note to self: just because someone did the thing you were thinking about doing, and did it way better than you could ever hope to do, doesn’t mean it would be stupid or pointless to go ahead and try to still do the thing anyway.
Also, when it comes to creative things? There really is no “better”.
Sure, someone might be more technically accomplished than you - you might not be able to colour as nicely or craft a sentence that rings as poetically - but art is only really secondarily about that. It’s firstmost about what you, uniquely, have to express, and how the precise way you express it might be what others need to relate to it - even if it’s less flashy, less “beautiful”, and gets fewer notes.
I promise you this: there are obscure fanfics with only a handful of notes that are the read-and-re-read favourites of someone too anxious to comment. There are drawings done by 14-year-olds in poorly-blended markers that are someone’s favourite because they spoke to something that nothing else did. There are covers of songs where your voice cracks and you cringe every time you hear it but someone thinks the way it cracked just at that moment added beauty to the song. There are angsty three-line poems you wrote at 4am that someone once called “pretentious emo trash” that are loved by someone else going through the same thing as you.
And I guarantee you, there is something unique about your art. Even if you’re “saying something someone else has said”. Even if you’re the thousandth person to take on the subject. Even if you feel like you’re not at all unique. You’re bound to express something, however subtle, that didn’t exist until then.
Art is about connection. And the more you create, the more chance you have of finding other people who experience the world the way you do.
“But the one thing that you have that nobody else has is you. Your voice, your mind, your story, your vision. So write and draw and build and play and dance and live as only you can.“ via @neil-gaiman
The “two cakes” theory of content production.
It was only yesterday that I was lamenting thing I no longer felt allowed to do because someone had done similar.
I ought to read this post daily. Maybe twice daily.
As I keep saying: No one can tell the story the way you would. No one. Even if it’s the same idea and setting, it doesn’t matter. You’ll do something different with it than the person who already did it.
Most know the King in Yellow from Lovecraft’s stories and the Cthulhu mythos in general, but it predates his stories by quite some time. The King in Yellow is a forbidden play which causes those who read it to go mad, and comes from a collection of stories by the same name written by Robert Chambers.
Along the shore the cloud waves break, The twin suns sink behind the lake, The shadows lengthen In Carcosa.
Strange is the night where black stars rise, And strange moons circle through the skies, But stranger still is Lost Carcosa.
Songs that the Hyades shall sing, Where flap the tatters of the King, Must die unheard in Dim Carcosa.
Song of my soul, my voice is dead, Die thou, unsung, as tears unshed Shall dry and die in Lost Carcosa.
Camilla: You, sir, should unmask. Stranger: Indeed? Cassilda: Indeed it’s time. We have all laid aside disguise but you. Stranger: I wear no mask. Camilla: (Terrified, aside to Cassilda.) No mask? No mask! - Act 1, Scene 2d ‘The King in Yellow’
The more psychotherapy an abusive man has participated in, the more impossible I usually find it is to work with him. The highly “therapized” abuser tends to be slick, condescending, and manipulative. He uses the psychological concepts he has learned to dissect his partner’s flaws and dismiss her perceptions of abuse. He takes responsibility for nothing that he does; he moves in a world where there are only unfortunate dynamics, miscommunications, symbolic acts. He expects to be rewarded for his emotional openness, handled gingerly because of his “vulnerability,” colluded with in skirting the damage he has done, and congratulated for his insight. Many years ago, a violent abuser in my program shared the following with us: “From working in therapy on my issues about anger toward my mother, I realized that when I punched my wife, it wasn’t really her I was hitting. It was my mother!” He sat back, ready for us to express our approval of his self-awareness. My colleague peered through his glasses at the man, unimpressed by this revelation. “No,” he said, “you were hitting your wife.”
I have yet to meet an abuser who has made any meaningful and lasting changes in his behavior toward female partners through therapy, regardless of how much “insight”—most of it false—that he may have gained. The fact is that if an abuser finds a particularly skilled therapist and if the therapy is especially successful, when he is finished he will be a happy, well-adjusted abuser—good news for him, perhaps, but not such good news for his partner. Psychotherapy can be very valuable for the issues it is devised to address, but partner abuse is not one of them; an abusive man needs to be in a specialized program.
Therapy focuses on the man’s feelings and gives him empathy and support, no matter how unreasonable the attitudes that are giving rise to those feelings.
An abusive man’s therapist usually will not speak to the abused woman, whereas the counselor of a high-quality abuser program always does.
Therapy typically will not address any of the central causes of abusiveness, including entitlement, coercive control, disrespect, superiority, selfishness, or victim blaming.
It is also impossible to persuade an abusive man to change by convincing him that he would benefit from it, because he perceives the benefits of controlling his partner as vastly outweighing the losses. This is part of why so many men initially take steps to change their abusive behavior but then return to their old ways. There is another reason why appealing to his self-interest doesn’t work: The abusive man’s belief that his own needs should come ahead of his partner’s is at the core of his problem. Therefore when anyone, including therapists, tells an abusive man that he should change because that’s what’s best for him, they are inadvertently feeding his selfish focus on himself: You can’t simultaneously contribute to a problem and solve it.
Women speak to me with shocked voices of betrayal as they tell me how their couples therapist, or the abuser’s individual therapist, or a therapist for one of their children, has become a vocal advocate for him and a harsh and superior critic of her. I have saved for years a letter that a psychologist wrote about one of my clients, a man who admitted to me that his wife was covered with blood and had broken bones when he was done beating her and that she could have died. The psychologist’s letter ridiculed the system for labeling this man a “batterer,” saying that he was too reasonable and insightful and should not be participating in my abuser program any further. The content of the letter indicated to me that the psychologist had neglected to ever ask the client to describe the brutal beating that he had been convicted of.
As a routine part of my assessment of an abusive man, I contacted his private therapist to compare impressions. The therapist turned out to have strong opinions about the case:
THERAPIST: I think it’s a big mistake for Martin to be attending your abuser program. He has very low self-esteem; he believes anything bad that anyone says about him. If you tell him he’s abusive, that will just tear him down further. His partner slams him with the word abusive all the time, for reasons of her own. His wife’s got huge control issues, and she has obsessive-compulsive disorder. She needs treatment. I think having Martin in your program just gets her what she wants.
BANCROFT: So you have been doing couples counseling with them?
THERAPIST: No, I see him individually.
BANCROFT: How many times have you met with her?
THERAPIST: She hasn’t been in at all.
BANCROFT: You must have had quite extensive phone contact with her, then.
THERAPIST: No, I haven’t spoken to her.
BANCROFT: You haven’t spoken to her? You have assigned his wife a clinical diagnosis based only on Martin’s descriptions of her?
THERAPIST: Yes, but you need to understand, we’re talking about an unusually insightful man. Martin has told me many details, and he is perceptive and sensitive.
BANCROFT: But he admits to serious psychological abuse of his wife, although he doesn’t call it that. An abusive man is not a reliable source of information about his partner.
What the abuser was getting from individual therapy, unfortunately, was an official seal of approval for his denial, and for his view that his wife was mentally ill.
“Why does he do that ?
Inside the Minds of Angry and Controlling men”
5.0 out of 5 stars Five Stars 5.0 out of 5 stars A poetic and unusual perspective on marine invertebrates To say that biologists can learn about modern sea life from glass models made 140 years ago is to credit both worlds: the close observations of the contemporary scientist and the extraordinary skill of the late nineteenth century Dresden glassmakers Leopold and Rudolf Blaschka. In her book, A Sea of Glass; Searching for the Blaschkas’ Fragile Legacy in an Ocean at Risk, Drew Harvell, Professor of Ecology and Evolutionary Biology at Cornell University, has succeeded in bringing their glass models to life, searching to find their living counterparts. Each is a metaphor for the other. She sees the glass models as time capsules. Her favorite, the glass model of the common octopus, was carefully restored recently from many small pieces while its living counterpart also lives tenuously today, in its natural habitat. Thus this beautifully written, absorbing, purposeful and eye-opening book presents a time warp: late 19th century glass models and contemporary real specimens, studied on dives by the author in Indonesia, Italy, Hawaii, and the San Juan Islands, Washington State, as well as the low tide flats of Creek Farm, near Portsmouth, New Hampshire.The author begins with a history of these Czech glassblowers, telling how Leopold’s 1853 sea voyage and his observations of jellyfish in the Atlantic, including the Portuguese Man of War, led to a fascination with invertebrate sea animals. This book restores to public view the importance of these invertebrate models which until now have been less well known than the Blaschkas’ glass flowers, notably those in the collection at Harvard University. With this book, the invertebrate sea creatures retake center stage, both for their art and for their contributions to the study of nature or, as the author puts it, the tree of life.Read more › Go to Amazon5.0 out of 5 stars fascinating in the discussion of both biology and art, jaw-dropping photos of the glass sculptures Drew Harvell’s A Sea of Glass: Searching for the Blaschka’s Fragile Legacy in an Ocean at Risk is a braided work of non-fiction whose three strands focus on the creation of a 19th Century collection of exquisitely crafted glass replicas of marine invertebrates, the biology of the creatures themselves, and Harvell’s attempt through a series of dives to learn how these creatures, so plentiful at the time of their reproduction in glass, are doing in a world grown mostly more inimical to their existence thanks to overfishing, pollution, and most especially global warming.The Blashchkas, a father and son glassmaking team, ended up creating almost 800 of the finely detailed replicas as teaching tools for universities (they were actually more famous for their glass flowers, many of which were displayed in royal gardens). Their dedication and artistic ability can be traced through their letters and journals, through the painstaking notes they took, through the watercolors they created before attempting the same creature in glass, and through the incredible detail of the sculptures, of which experts at the Corning Museum of Glass declared that they could think of no peers, living or dead, who could have achieved the same fine work.Harvell is an excellent guide to the naturalist account of how these creatures live—what they eat and how, how they reproduce, their place in the environmental food web, etc. All of it, explained in precise, clear language is utterly fascinating, even when she describes what she acknowledges are often thought of as the more “dull” creatures, the worms.Meanwhile, her attempt to evaluate these creatures’ vitality in their current existence is highly personal and emotional.Read more › Go to Amazon
There is one very specific aspect of what’s going down in fandom right now that just boggles my mind, and that is very simply that even if I put aside my personal opinion on issues of the fandom-mainstream fourth wall and/or appropriate creator-fandom interactions, one of the first things I ever learned in my first writing class was that what I write does not belong to me.
So it was 2003, right? I was fifteen years old, almost sixteen, and I was taking an intensive fiction-writing class during the summer, for funsies, like the gigantic nerd I was (am). My class was given a new short-story assignment each week, and at the end of the week we each made enough copies of our story for the entire class and spent a full day editing and critiquing.
When it was my turn to have my story raked across the coals – and I think it’s worth noting, just so you understand that fifteen-year-old-me had uncommonly strong feelings about what she’d written, that my first short story was an extremely painful account of how my dad had died less than six months earlier, thinly disguised as fiction – this is what I, like every other teenager in my class, had to do:
I sat in a circle made up of professor, T.A., and about fifteen people my age (some of whom I liked and/or respected, and some of whom I sincerely believed had the reading comprehension and original thinking ability of banana slugs), and let those seventeen separate people talk to me and to each other about what I’d written. They went through this story that plugged directly into my heart (and which, by the way, nobody knew had any basis in reality), and talked about my grammar, my word choice, my plot arc, the humanity of my characters, how believable the story was, the subtext they read there, their speculations about what I’d been trying to say, and their recommendations for improvement…
…and I wasn’t allowed to say anything unless somebody asked me a direct question. No arguing. No corrections.
That was really fucking hard, okay? Aside from being hella humbling, it was excruciating. I had people telling me they didn’t really buy that the main character would act that way; or that such-and-such sequence of events didn’t make sense, narratively speaking; or that they really liked such-and-so antagonist; or that they found this symbolism unnecessarily convoluted or that subtext evocative. And it was my job, as a writer who had completed a text and given it away, to listen to what they were saying and take notes of my own and keep my mouth shut, even as part of my brain was shrieking stuff like, OF COURSE THE MAIN CHARACTER WOULD ACT THAT WAY BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT I ACTUALLY DID! THAT IS THE ORDER THINGS ACTUALLY HAPPENED IN! THAT PERSON MADE MY LIFE A LIVING HELL AND I THINK IT’S FUCKING SICK THAT YOU LIKE THEM! I DIDN’T PUT ANY SYMBOLISM OR SUBTEXT IN THIS STORY, IT IS LITERAL AS FUCK!
But I did it, okay, and I got exactly what I wanted, which was a) some goddamn catharsis, b) what would eventually become a pretty fucking baller short story and c) to learn as much as I could about my own weaknesses and strengths as a writer.
Once you have written something and somebody else has read it or had it read to them or performed it or seen it performed, that thing does not belong to you anymore. This is Writing 101, guys. This is Creative Anything 101. This is SO BASIC. People will ask questions you think are irrelevant; they’ll fixate on details you threw in there on a whim; they’ll berate the characters you love and overidentify with and put the most effort into portraying, and they’ll love the characters you created as villains or cannon fodder. They’ll miss what you thought was the most beautiful part of your story, or the most important part. They’ll see symbolism that you think is bullshit and subtext that goes directly against what you intended to get across. They’ll see some oppressive bullshit you sure as fuck didn’t mean to put in there. They may even imagine things about you and what you were thinking and what you were trying to say. They will MAKE SHIT UP. And here’s the thing: they won’t be wrong.
It is not a good writer’s business to wade into a discussion of something they’ve created to ~correct~ people. Once you are done writing something, it stands on its own whether you want it to or not. You don’t get to get mad at your beta and/or your audience for not reacting exactly the way you wanted. If you find yourself feeling like you have to explain or correct something after someone’s made their own analysis of it, your first reaction doesn’t need to be “they probably read it wrong” but could possibly stand to be “maybe I wrote it wrong”. What you find yourself wanting to add or correct in the discussion is something that should have spoken for itself in the text. By all means, answer questions when they are put to you directly! But you can’t (and shouldn’t try to) chase down every copy of your text in the whole world and correct the notes people have made in the margins. That would be ridiculous.
So aside from the fact that I think that creators walking into fandom and throwing their weight around re: fans’ opinions of dialogue, characterization, plot arc, the actors’ talent, or anybody’s overall intentions is bullying, disrespectful, and almost sublimely missing the point of what fandom is, it’s also a fucking neon green sign of hubris, immaturity, and POOR AUTHORSHIP.
