3 - 2011 | unobtrusive lucidity

Stars or Celebrities?

So, apparently there’s been some sort of controversy or uproar or something about Charlie Sheen lately. Or, so I hear. I don’t know the details, though. Nor do I want to know the details. Because, before Sheen’s publicity-stealing debacle, whatever the nature of it may be, there was…I don’t know, someone else. And then someone else before that. And, in a few weeks, there will be…you know, someone else. I mean, the media has to get clicks somehow, right?

I said a few posts ago that I really don’t understand this concept of celebrity. I mean, I understand it in the academic sense…in the sense that we like to create celebrities because we feel that we have power over them…but I don’t understand the fascination. I have no patience for news media outlets devoting coverage time to the exploits of actors or music celebrities. I become frustrated with the clutter of the trending topics on Twitter. At the risk of sounding pompous, I really don’t want to waste my time with this stuff, not because I don’t care about these people as human beings, but because their media-saturated misadventures tend toward the…well, toward the vacuous.

I listened to a differentiation last night that L’Engle made between “celebrities” and “stars.” She makes the differentiation that “celebrities” are success stories, those who have become extremely financially successful and achieved mainstream popularity through their work, and “stars” are those who are recognized because of their excellence in their craft. I think the reason I resonated with her statement so much is because she spoke of how the true essence of theatre…of working hard to master your craft in order to produce work about which you are passionate and that matters, regardless of how much you are paid…is currently present more in regional theatre than in the professional world. So often, I see actors venerated that aren’t that great at what they do (you know, the ones who are themselves pretending to be someone else on the screen instead of becoming a character?), or writing that just falls flat (a movie that is said to be “character-driven” but uses flat characters to bridge the time between spectacular explosions). Our standard of what is good, of what is excellence in the craft, has plummeted as celebrities are elevated, measured by the amount of financial and popular success that they achieve. There’s a point at which this just doesn’t make sense, because, while not all of us are actors of artists or writers, let’s be honest…we still know something good when we see or hear it, at least if we’ve learned any kind of appreciation for the medium at all.

Because, at the end of the day, I think an artist who is excellent at his or her craft should be recognized for their hard work and talent. I don’t, however, see any point in esteeming someone for how much money they are able to make. In fact, I couldn’t care less.

I’m not claiming that every popular actor or musician or author or artist who is a great salesperson is poor at their craft. In fact, if the author (for example) wants to live at their writing, then they need to learn how to sell their books. Financially successful “stars” is not necessarily an oxymoron, but I do find it to be true in frequency. I dream wistfully of how much healthier the artistic culture of the U.S., to say nothing of its popular culture, would be were we to return to valuing excellence of craft and creativity.

Instead of the American holy grail of becoming financially successful.

Whatever that means, anyway.

Photo Attribution: k01e

Writing Roadblocks

I’ve been accused of not being an optimist.

Actually, I prefer to think myself as realist…or even an optimist prone to melancholic states, take your pick. Either way, there are days that I feel thrilled to have so many amazing options of great books to read and great music to hear, and great ideas to write. There are other days that I honestly don’t have a clue how to balance all of the above, and I feel like I’m spinning on overload. Then, there are days when I don’t even feel like trying.

Here’s the trick to the writing process as I understand it: Good writers are good readers. Good writers (like good actors) are aware of life as it unfolds around them. They experience life. They see things, and observe people. They are profoundly sensitive to the ethos and the spirituality of each moment that they experience. There are days that I’m all of those things, and there are days when I can barely make it from the time I wake up until the time I go to bed in one piece and with minimal collateral damage.

I talked a few posts ago about being present, fully present and engaged, in what and who I’m experiencing from one moment to the next. I think that, for any writer, this is critical, because we write, at least to some extent, what we know. I don’t want to just live this way for what I can get out of it, though, because that’s unfair and de-humanizing to those that I experience life with. I want to really connect with them, because, whoever they are, they are important. As with anything else important, that sort of connection takes time. Writing takes time. Reading takes time. Every one of these things takes time to do well, and, like everyone else, I just don’t ever have enough time.

I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong. Having all of these things to do and a few friends and family with which to do them is wonderful. There are many who are not nearly as fortunate. I guess what I’m musing aloud here is that, when something is left off of the to-do list for the day, it always seems to be the actual act of placing the words on the page. And projects just don’t get finished that way.

So, perhaps all that advice I’ve always read about making certain to block out time to write every day is a bit unrealistic. I think I should be concerned that it seems such a chore at the moment. Do you ever experience something similar? What do you do about it?

Photo Attribution: where are the joneses

A Necessary 180

Last year, an article called “Our Buried Sentiments” appeared in Touchstone and discussed public outrage at desecration of the dead. The article is brief, beautifully written, and thought-provoking, and you really should click over and read it now.

(I’ll wait, really…go…)

The idea that a culture defines itself by how it memorializes its ancestors is an interesting concept, because Western culture, and the U.S. specifically, has difficulty remembering histories that preceded it’s own “melting pot.” Yet, we still universally recognize (at least the author argues, and I’m inclined to agree), that our ancestors deserve respect, and that we also owe that respect to ourselves, as we stand on their shoulders to become whatever we are.

I’ve rambled a lot in the last year or so here about similar realizations within the microcosm of my own family. I was always one to eschew the past in favor of working toward the future, but I’ve come to realize (call it wisdom or maturity or just finally growing up) that my future springs from my present, and I would not have my present had I not had a family building a foundation in the past.

Our country is very young…naively young, I think, and we tend to not want to dwell in the old when we can build the shiny and new. That’s not a problem confined to the youthful U.S., incidentally, but this is the only country in which I’ve lived, so I can’t speak for others. History is taught in a way to make ourselves look good, and thus often distorted, leaving generations (my own included) ignorant of the past…and thus doomed to repeat it should we not find the motivation to educate ourselves. One of the ways we learn the past is by taking advantage of listening to those who lived it tell their stories, while they’re still here to tell them.

I know more about the Vietnam conflict from listening to my father’s stories of his tour there than I ever will from reading a textbook. The Vietnam Memorial carries significantly more weight for me because I have the opportunity to talk to my father about that era. There’s something different in hearing about the events from someone who lived them. Yet, as the author of the article you hopefully read a few moments ago points out, we shun not only death, but the elderly, pushing them away from us in the hopes of ridding ourselves of the visible signs of decay that accompanies our mortal existence. In doing so, we rob ourselves of our own history, leaving us stumbling blindly through the dark, self-assured and refusing to listen to anyone who might have been there before us, functioning as if we know the entire plot of the story even though we can only see the first-person perspective of a single character.

I have to pause, though, and consider those who simply aren’t fortunate enough to have a family that they ever had an opportunity to talk with about the past…a family vanished or fractured for whichever of the myriad of tragic reasons a family can be so. I wonder if our rush to anesthetize ourselves from old age corresponds with too readily accepting as normal the situations that can rob someone of their family moorings. The family unit progressively breaks down in our willingness to cheaply re-define it.

I was so young and naive to avoid discussion of my past. So often today, Karen asks me questions about my parents or grandparents that I should know from childhood, but don’t, because I could never be bothered to listen when the stories were told. Now, I have to take snatches of time visiting with family to catch up, to learn things I should already have known. That’s a huge mistake from which to have to recover, one that could have been so easily avoided had I just embraced what had come before me instead of cringing at the thought of it in my youthful rush to exclusively embrace the new.

Our society makes the same mistake. One of the values that religious practice brings to a culture is the discipline of confronting death as part of life. In doing so, the practitioners stay connected with their past. There’s something we can learn from this. When we bury our past without knowing what we bury, I’m afraid we’re burying ourselves, as well.

Practically Productive

I read a blog post once…I can’t remember where…about a person who had, for some time, avoided getting an iPhone for spiritual reasons. I completely respect that, as it was far deeper than my own reason for not purchasing one: AT&T. Before I digress, however, I remember the blogger joking that he had discovered that he could now watch Dog the Bounty Hunter in the bathroom.

…let’s give that a moment…

I was talking with a co-worker this week about wi-fi enabled flights…you know, some airlines are offering wi-fi aboard certain flights. The last time I traveled by air was over the Christmas holiday. I remember that it was sort of nice to turn devices off or into “airplane mode,” and be away from incoming communication for a couple of hours. This summer, I “unplugged” for our vacation…no phones, no emails, no social networks. I checked the Internet once, and that was to see if it was going to rain before we hit the beach that evening. As wired a lifestyle as I live, it was blissful to be intentionally out of touch for a while.

I was having coffee with a friend tonight, and we talked about moments in life that we take for granted, or even that we resent at the time, but that become something precious in retrospect. I’ve become more and more aware of these lately, especially where my family is concerned. Should we ever manage to cultivate the discipline and skill to recognize these special moments as they’re occurring…a special time with your spouse, holding your child, talking to a parent…then I think we’ve achieved something outstanding. I don’t think that’s enough, though. I think we need to be fully present in that moment…to be fully engaged.

Being fully engaged in a culture that prizes multitasking is difficult. It’s difficult because we expect our brains to operate as computers, as the term implies. Thus, we’re constantly interrupted in whatever we’re doing…or, worse, with whomever we’re with…because something else demands our attention.

I’ve talked about this before, here, and I don’t want to drag it up again in a way that is only complaining. I think, though, that the people in our lives are important enough to deserve our full attention. I’m as guilty as anyone…I was reading the news today while talking to a co-worker, I tend to check Twitter while watching a movie at home with my wife. I’m learning, though, some practical methods of making certain that my attention is focused in very important moments. Here are some things I’ve discovered:

1. If my wife or a guest is talking to me at home, I walk away from the computer, put down the book or the iPad, and make eye contact. In communications theory, that’s called active listening. Leaning toward the person speaking helps, as well. It’s more difficult in a public place, but possible, I promise.

2. I turn off push notifications. I want to keep up with my emails and social networks, but I want to see that information when I want to see it. If I need to check it often, I do. If I don’t, I leave it alone. Either way, I’m not interrupted by that data. I’m only seeing it when I want to see it.

3. Phones have silent modes for a reason. If I’m with someone at work, I don’t even take a phone into the room. If I’m in a conversation in a coffee shop, I send it to voicemail. A ring doesn’t necessitate an answer, at least not immediately.

4. When I’m writing, I use a word processing application that has a full screen mode. That keeps me from being distracted by other things, like calendars or to-do lists, by pushing everything else to the background and out of view.

5. Take a break. I certainly recommend unplugging a couple of times a year, if not more. Vacations are great for that. In addition, I take some time each weekend, and intentionally don’t check information that I would routinely check (like news headlines). I go away from the computer. I read a book (that’s enough of a lost past time in America), take a walk in nice weather. I go to a coffee shop and people watch (great inspiration for actors and writers).

6. I only take on what I can do well, be it projects or hobbies or commitments with friends. Saying “no” is healthy.

7. Don’t feel like you have to read every interesting article or post or book that is recommended to you. I use Instapaper for things I want to read later, and go back to it when I can give it my full attention. However, if I don’t get to something, life will go on. Really. It will.

All of these types of strategies, incidentally, help you do what you’re doing better. Being quiet and not having something “coming in” to read or watch or comprehend constantly helps us focus, as has been widely discussed lately.

An unusually practical post for me (perhaps I should do this more often?). I’m curious about you: what techniques do you use to prevent your attention span from becoming scrambled? Or is it too late? Let me know what you think. Just don’t tell me if you watch Dog the Bounty Hunter in the bathroom.

Photo Attribution: Ed Yourdon

A Review of “The Dark River”

The Dark River by John Twelve Hawks
My rating: 1 of 5 stars

Remember when Michael Jordan retired? I mean, the first time? He made that amazing, game-winning shot, and left at the top of his game. When he returned from retirement, I was disappointed. I felt it would be almost impossible for him to improve on his amazing success.

John Twelve Hawks’ first book in the Fourth Realm Trilogy, The Traveler, was suggested to me by a friend and fellow science-fiction lover. I was immediately impressed with the freshness of the idea, and completely plausible near-future, surveillance society dystopia in which the characters struggled to survive. The conflict between the Harlequins and Brethren was gripping, and some fascinating metaphysical questions were raised. The action was not overstated, and the characters engaging. The originality of the premise kept me turning pages, eager for more.

Of course, this review isn’t about The Traveler, but rather about it’s sequel, The Dark River. Which is a shame, because there was so much to say about The Traveler, and only one striking thing to say about The Dark River: Like Jordan, Hawks should have stopped when he was on top. The Dark River is a profound disappointment on so many levels. The novel reads more like a script for a Hollywood sequel, picking up where the The Traveler left off, but capitalizing only on the fact that we wanted to know what would happen to Gabriel, Maya, and the rest of his characters. No new twists to Hawks’ fictional world are presented until the end, and then in such a way as to make the reader think he was hastily throwing together a mish-mash of world religions to perpetuate his nebulous ideas and intentionally leave a cheap cliff-hanger ending so as to keep the reader returning for the third book in the series.

The book isn’t all bad. Hawks does develop his characters a bit, but it is difficult to do as violent action sequences begin with the first five pages and don’t stop until the final scene. The development that does occur feels forced and formulaic at times. In short, The Dark River left me with the same impression as one gets when an excellent and original feature film is turned into a television series for continued profit. There really isn’t much here that’s new, only a continuation of the same ideas that leads to different spectacular fights and occasional intrigue.

For this series to take such an enormous fall in quality between the two novels is astoundingly disappointing. So disappointing that I likely won’t be returning for the third book. The epic shot was made at the end of the first, and I prefer to remember the series as it was when it was on top of it’s game.

View all my reviews