While many gripe and whine that the year 2020 was a disaster, it bore witness to, as all years do, many positives. It is simply a matter of how we want to look at it. Now, if one wants—it is a choice—to be outraged over every little affront or supposed trauma that scarred their delicate feewings, then by all means, enjoy your misery, but do it alone. We have all been burned and scarred, feathered and tarred, but why wallow in it? We adults grow a spine, get counseling, meditate, yog some yoga, do something purging and productive to move the hell on. We refuse to swim with those in their bitter, nutrient-deficient, cancel culture flavored soup.
In lieu of focusing on the incessant negative media stories and affectatious outrage, I focused on creating art. I thoroughly enjoyed working on two movies scripts, The Mr. Sam Show and writing enough new music for two albums. I know, ‘albums’ are not en vogue and individual sound files are the norm. Screw the norm. Those wimpy single sound files can’t hold a flaccid, unlit candle to hearing a collection of great songs or looking at the album art. I fondly recall prowling thrift stores, spending hours hunched on the hard, filthy linoleum looking at—and touching—Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Bowie and Beatles’ album jackets. Throw guitar god Roy Clark in there too! I am thankful he autographed one of my guitars. Great guy. Anyway, one could even read lyrics in/on some of those album covers. There is something magical about the tactile nature of a music album, and that is before you even listen to it. Hell, even though it took a magnifying glass, the much more diminutive CD jackets offered something tangible to look at and explore. Now, we look at, um, uh, oh yeah, on-line images. No touch, no thanks.
It is truly pathetic that we are facilitating the dumbing down of our culture. In some cases, people promote it. If a learned or well read person merely exercises even a wee bit of their vast vocabulary, they are lambasted as show-offs or shunned. Most of these puerile reactions come from jealousy or lackadaisy toward learning and stretching oneself. The truth is, most word smiths and lovers of preserving the wondrous English language are not sharing their vocabulary for plaudits or fluffing. They just love words and all the variety they bring. They are simply utilizing the tools they learned from the old school masters. You know, real writers. True, our reading levels have been declining been for at least a century (thanks Hemingway and your cronies), but with texting, Twatter, Faceballs and Instacrap ever-shortening even basic sentences and murdering vocabulary above the head of a ten year old, the retardation (uh, oh, some is offended!) is at a critical point. If we keep on the current trajectory, our language will be reduced to pathetic series of burps, grunts and farts. Welcome back Mr. Neanderthal. Some may deem these contentions mere rant, but the proof is in the pudding. Just ask your neighbor to, while minding their diction and syntax, string together a well crafted compound, or much less, compound-complex sentence and see what they churn out. They may assume you are ready for a straight jacket or speaking in a different language, tongues even. Today’s college student can barely compose a basic, one page essay.
As always, there is a silver lining in that funky cloud. Not all of us will let our incredible language die. Some people still crave artful, gorgeous writing and learning a new word or two. They do not feel threatened by it either. Learning is the key to the game. It keeps us honest with ourselves and others. It inspires us to new heights. We must challenge our noggins in every way we can, and writing (governed by our wonderful left hemisphere) is crucial. Life is drab without challenges. The brain must be challenged lest it degenerate into Alzheimer’s or a score of other dementias. Perhaps that challenge and the on-going destruction of our once gorgeous language has prodded me into writing my novel. I feel a strong urge to keep the art of writing alive and will not cave to the social pressures to be limited, banal, tepid, trendy or, worst of all, safe or mediocre. Give me greatness, give me garbage, but never give me mediocrity. Mediocrity is the death of the human spirit.
Like it or not, all of the arts are in dire straits. Have you seen the tripe that oozes out of Hollywooden these days? Orson Welles would puke his wine-infused guts out if he were to behold what is occurring there. ‘Best seller’ books? How many released in the past ten years will you remember twenty years from now? Will anyone recall Fifty Shades of Shite in ten? What about art in galleries? There are very few great works, works that will stand the test of time. New ‘music’? Only a hand-full is worth a lick (and those are not known to the general public), the rest slapped together for a greasy buck or the cheap, extremely short lived trend. History will forget most of today’s mediocre efforts and with good reason. Mediocrity kills. This too can be turned positive: more mediocrity leaves more room for real art to stand tall and be counted, right, my fellow artists? So go make your art and make it the best that you can. Now for some thoughts on what I have been learning while writing the book.
Does each paragraph wield power, does it push the story forward and feel fresh? Are there any unnecessary repetitions of thought or words? Speaking of, every word counts! Each one carries immense weight, but must not be too heavy. The finest writing is full of such contradictions, and yet beautifully balanced. For me at least, writing must not only capture the reader, but the author. A piece must first please its creator, lest why do it all? If you are are only writing/creating to get rich, you are not an artist. This needs repeating. If you are are only writing/creating to get rich, you are not an artist. Sorry to (and for) the posers out there, but the truth is the truth. Just as when I sculpt, or write music or scripts or a book, I create what I would want to see, hear and read, what I want to experience in the wondrous world of sights and sounds and words on paper. I want quality, I expect quality, so I fight for it. Do I succeed at every turn? Every piece? Absolutely not. Great effort and high self-standards will get me there though and you too. Yes, old school. Be old school. Dream, work, reach, accomplish. Dream, work, reach, accomplish. No need to rinse, but certainly repeat.
A side note on books: While an audiobook is cool now and then, nothing compares to that tactile, decaying-pulp-scented book in your hot hands, Pick up that physical thing, crack it open and be sucked into a new realm. It may change you life.
Artists, love what you do, embrace what you create, no matter what it is or what others think. The ones that matter will come along for the joy ride. Even if no one does, you are part of fantastic creative processes and will celebrate rather than rue regrets in that final breath. Until next time, peace, love and more authentic art (and humans) on this bizarro, yet wondrous little rock in space/time,
- Linz *
Here are some hints from the in-process book, Necropoly:
Some Characters: The Man, Loud Golfer Dude, O.M., Camo, Hunchback Steward, Supposedly Homeless …..
Wealth, power, absurdity, wild situations, levitating lamps, RoboDogs, humor, golf, sex, Bugs Bunny socks, full-body casts, murder, you name it, it’s here.