Work in Progress
Aren't we all?
Well hey there, darlings,
(The following thoughts are also available on Medium but you have to be a paying member of Medium to access it there. A benefit of being your own publisher is that you get to post reprints whenever you want….Enjoy! And thank you for following my Substack!)
I was hosting a Zoom accountability group through my work with Pen Parentis (a nonprofit I founded to help writers stay on creative track after they have kids, in case you’re new here) and the topic of performance readings came up.
I could do a whole post on reading aloud, what with my experience as a card-carrying actor as well as an MFA-bannered (or is is “branded”?) writer…
However, the morning’s discussion reminded me of an argument I’d had with a poet long long ago, in which I vehemently disagreed on how they performed their own work: intentionally monotone, intentionally slowed to the point of audience frustration, intentionally extending pauses at the ends of lines…. in short “reading like a poet.”
(Let’s put aside the hubris that I as a 22-year old who had one single published prizewinning poem to my name should get any say in how a 50 year old who had books and books of poetry in the world reads their own poetry.)
(Actually, let’s also put aside the hubris that winning a prize—or publishing—or even being a “professional” critic—should make any difference: no one gets to tell an artist how to do or show their art. Period.)
“Your poem is amazing, but your reading made it too hard to follow. It would be so much more compelling,” the petulant young version of me said, “if you just read it like an actor would read it.”
The poet patiently explained that they were intentionally removing themselves from the work by reading this way. They explained that it was in fact extremely difficult to learn to read this way, and that it was in their very *selflessness* that the words were able to reach others “cleanly.” I disagreed then (and rather disagree still!) but I was able to finally understand what reading in that “poet” way meant:
Removing the self from the work of art.
The poet was trying to replicate the experience of reading a poem cold: on a blank page or scrawled on a wall, without the poet’s bio, without knowing the poet’s intentions.
Without the poet.
Removing the self from the art is the opposite of what artists are taught to do today. At least since the early 1990s, writers have been pushed to “find their own voice.” In service of this, an author’s “brand” becomes very important. Agents no longer will accept a writer without seeing a full bio (aka: what-right-do-you-have-to-request-my-attention) and usually not only an artist’s statement (why-am-you-writing-this-and-not-something-else) but also the artist’s background (how-did-you-glean-any-facts-that-you-claim-to-know-in-writing-this) — most agents require a trifecta: you must have a reliable background, a good reason, and the absolute right to tell a story. Even a story with talking animals, a quiet piece about a completely invented family, or a multi-tome soaring space opera. You need the trifecta. You Just Do…not even talking about publishers here, just the gatekeepers.
I’m not sure how I feel about it.
Yet, watching the downfall of writers/artists/actors/etc whose work was formerly pleasurable to read/see/watch is cause enough for an agent to not want to represent anyone who is likely to ultimately bring pain to their fans. And given all the pain that fans (me included) are feeling as they discover that once-beloved writers/artists/actors/etc are deeply flawed and in some cases, criminal, beings — perhaps it is a safety measure to have transparency over who makes the art you love.
A lot of the beloved art that has lasted through the centuries in cultures all over the world was created by people whose backgrounds are lost to history. We read it and say that the past is speaking to the present.
Would we loathe that art too, if we discovered they were awful humans?
We would. So perhaps we should erase the entire global history of art and start fresh? There are more than 250 MFA programs in the United States alone, graduating an average of 3,000 students per year; here’s a modest proposal, certainly there are enough really great young up-and-coming artists to be able to identify about a hundred of the most talented before they do anything horrific and expose them to constant scrutiny to ensure they stay pure so we can keep allowing them to create.
Oh wait, is that what we are already doing?
Writing News:
Ironically, the above conversation was not predicated on the short article I wrote on Medium last week: 5 Tips for Writers who want to do a fantastic reading. But I’m attaching it here and you can read it free (it’s a friend link)!
Also, I’ll be attaching the links here for the articles I write about my trip to Japan, just so they’ll all be in one place in order.
How to Plan the Perfect Trip to Japan
First Night on the Town: Osaka, Japan
Two Insane Travel Moments, part one
Two Insane Travel Moments, part two
(there are photos!)
Other than that, I attended two new play readings and two new play performances: one I think I told you already, last Sunday I went to see a piece that was dance and short scenes of epistolary writing sent in by various writers. Your Faithful Reader is an annual event. I also went to see a performance piece by a young Lithuanian poet (he’s 23) — he was absolutely gloriously passionate in giving over to his raw and honest arm-waving, chair-climbing, howling, screaming, hugging, chip crunching, sea breathing, piano palpitating, laughing embrace of the self-examining words he had written.
It was a good time. (An even better time was the band rehearsal studio that a friend rented in lieu of karaoke - we sang at the top of our lungs for two hours! Right after seeing A Complete Unknown, it was maybe the most perfect thing I could have done.)
Saturday I watched staged readings of two Actors Studio MFA playwrights’ theses. One by Leah M Bickley and one by Caleb Dukes. Both plays were about adult kids ruined by overstressed mothers and dealing with the consequences (the moms were pure villains who were unable to change.) Not my favorite thing, to spend two hours on a show whose message is, “oh well, c’est la vie, might as well enjoy yourself.”
I also saw the movie Conclave - that was a surprise - I thoroughly loved it. Ditto for the Bob Dylan movie. I also really liked and highly recommend the quiet film A Real Pain. The film The Last Showgirl was poignant and glitzy, and the trans-gangster Spanish-language musical film Emilia Perez was bizarre and schmaltzy, but both had messages leaving me feeling as hopeless as those two Actors Studio plays.
Here’s hoping next week, there’s more to enchant.
RSVP to watch the Pen Parentis Literary Salon online as my guest on Tuesday Feb 11. The topic is The Existential Crisis. Timely!
Random Final Thought
Happy Superbowl to all who celebrate—!
Fascinating. I would say that at best being able to shill for one's art should be irrelevant to considerations of its quality and sincerity, and at worst ominous. People are never attractive when they grovel. Perhaps we can be most impressed by those who can constructively and unapologetically defend their work yet still seem above the fray. But this still seems to me like a matter of personality and not of real strength or lack thereof. Speaking of the Super Bowl, the only test of art is the real game, not the pre-game show. But this is the bias of a shy, or at least shy-adjacent person.
Most thought provoking as usual!