It's Raining and I'm Jealous of Artists

It's a beautiful day in Northern California today. There are clouds in the sky, a light mist, and it's cold enough to need a sweater. It's the kind of day that makes half of me want to curl up by a fire with a good book, and the other half want to go wandering across the moors in a tattered shawl.

Unfortunately for my dramatic side, there are no moors in Napa county. Only grapes.

You might notice that I put a photo there, rather than attempting to describe the day in more detail. And you know why? Because a picture is a thousand times simpler, and more honest. Almost anything that I could take a picture of, any attempt to describe in words would end either in a flat, disappointing surface explanation, or tip over into maudlin purple prose where every rain speckle is elevated to an angel tear or some other nonsense. 

It's also easier to look at a picture than it is to read a 250-word description of rain.

It's quicker to look at a sketch, a painting, or a sculpture, than it is to wade through a 300-page novel.

It's much more convenient to listen to a few 3-minute songs than it is to read a collection of short stories.

And you can make a case, of course, for there being much more to art than just looking at it. There's discussing it, turning it over in your mind, considering where it fits in the grand conversations of artists, which is ultimately the grand conversation of humanity. It's not as simple as looking.

But then, the same it true from writing. It, too, should be digested and thought about and analyzed. You just have to get through it first.

A person who loves photography and is starting out as a photographer can go out and take thousands of photographs, sift through them for the best shots, do their post-processing and whatever else goes into that, and show someone their best work. That person can look at the photographs and, in a few minutes, have a gut feeling about their quality. The process of creating those photographs might not be significantly easier or faster than the process of writing a book, but the process of evaluation and feedback is sure a lot simpler. 

Look. It's not complicated. Artists, including writers, want attention. And yeah, yeah, BOCTAOE, but I'm just talking about the times I'm right, as usual. Attention isn't the biggest motivator of good art, and it's certainly not the only motivator of any art besides maybe some singers (who may not really belong in the "artist" category anyway, amirite?), but let's not pretend it's not a factor. We've mostly never heard of the artists who are indifferent to, or afraid of, attention. (Until they die and are discovered posthumously and are geniuses ala Emily Dickinson, so yeah, maybe they're all great-- or maybe you've just never heard of the terrible ones.) And maybe it's not personal attention that artists want, maybe it's attention for their particular stance or platform or contribution to the conversation, but they still want those eyes on their work.

In the goal of getting that attention, writers are at a distinct disadvantage. Maybe not blockbuster best-seller writers, whose books sell out on pre-order, but amateurs. Those who aren't very good yet and are fighting tooth and nail and keyboard to get better. The people who arguably need feedback the most. Because it's a lot simpler to poll 50 people about your visual art--"Hey, look at this painting. Do you like it?"-- than it is to find 50 people willing to read your 90,000-word YA novel about anthropomorphized hedgehogs on post-apocalyptic Mars. 

Maybe I'm alone in this, but sometimes I feel like a fairy in the vein of Tinkerbell. Without a steady stream of attention, belief in me, and affirmation, I die. (Of course there's also the recluse half of me that withers under the spotlight, but let's ignore that half because that's not how I feel today.) I need to be adored, guys. I can't help it. And it's damn hard when everything potentially admirable about me is so inaccessible. 

"Gosh, Emily, you sound awfully self-centered and insecure." Well yes, thank you, you're very astute. It must be the Scorpio in me. But hey, I'm in good company. Throughout history, writers have been narcissistic, selfish, and plagued with insecurities. Much like all other artists. But I'd venture that writers have something in common that sets them apart from other artists. 

I think all writers are lonely. 

This is a bit of a chicken/egg situation, and it's both. It's the egg, because we started out lonely, and so we created worlds full of people that we could talk to, people that, for whatever reason, we liked better than the people available to us. That egg hatched into a chicken, in that writing is a solitary pursuit. I can imagine it being possible for two or three photographers to share a darkroom, chatting as they develop. Art students work on sketches in classrooms. Musicians basically have to cooperate. But as far as I know, most novels are not written in rooms full of other writers. Most novels are banged out in solitude, the only place a writer feels at home. And when the writer emerges from this chrysalis of solitude, deeply lonely and blinking in the sunlight, all that built-up loneliness explodes into a downright need for attention, for feedback, for some kind of affirmation or guidance.

It's just hard to get. 

Now, I know who reads this blog. I know I have those 4 or 5 friends who will say, "Write something and I'll be glad to read it and give you feedback! Just finish something!" And I appreciate you people. You count. You're the reason I'm even still writing at all. But like the Little Mermaid, I want more. (Although unlike that redheaded dingbat, I'm not willing to give up my voice to get it). Like Tinkerbell, I want a whole audience applauding for me. And it grosses me out how incredibly shallow and self-absorbed that sounds, but it's true. That is what I want, and I can't change it by denying it. All I can do is own it, and hope that it strikes a chord in someone else so that they know that it's ok if they feel that way, too.

Anyway. That's all I have to say, really. I'm going to go look at the mist now. Thank you for reading. I wish audiences full of affirmation for all of you.