2 posts tagged “craft”

"You don't write because you want to say something; you write because you have something to say." — F. Scott Fitzgerald

Fitzgerald’s worlds are apt for any artist. Whatever the artform or medium the true artist pursues her or his creation not for the purpose of simply bringing this one project to fruition, but because she or she is committed to the process of manifesting ideas into physical form accessible to others through sight, sound, touch, taste and even smell.  

The experience of applying structure to the what lives in one’s heart and mind requires not only commitment to attending to one’s bursts of inspiration, but also ascertaining the skills necessary to render comprehensible the dream-like concepts and hopes of one’s mind, and images that so enrapt one’s thoughts. The artist adept at her or his craft delivers them in a manner that stimulates the observer, taster, listener, reader.  
She or he brings into form a work that when the admire, in physically touching the artist’s creation, is moved in other, more aesthetic and less measurable, but no less potent ways. The admirer as did the artist come to know the artist, as did the artist her or himself, in completing this leg of the process.

So much of what we as artists create is a recreation of who we are, our identity that is forever changing and evolving.  Just as each story the author weaves is autobiographical, each song the musician either writes or reinterprets in her or his understanding of the music, and each painting the painter completes, is but one more rung on the ladder toward defining not only their purpose in having committed themselves to their chosen artistry but also in discovering and revealing their need to create. And with that they are given a wider glimpse and perspective of the one directive that so drives their inspiration.

Author and poet, David Mura, says that, “… when the writer discovers why she or he is writing,” realizes the larger story that is coming through them, “…that writer is then able to write all the smaller stories they imagine and are drawn to write.” [David Mura, author of Turning Japanese:  Memoirs of an Sansei, , Where the Body Meets Memory: An Odyssey of Race, Sexuality, and Identity, After We Lost Our Way, Angels for the Burning, The Color of Desire: Poems.]

As artists we live in the macrocosm of our hopes, dreams and wishes held within the microcosm of our imagination. These creative desires manifest themselves and all their comprising aspects the various projects we perceive within and bring to completion in physical form. We experience these desires in their early stages of their appearance as inspiration.

Inspiration is our need, the urge within us, to tell these smaller stories, paintings, and piece of music that form a mosaic to the larger end of clarifying for ourselves and others to see why we create.  The compilations of our work, the body of our creative endeavors are in essence an ode, or rather numerous variations on a larger theme of who we are, and our need to bring life to what would otherwise remain a wish or thought hidden in our memory.

To create something just for the sake of completing that one creation is myopic and gives short shrift to the intricate and complex beings we are.  No one painting can express the essential nature of an artist, both as a human being and a person who has experienced and followed through on the compulsion to bring form to the chaos of yearnings of their heart and soul.

For those who say,"I had not the energy nor the desire to persist,” perhaps what lay embedded in their words is, “I lacked the strength to discover and experience who I really am.”
A human individual is never a means to an end, rather the end of long sought after revelations, the creations of which the artist’s hand unveil during each step of utilizing their craft and skills.

Today I received an e-mail containing the announcement of a former editor at a New York Publisher, stating that the editor would be reviewing 500 manuscripts for the next 6-8 months.  Those interested could e-mail the editor at the address given in the announcement and receive guidelines.

Curious, and having heard of this up-coming announcement, requested the guidelines.

To my astonishment the guidelines included a $500 fee for reading each manuscript from which the submitting writer would receive a critique of their work.  The purpose of the critique and the fee, ultimately the submission, according to the guidelines is to give the submitting writing a clear sense of how their submission might fare if sent to a publishing house and feedback on where the writer needs to focus her or his attention in refining their submission—again for the larger goal of submitting the work to a publisher for publication.

I was surprised by the $500 fee because for that amount of money an interested person could take a class at say Gotham Writers Workshops or better yet, the would be author could choose from a range of short story and novel courses, all within the price range of $175- $500, classes that last from eight weeks to six months during which the writer submits stories on line to a published and season author of short stories and/or novels and receives not just critique but detailed lessons/lectures and assignments on the craft of writing.

The question was pretty clear to me:  Does one want to pay $500 for feedback given from having read 500 manuscripts or $500 or less for the experience of learning to write?

And the answer to that is also simple:  The latter is the better bargain by far.

I do not hold any ill sentiments toward the former publishing editor for offering such a service.  She has simply joined the ranks of many who already offer this service at much higher fees.

What did strike me as interesting was the great anticipation with which would be writers seeking publication held toward this editor’s announcement.  It was if many saw this as their lucky break.

I can’t exactly criticize these writers eager for publication in their hope of receiving some sort of boost in their career and desire. What left me downhearted was that in the flurry of excitement toward this editor’s announcement, nothing was ever said of why the editor had chosen to commit herself to read 500 manuscripts—better yet what she was looking to gain.

Perhaps this is a mercenary question that I propose.  But seeing one’s work come to print is costly—not only from the publisher’s end, but for the writer as well.  And much of that money must be committed to years, often decades, before a publishing editor will even look at your work. In other words, would be authors must commit to learning how to write and how to improve their writing. And that costs not just time, but also money.

That money can be spent in a myriad of ways, writing groups facilitated by established writers and poets, on-line classes facilitated by those who have made a career in the fields of writing an publishing, writing workshops where one’s work is critiqued over a period of one or two weeks, or MFA programs.  The field is wide open with much to choose from if one wants to truly learn.

But learning involves writing and re-writing—writing stories to present to one’s teacher and peers, and then more writing, after receiving comments and critique to learn how to correct one’s mistakes and refine one’s ability to craft and structure stories.

I received 4 more e-mails after receiving the guidelines from the editor who is to read 500 manuscripts. Those subsequent e-mails contained critiques of various stories.  The authors of these stories went unnamed. The critiques for the novels ranged from comments on dialogue, to suggestions for theme, and critiques on plot.  

The editor, as most in the publishing field who are good at what they do, presented in explicit form just what was not working in the various stories, and what each author needed to attend in revising their story.
Alas, what was not present, was how to amend the suggested challenges—the true stuff of writing--revision--the work that each writer has and at some point must face on the way to the forum of publication--the ability to recognize, foresee, avoid, correct, the pitfalls that plague any and every writer.

That was not included in the critiques. That is what classes teach.