more comfortable knowing that there’s humanity behind the work. Technology and corporate pop culture have dehumanized art to such an extend that a personal quirk such as identity become a way of establishing art’s authenticity.

The flip side to this problem is narcissism with all its accoutrements. What you’ve written is secondary to who you are and who you know. Or who you can puff yourself up to be…

On Theory, Part One

My knowledge gaps frighten me. I’m beginning to get a firm grasp on a universal conundrum: The more you learn, the more you realize you don’t know.

Take literary theory, for instance. It’s shocking that I received two college degrees without having an understanding of basic theory. Granted, I went to college for dramatic writing. But this type of theory is pivotal to understanding any form of writing, whether it be plays, screenplays, novels or non-fiction.

Any theory I picked up back then was through my own initiative. Since one of my early influences was T.S. Eliot, I was aware of the New Criticism. I had heard of Derrida, and an ex-boyfriend taught me enough of Post-Modernism so I could agree with him in arguments.

A little theory here and a little theory there. I shrugged off diving into it completely because I thought the topic was pretentious. Artists who produced great work didn’t need interpreters to translate that work to the masses. Either your audience responded or they didn’t… And either way, it didn’t matter since my work was all about me and what I thought. It was my truth.

There’s a theory for that… Narcissism. Oh wait, that’s just a psychological condition. Nevermind.

If you know me, you know I hate phoniness. I can’t stand people who repeat facts so they can claim to be smart. That’s not my point here. In fact, it’s just the opposite.

In all honesty, I’m beginning to think that who I am as a person doesn’t matter. What I write here only serves to ease the kind of loneliness that exists in each person. I want company. I want to know that I’m not the only one who feels what I feel or thinks these thoughts. But who I am, where I come from and the life-changing moments in my life aren’t important to understanding my work.

This is a complete turnaround from what I professed before. I’m aware of that, but you have to remember that a long time ago I told you that I reserve the right to change my mind about everything. And I think I changed my mind on all of this.

There is one caveat, however. This change is only takes effect in my non-theatrical work. This means that I believe one thing for my novels and another thing for my plays.

Can I have two different beliefs for two different writing forms? Are they really all that different?