Category Archives: poetry

Bible study, Documenting America, poetry, self-publishing, Sharon Williams short stories, The Teachings, Writing

Writing Goals for 2021 – A Starting Point

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Dateline 3 January 2021

For the first time in many years, I start the new year with uncertainty as to what I want to accomplish in my writing. Perhaps this is a residual effect of the corona virus pandemic, which caused a general uncertainty in the world and made life difficult to plan. I didn’t get as much writing done in 2020 as I wanted to, not so much because of corona virus but because of being diverted to other things (health issue, de-cluttering work, letters transcription).

But, a writer who is publishing is running a business, which should have a business plan if it wants to be successful. So here is my plan. It’s a starting point. I will be thinking much about this over the early part of the year and may modify it based on further consideration.

  • These books have been waiting for the book that goes between them to be written. I’m finally back to working on it.

    Finish and publish The Teachings. A little over a week ago, I got back to serious work on this novel. As of today’s effort, I have 37,000 words in the first draft. If 80,000 is the minimum size of the book, I’m closing in on halfway done. But I don’t feel that the story is halfway done, so perhaps this will be a 90,000 word novel. Either way, at my current pace I could be done in mid-February, which means I might have the book ready to publish in April. For now, those are my goals.

  • Write and publish one Sharon Williams story. Believe it or not the next story in my series Sharon Williams Fonseca: Unconventional CIA Agent, is starting to roll around in my brain. This is happening unsolicited. I’m not trying to think about it, yet the story is developing. That may be a sign that I should write the story this year.
  • Write and publish one Documenting America volume. I’m planning for this to be Run-up To Revolution, covering 1761-1775, the documents that led to our rebelling against England. I did some reading for research in 2019 and a little more last year. I need to figure out where I was and see how quickly I could do this. Writing these volumes is always pleasurable, and I’m looking forward to this.
  • I know which Bible study I want to write and publish next, but it’s going to take some work. Not sure I’m quite ready to do that..

    Write and publish a Bible study. I’ve planned out what I want the next one to be: Entrusted To My Care: A Study of 1st and 2nd Timothy. I have a fair number of notes on this, have taught it twice, and think I could do this one with the least amount of effort among all those I’ve developed. Yet, it would still be a pretty significant effort. This would be later in the year.

  • Maintain a twice per week blogging schedule. The last two years have shown me I can do this. On occasion I may have to make a dummy post or even skip one, but for the most part I should be able to do this.
  • It’s been a long time since I wrote most of the poems in this, around 2005-6, I think.

    Write some poetry. The desire to write poetry again has become active, even if the words aren’t rolling around yet as they are for the short story. I know the poetry book I want to write. My question is: do I wait for inspiration to strike or do I apply some perspiration and just get on with the writing? That’s what I’ll be thinking about the next few weeks.

As I say, this is a start. For now I’m concentrating on my novel. Once I get that done, I’ll give this plan serious re-evaluation.

book reviews, letters, poetry

Book Review: Rainer Maria Rilke: Letters to a Young Poet

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This isn’t the volume I read, but I don’t have my camera right now to take a photo of it. Same book, different wrapper.

Some time ago, I picked up the book Rainer Maria Rilke: Letters To A Young Poet somewhere. When I picked up the book from my reading pile recently to read it, I found a receipt in it dated 9/21/2009 for $0.99 plus tax from the Goodwill store in Andover, Kansas. We used to stop at that store occasionally, so I assume that’s when I bought it. It’s been in my reading pile in my closet for a long time.

I bought it because I love reading letters, and I love poetry. What would be not to like? I don’t know much about Rilke, other than having heard his name in poetry/literature circles, and, after reading this, I still don’t know much about him. The first letter is dates February 17, 1903, when Rilke was just 27, so he appears to have gotten some notoriety early in his life as a writer and poet.

A younger man, Franz Xaver Kappus, also an erstwhile poet, had written to Rilke, apparently asking for advice and passing along some poems for Rilke to critique. Rilke wrote back, their correspondence being in German. He declined to provide the requested review of Kappus’ poems, instead talking about his life as a poet, and giving the young man advice of what he could expect.

As I read these letters, I didn’t come away with much advice as to writing poetry. It did give some insight into Rilke’s life. Although, it almost appears that Rilke was playing the role of the unreliable narrator. To read the letters, he was always sick, always moving around, and never able to work, even finding it difficult to sit and write letters. From these letters I got the impression that Rilke’s best and productive days as a writer were already behind him at age 27 to 34.

That wasn’t true, however. A quick study of his life shows that Rilke had a number of books published during the years these letters were written, books of both poetry and prose. It’s true he moved around a lot, as he sought places most conducive to his frail health and his writing. I think each of the ten letters in the book came from a different place.

I’m glad I bought the book and finally, after allowing it to sit for ten years, read it. However, except for the measure of enjoyment and distraction it gave me it wasn’t all that useful. Now I have a decision to make: does it go into my library or do I donate it to a thrift store?

In favor of keeping it, as I said at the outset, I love reading letters and I love poetry. I should keep it. I wouldn’t know where to place it on the shelves, in my collection of volumes of letters or in my poetry collection. It’s not poetry, so I suppose it would go under letters. The question, though, is will I ever read it again? Did I find enough value in it to ever take it back off the shelf and re-read it? I can’t predict the future, of course, so who knows what I might want to read in twenty years. I have enough un-read books in the house already that I won’t have a need to re-read anything. From that perspective only, it should go.

Then there’s the decluttering factor. As we have been getting ready for our Thanksgiving gathering this week, we have once again become acutely aware that we have way too much stuff. Things need to go. Wednesday I took a load to Helping Hands, our favorite thrift store. With that load taken, I see no dent in the amount of clutter.

So, I’m afraid this 123 page volume, slim as it is, will soon find its way back to another thrift store and there await rescue by someone else who likes either letters or poetry or both. May it give pleasure to someone again.

Bible study, C.S. Lewis, poetry

Late In The Day

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This morning, when I should have been writing a blog post, I worked on a financial spreadsheet. Now in my 11th month of retirement, knowing what our financial condition is at present, I had never made any projections into the future. This morning, in about an hour, I was able to build a nice spreadsheet to make those projections. It’s not done yet, but it’s close. I need to enhance the formatting, and maybe add another bell or whistle or two, but I’m pleased with the progress I made. It was long overdue.

Now it’s evening. I had a busy Monday with taking the wife to a doctor appointment, doing a couple of errands while she was busy. At home I changed out our modem, which was two generations old. I walked to the post office and mailed a copy of Acts Of Faith to a former pastor.

After that I read, finishing C.S. Lewis’ Mere Christianity. I’ll be writing a book review of it soon. I did a little research for teaching AOF, and have somewhat relaxed in the evening. Through this I had no time for original writing. Yet this evening I anticipate some reading for research in a future book, or maybe in the Leader’s Guide for AOF.

I wanted to start another book, something closer to pleasure reading, since all my recent reading has been or still is in support of my current works-in-progress or future planned works. I also wanted to grab something off my reading pile, which is on a bookshelf in my closet. I went in there and found the perfect book: Letters To A Young Poet by Rainer Maria Rilke.

Readers of this blog will know I love reading letters (though I haven’t written about that for a while). I don’t know a lot about Rilke, so I’m looking forward to knowing more about him through his letters.

I guess, since I consider myself a poet of sorts, I can’t say this is completely a read for pleasure. I’ll see where this leads me. As always, I’ll report back with a review.

Bible study, C.S. Lewis, Church History Novels, Engineering, Health, poetry, reading, Writing

An Enjoyable Loss of Sleep

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Will this be my only poetry book, or will inspiration to write more ever return?

This morning I awoke at about 4:30 a.m., did a restroom break, went back to bed, and couldn’t sleep. This has happened before. Normally I go right back to sleep after being up in the night, but sometimes, only on the later in the night awakenings, I don’t fall asleep. At 5:30 I decided lying there with disjointed thoughts was silly and got up. Throwing on a long sleeve shirt, slipping my feet into my aging and almost done-for slippers, I took my mug of water and headed for the sun room to read.

No coffee, you ask? No, I don’t like to take coffee before I weigh and take my blood sugar, and I wasn’t ready for the latter. So I went to the sun room and started to read in Jack, a life of C.S. Lewis by George Sayer. I had loaned this book to a friend and asked for it back recently, as I wanted to read it again. I say “again” as I’m not 100 percent sure I read it before. I think I did, well over ten years ago, about the time our Life Group was studying The Screwtape Letters. I’ll know if I read it before if, in the last chapter, I find a certain scene there. If this is my second time through it, it’s quite fresh and enjoyable, given the time lapse since the first reading.

The windows in the sun room were still open, and it was cold. I regretted not pulling on jeans and my inside jacket. The temperature was to get down to 40 overnight, and I was sure it was that low. Outside, the air was stirring. Breezes came and went. The rustling in the adjacent wood was almost constant, though never strong. Occasionally it came through the open window before me. Why didn’t I shut the window? And the one to my side? Why didn’t I go back to the bedroom and get dressed more properly? For one, I didn’t want to risk waking Lynda. Also, I much enjoy being slightly cold. It was easier to pull a blanket over my legs and chest and enjoy the coolness.

I read with good concentration and made much progress. Shortly after 6:00 a.m., Lynda opened the door. We had a brief conversation. I got up, weighed, took my sugar, got dressed, got coffee, and went back to the sunroom and reading, while Lynda went back to bed for a while. I returned to my reading, but with a little less concentration. Thoughts of poetry began to take some brain space away from the words on the page. Oh, my comprehension was still fine. It’s just that I’d like to be able to write poetry again.

Poetry is probably an affectation for me, not something I should spend time on. When I wrote quite a bit of poetry over a decade ago, I enjoyed it. I don’t know whether I produced good poetry, but it was the type of poetry I like to read, so it was good for me. In my mind I’ve outlined six additional poetry books, and have listed their potential titles on the page. I know the order I’d like to write them in. Yet, I have no inspiration beyond that.

I’m not going to force it. I have too much else to write, both works-in-progress and planned, to devote time to poetry without inspiration. I like to say that poetry comes either by inspiration or perspiration, and probably requires both. I’m going to wait, however, and not apply the perspiration in hopes that the inspiration follows. I think the opposite order of things is better.

I need to get the Leader’s Guide for this done, but it’s progressing painfully slowly. More perspiration needed, I think.

So what will my day consist of, now that the sun has risen enough behind the dense cloud cover to show light through the trees outside The Dungeon windows? I hope to finish a chapter in the Leader’s Guide to Acts Of Faith. I made some progress on it last night. I hope to write a scene in “Tango Delta Foxtrot”, and get that to the halfway point. I have a few short-term stock trades on, a couple of which will come to a conclusion today; I’ll have to pay attention to them, though all looks good right now.

I have some engineering work to do. I went by the office of my old company yesterday and picked up two project for review. One, I’m fairly sure, is small and I can possibly complete in less than two hours. The other may be larger; I won’t know for sure till I get into it. Plus I have construction reports to review. I anticipate spending three or four hours today, and as much as needed tomorrow to complete these tasks. It will cut into my writing time, but the money is good, and it’s also good for me to keep my mind engaged in engineering work.

One other thing I may do today, time permitting. II might create the computer folder and files for my next book. Tentatively titled The Sayings, it is book 3 in my Church History novels series. I plan on starting it next month, but it, too, is taking up gray cells. I need to get a few things on “paper” so that I don’t lose them. Plot threads are coming to mind. Specific scenes are coming to mind as I read for research. I’m not sure I’ll do this, but perhaps it’s better to get it done and see if I can free up that brain power for the real tasks at hand.

So, it’s going to be a full day for sure. Some exercise would be good as well. I would say that this is a day when I have truly “awakened the dawn”.

book reviews, poetry

Book Review: Savage Beauty

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This 2001 biography, 51 years after the poet’s death, took almost 30 years of research.

Savage Beauty: The Life of Edna St. Vincent Millay by Nancy Milford is an authorized biography of the poet. I must admit to not having read a lot of her poetry. What I have read I find to be excellent, though typically touching on things that don’t interest me. Still, that’s like reading 5 percent of someone’s works and saying they don’t interest you. Maybe less than 5 percent. It’s not a fair assessment.

Millay was an enigma. Raised in a sheltered lifestyle in small-town Maine, she eventually adopted a Bohemian lifestyle in Greenwich Village. She had a number of lovers, including openly after she married.

Somehow, her poetry spoke to young women, maybe to older women as well. It was mostly formal poetry, rhyming and in meter. Here subjects included women’s liberation and sexual freedom. I was surprised to find three different books of her collected poems in my library. One was my sister’s, left at our dad’s house and moved to mine with all the books. One I remember picking up second hand. The third I don’t remember acquiring at all. I don’t imagine I’ll keep all three, but I will for sure read in some.

Back to Savage Beauty. The title comes from a line in one of her poems.

I was waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk

Between me and the crying of the frogs?

Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,

That am a timid woman, on her way

From one house to another!

That’s not supposed to be double-spaced, but I can’t figure out how to get it single-spaced and put the line breaks in. Ah me, I must learn more about Word Press and html.

This photo was on the cover of her first book.

The most disappointing thing to me about Savage Beauty was that, while the series of events that changed Millay from naïve schoolgirl to promiscuous woman were given, no why was suggested. Nor was any negative reaction from family mentioned. She graduated Vassar College at age 25, having started later than most young people, and moved straight to the Greenwich Village area of New York City. She supported herself by her poetry. She also wrote, produced, and acted in some off-Broadway plays. She found that men were instantly attracted to her and she could have any of them she wanted. Before long, she was having them. She fended off several marriage proposals. She made an extended trip to Europe, all the while maintaining the loose lifestyle.

She eventually married a man with some money. They bought an estate in the New York Berkshires and sort of lived there. I say “sort of” because they seemed to be gone much. With each book Edna went on a long promotion and reading tour. It’s said her voice was mesmerizing, and audiences filled every hall she read in. Besides the tours were frequent stays in New York City, trips abroad, and occasional summers at an island off the coast of Maine.

Millay drank and smoked to excess, and began having health problems from it. An auto accident, where she was thrown out of the car, caused her much pain and led to her addiction to morphine and other drugs. In 1950, at age 58, she met her death at her home. The description Milford gives in the book makes it possible it was either a tragic accident or suicide. Millay was alone when she apparently fell down a long flight of stairs and wasn’t found for twelve hours or more.

All the tragedy of her life, all her lifestyle, was unknown to me before reading this. I knew only that she was a renowned poet of the 20th Century. It’s good to know about her life, though I don’t know that I feel particularly enlightened. I think saddened is the reaction I take away from the biography.

So the question now is: Does Savage Beauty stay on my bookshelves? I can at a minimum move it from my reading style to a permanent shelf. But will I ever read it again? I think it unlikely I’ll re-read it, so it should go for donation to a thrift store. But, if I paid full price for it, I hate to do that. What to do, what to do? I think, in the spirit of de-cluttering, out it goes.

Bible study, Documenting America, goals, poetry, reading, Short Stories, Writing

September 2019 Goals

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I used to do goals posts regularly. I’ll do it this month and see what comes of it.

One thing I’ve been doing in the evening is going through old posts on this blog and adding categories to them. My son helped me set up my website in June 2011. Part of that was creating this blog. I already had a blog over at BlogSpot, titled “An Arrow Through the Air”. He did the work of porting all those posts over to this blog.

I intended, at first, to run both blogs. This one would be my writing blog; that one would be for more personal stuff. I did that for a while, but soon saw the pressures of life wouldn’t allow me to do both. So, I abandoned AATTA and concentrated on this blog. Eventually I renamed this one to be An Arrow Through The Air. The old one still exists. Every now and then I make a minor post there just to keep the account open.

A few months back I went to the back pages of this blog, I forget why. I noticed that all those posts from the old blog came over but none of them had categories. The all show up as “Uncategorized”. That’s not a major problem, but…oh, wait, I remember now. I was trying to find a post I did back in 2008 on a certain subject, went to that category, and didn’t find the post. That’s when I learned none of the categories had stayed with the posts as they ported over.

So, slowly, as I have a night in front of the TV where I can’t really do anything else, I’ve been going back through the old posts and adding categories. It’s actually a tedious job but I feel that it needs to be done. As of last night I had completed all the posts for 2008. Looks like I have two and a half years still to go.

One thing I noticed was that in 2008 I made a monthly post about my goals for the month—writing goals mostly—and then an end-of-the-month post showing how well I’d done. That was almost a journal, of sorts. It made me think I ought to do that occasionally. So, here’s my first goals post in a long time. Perhaps on Sept. 30 I’ll come back and make a post of how I did.

  1. Blog on a regular Monday and Friday schedule. I’ve done fairly well at that this year, and I’d like to continue it.
  2. Complete publishing tasks for and publish all versions of  Documenting America: Making The Constitution. I’m close. The covers are the big holdup.
  3. Complete publishing tasks for and publish all versions of  Acts Of Faith: Examples from the Great Cloud of Witnesses. I’m almost through with edits, but I can see this happening.
  4. Write a short story in my Sharon Williams Fonseca series. I have a sheet or two of notes of what I’m going to do next, if I can only find them.
  5. Critique 2-3 poems at the Absolute Write Forums. I’d like to keep my foot in poetry somehow. Maybe this is the way.
  6. Attend writers groups on the 11th and the 18th.
  7. Complete reading three items and begin two or three more. As of this morning I’m halfway through two books (each around 260-280 pages) and a third through a 60 page article. I should easily finish all these with no problem. I don’t know what I want to read next, but I’ll start searching my stacks before lone.
  8. Prepare my first newsletter for release about Oct 15. And figure out how to make it happen.

That’s enough, I think. See you all on the 30th with a report.

Adam Of Jerusalem, Church History Novels, poetry

Prose or Poetry?

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After a very busy week writing in my work-in-progress, a novel, I had two not-so-busy weeks. Each week I added words, even having a couple of days with a what I consider a good word count. However, I could have done better. Still, Adam Of Jerusalem now sits at over 25,000 words. I’m close to 1/3 through, depending on what the final word count turns out to be. I’m shooting for 80,000, though not sure it will be that high.

But, I find my mind turning away from the novel to…poetry. No, I’m not writing some new poetry, but am thinking of submitting some to a magazine or two.

I have never completely left poetry while concentrating on prose. I still monitor the poetry critique board at Absolute Write and post a critique from time to time. I’m currently reading a book on Robert Frost (will post a review in due course), so that has increased my interest.

So when I saw an internet post about a magazine that is dedicated to short poems, and that the submittal deadline for their next issue is the end of this month, I took notice. For the last ten to twelve years almost all the poems I’ve written are short ones: haiku, cinquains, a rhyming quatrain or two. Some of these I think are pretty good, especially the haiku.

So, I’ve made up my mind to make a submittal to this magazine. My main problem is I haven’t done a good job of keeping track of what poems I’ve written for the last decade. Most of them are on one of two places at the house, I think; though a few may be hiding in the pages of the blue folder I carry from home to work and back each day, with whatever papers I think I need.

Tonight I start the process of finding my short poems, preparing them for a proper file, and deciding what to submit. The mag says it wants ten poems, submitted by e-mail by 30 June. I should have no problems meeting that deadline, so long as I get started tonight. Possibly I’ll report back in Friday’s post whether I’m on track or not.

book reviews, poetry

Book Review: Beyond Words

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Some time ago I bought Beyond Words, a book of poetry by internet friend, Poppy White-Herrin. After the purchase, I let the book sit a couple of months before digging in. Then, I read the book slowly, one or two poems at a time.

Available from Amazon, it is a book well worth having in your poetry library.

In fifty-seven poems, Poppy tells us a story. Oh, the poems aren’t necessarily “linked” into a story, but I sense they are linked nevertheless. You’ll find quite a bit of angst in this book, angst over a relationship that has gone bad.

Or, maybe, it’s about a relationship developed then shattered. In the poem “Fantasies of True Love”, coming early in the book, Poppy closes the poem with this stanza:

Dreams of you like stars glistening in the night,
dangling among the darkness overcasting.
Soar through the clouds unto heaven
where true love is everlasting.

In these excellent lines, I sense hope. Maybe it’s not a current relationship, but rather the dream of one.

Two poems later, in “I Am To You”, we sense the relationship may be going bad in these lines:

you cannot abandon me
to wither in sunlight
for I am your need
to receive bounty.

Not much further in the book, in “Love in the Winds of Rapture”, we are still seeing hope:

Now I know your faults, yet I am still beguiled.
I see the flare of love in your reflection by the light of my own,
it leaps to high winds of rapture, making its presence known

Alas, right after this poem, the next two, “Lukewarm” and “Release” turn the story around. The first gives us this:

We walk between youth’s fire
and the bitter cold of old age,
embrace what seems like defeat.

and the second gives us this:

Let me go,
please…

I don’t want to fly away,
I simply need to breathe.

I love those last two lines, which say much in so few words, giving the reader lots to think about. And we’re only 15 pages into a 57 page book at this point.

Did the poet mean to tell a story? Did she mean to give the progression from starry-eyed love to “embrace what seems like defeat”? Was it all planned out for maximum effect on the reader?

Or, did this all happen by accident, the poet choosing poems from her larger collection, poems intended to gain an editor’s notice and lead to publication, with the story being unintentional? I would never ask the poet this question. Better to let me, the reader, ponder what the poet wrote, what voice her narrator uses, and let the poems speak to me as they do. Who knows: maybe the next time I read this book the poems will speak an entirely different message to me.

With all my reviews, I always askif the book is a keeper, and will I ever read it again? Yes to both questions. I have a shelf of books of poetry in the downstairs library annex (a.k.a. the storeroom). I keep them there because no one but me will likely be interested in them. Poppy’s will be on the shelf, along with Frost, Wordsworth, Thomas, and many others. Perhaps I’ll pull this out again in five or ten years, and again enjoy these poems in a variety of forms, along with some excellent free verse.

Who knows the message it will say then?

Christmas, Danny Tompkins Short Stories, poetry

Thinking About The Journey

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Yes, I live in the past. While the discoveries are exciting, they also tend to make me melancholy at times. Christmas is almost always one of those times.
Yes, I live in the past. While the discoveries are exciting, they also tend to make me melancholy at times. Christmas is almost always one of those times.

Something about this season of the year, Christmas, always makes me reflective of all things past. Each year I write a post about something from childhood Christmases. I’ll be doing that, probably next week, possibly the week after.

The last few days I’ve been thinking of the journey my life has been. In my better moments for the last decade I’ve said that I would title my autobiography The Journey Was A Joy. I must admit, however, it hasn’t always been a joy. Sometimes it’s been a struggle. Rarely has it been routine, though in fact I love and crave routine. My journey through life has been anything but routine.

Almost everything I write about is about the past. Very little is contemporary, and, so far, nothing about the future.
Almost everything I write about is about the past. Very little is contemporary, and, so far, nothing about the future.

What’s got me thinking about this recently is looking ahead to the unknowns in the journey. One is retirement, which is now only 1 year 23 days away. Sure, I long for the time of not having to go to an office every weekday and tax my brain. But I also fear doing without the income. I have savings, but far less than I intended to have.

Other unknowns are ahead. Lynda’s mom is now 92, and has been living with us for a little over two years. Her care is becoming more difficult. It falls mostly on Lynda, as I’m away all day, and it’s not easy for her. A woman marries and moves out of her mother’s home, and doesn’t expect to move back again. But with her mom moving in with us, that’s essentially what happened. Lots of water under that bridge, lots of history to deal with. It’s not easy.

There’s the unknown of how long I’ll have the physical ability to keep up our property. We’ve lived at our house almost 15 years, the longest we’ve ever been in one place since we were married almost 42 years ago. Someday I will struggle with the upkeep. When will that be? Five years? Ten? Or hopefully twenty or more? Someday we’ll have a decision to make about that.

Remember, these are short stories which, by definition, are fiction.
Remember, these are short stories which, by definition, are fiction.

So those unknowns about the future are very real. There are also thoughts about the journey I’ve been on. From Mom’s death, to being a latch-key teen, with no parent in the home most of the night, to college experiences, to traveling half-way across the country for work and a fresh start, to traveling to the Persian Gulf area for work and career advancement, to adventures in Europe and Asia. To the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait when we lived there and having no home to return to in the USA, to finding work in (of all places) Arkansas. To revelations about family, learning of many relatives in three major discoveries over a twenty year period.

Sometimes, when I dwell on this, it becomes almost overwhelming. I suppose that’s why people who deal with mental health tell us not to dwell on the past. But as a hobby genealogist and historian, I do live in the past an awful lot.

Ah, well, the melancholy will pass, as will desiring the past more than the present. Winter will fully come, with it’s full on, refreshing chill. Some snow would help, would remind me about joyful childhood romps in the snow. While waiting for that, I’ll leave you with one of my poems.

Conflicted

I long to live that day when I will rest
and cease to tax my brain. Then I will die,
and stand before my Maker. Yet, I’m blessed.
I long to live! That day when I will rest
is somewhere out there, far beyond the quest
that now demands I try, and fail, and try.
I long to live that day when I will rest,
and cease to tax my brain, then I will die.

miscellaneous, poetry, Writing

Money and Creativity

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I regularly read two publishing industry blogs to keep up with the news and opinions. One is Between The Lines, the blog of the Books & Such Literary Agency. This agency serves the Christian booksellers market, and could be considered closely aligned with the trade (sometimes called traditional) publishing model. Their five agents rotate through the week with a daily post. The other blog I read is The Passive Voice. This is by a lawyer who re-posts and sometimes comments on news from the publishing industry. This blog is closely aligned with the self-publishing model. Both blogs have a community of readers/commenters, and I comment at both blogs from time to time.

Creativity comes in many sizes. Sometimes it even comes inside the box.
Creativity comes in many sizes. Sometimes it even comes inside the box.

Being part of the self-publishing industry, I tend to be more in agreement with TPV than with BtL. I keep reading the latter, however, because I want to keep up with news and trends in the other side of the industry. I’ve tried other blogs, but find BtL as easy to read, and it provides an adequate sampling of what I’m looking for.

So, all that said, I recently read this on the BtL blog:

“The need for money is the bane of art. Oh for the days of good old-fashioned patrons of the arts. Writing for the paycheck is the fastest way to kill a career. Each book needs to be better than the last, if we’re to build over time.”

This irks me. “The need for money is the bane of art.” How? How is commercial viability a bad thing, but whatever is not commercially viable a good thing? Commercial viability (a.k.a. artists making money off their art) indicates people are willing to pay to own or use the art. This, in turn, is a reflection of what society believes is good art. The inability of an artist, by which I mean anyone who does artistic things as a career, which would include writing, to sell his art indicates that society doesn’t believe he’s producing good art. Who is a better judge of what art is good: society, or the artist who produces it?

The writer of that phrase is implying that the need to produce art that society will accept as good and pay for somehow compromises the artist’s creativity. Follow the supposed train of thought by the artist: I need to feed myself and my family. No one’s buying the art that I produce, even though I think it’s good. But they are buying that [genre of book; type of painting; method of sculpture; etc.]. So maybe I should just emulate that artist and produce art I don’t this is good so I can feed my family. I guess I won’t be able to produce the stuff that I think is good but which society apparently doesn’t think is good.

Kids know. Sometimes playing inside the box is better than all those toys outside the box.
Kids know. Sometimes playing inside the box is better than all those toys outside the box.

What’s the solution to this? The original poster said, “Oh for the good old-fashioned patrons of the arts.” Their solution: For the artist to find a source of Other Peoples’ Money, to allow them to produce art they believe is good, even though no one wants it. And this is supposed to free the artist to produce whatever they believe is good. This is supposed to advance the arts, to produce stuff that people think isn’t worth paying for?

I could go many ways with this. Is artistic creativity really stifled by having to produce art that people want to buy? Cannot an artist be creative while staying “inside the box” or “between the lines”, or within the range of commercial viability? I think they can. I’ve said often before that my favorite type of poetry is formal poetry. Give me a sonnet, a ballad, a haiku, or a cinquain any day. Give me those constraints, and I’ll produce something with artistic creativity. Inside-the-box creativity is equally creative as outside-the-box creativity.

It always amazes me that people want to pigeon-hole creativity by saying it can only happen outside the box, and that it can’t happen on the lines. It’s funny that, in wanting the maximum artistic freedom, they say creativity can only happen one way. Once again, I reject that. I believe my creativity is best released by being presented with boundaries, and, since my art is the written word, finding words that do something new and different within the boundaries.

That’s my opinion, and I’m sticking to it. Any comments?