Artists Are Neither Politicians or Propagandists

I probably shouldn't be writing this post. Not with my debut novel about to break and three more in the series due out next year. I shouldn't be writing this because there's a very good chance I'm going to upset some people, people who might be potential readers. It might hurt my sales and someone who might have enjoyed my work will never give it a chance.

What I should do is shut my mouth and post something that won't offend anyone, something that will get eyeballs and clicks and possibly entice someone to check out my other work.

Except, I'm not going to do that. I'm an artist, not a politician. And when artists decide that sales are more important than what they're trying to say, they aren't artists any more. That's not to say that everything an artist writes or paints or creates needs to deal with serious political or societal issues. Hey, that's the same kind of bourgeois attitude I ripped the other day in my post about Star Wars. Writing coaches suggest that every writer will explore two or three themes in their life, and that all of their work will revolve around those themes, whatever they are. Sure, they could be things like class issues or equality or religious bigotry, but they could also be themes like the importance of family, certain political issues, or sibling relationships. It could be any number of things that an artist feels passionately about, whatever it is that draws them back to the empty canvas.

The choice of theme is not important. What's important that we never censor our opinion on that which gives our work life. As soon as we do that, we might as well print ads for a car company, because we aren't acting as artists anymore. As soon we allow our concern about our sales figures to edit our work even a little, we've taken our first step to becoming a politician. There's nothing wrong with wanting to be a politician or believing that you could make a difference in you ran for city council, but you can't be both.

ROBERT B. PARKER

I grew up in a small, white town circa. the 1980's, and the only thing I knew about the gay community was that they were sinners, perverts and gross. That's what I'd been taught. Don't get me wrong, my parents are extraordinarily kind, so were the people in my church, but as I didn't know anyone who was gay, and as there were no positive representations in the media (Ellen "Degenerate" Degeneres, remember that, ugh!) was still years away from getting her first sitcom on ABC), so I believed them. My stance tempered into my twenties, though I still believed it was sin. Still a perversion. Until I met Mr. Parker.

Well, I didn't meet him in person (That would have been great!), but I met him through his Spenser detective series, still my favourite all these years later. In his series, there was a minor recurring character, Lee Farrell, who was gay. He was tough and kind, a good cop. I'd never even fathomed that someone gay could be a tough cop. (Gay people were "fairies.") That didn't make sense. But it was my favourite series, and so the more I read, the more I started to question what I'd been taught.

That's right, my first positive gay role model was a fictional character.

I learned, years later, that Parker had two sons and that both were gay. Farrell was a secondary character, but for a diehard conservative like me, he was the first to crack open the door to my worldview and offer me a different look at the world. That single character would lead to further reading, and as I got older, I rejected my earlier notions about homosexuality. In fact, equality (a rejection of my misunderstanding of feminism as well) with regards to sexuality and gender and race is one of the prominent themes in my books.

THEMES ARE NOT STORIES
But a theme is not a story. As strongly as I feel about equality and class and serving the less fortunate (I'm pretty much a weight-lifting hippy), I write action-packed dystopian fantasy novels with a lot of violence and weapons. The themes originate organically from my story. Sure, idiots like Trump drive me crazy, and the Republican party in the US, as it stands now, makes me gasp in disbelief. That said, but I have a number of conservative friends who've read THE LAST ANGEL (Advanced Reader Copies) and loved it. I know a number of conservatives who loved Parker's books, too.

When theme dominates your story, you've sold out in the other direction. Instead of becoming a politician, you become a propagandist. Ken Follett has become guilty of this the past decade. After writing the brilliant PILLARS OF THE EARTH (1989), he wrote the sequel 18 years later, WORLD WITHOUT END (2007). It was completely unreadable. Essentially it was an essay on why he was right, and anyone who disagreed with him was an idiot. There was nothing organic about it. Understand, Follett is a leftist Atheist. Aside from not being an Atheist, I generally agree with his worldview and I was still massively offended. I've been known to say a time or two on Facebook that "you're an idiot if you think this way"(Trump, yup), but never in my stories.

Art needs to be prismatic, and the only way that happens if we explore our deep seated passions, the ones that will become our themes, and allow the story to bloom from them. As soon as we allow the other voices into our heads ("this will hurt your sales," or "people should believe this!") we lose the very thing that not only gives our work power, but the thing that defines us as artists.

It probably wasn't smart for me to tell you that I'm a hippy. Or that I dislike xenophobes like the popular Trump. Or that I'm a feminist who features minority characters in their stories. It probably wasn't the smart thing to do, and I imagine it can only hurt my sales this year. That's okay. The only reason I was able to write this series (four written in the past eighteen months) is that after many years I finally stopped worrying about what others might say. As soon as I stopped listening to those voices, my work took shape in a way I hadn't expected.

Why?

Because I'm an artist, not a politician.

-Steve

TLL: The Grammy Awards, Jeremy Lin, Tim Thomas, and Women’s Rights

My buddy, Mark, has been helping me modulate the tone of my opinions for a while now. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. This week, however, I tried to take his advice. The crossed out words indicate what I really think writers refer to as "First Draft". At least this way you know that I'm having fun playing with the cross out tool being careful in understanding and taking responsibility for my opinions. Onto the Links…


THE GRAMMY'S

So I promised myself that this year I'd watch the Grammy's, my least favourite of the bloated awards shows that dominate the TV/ cultural landscape during this portion of the calendar. Apparently I lied. (To myself, which isn't so bad, right?) Instead, I found myself watching a nondescript Memphis – Utah NBA game featuring the ugliest uniforms I've ever seen. According to my twitter feed, Adele kicked everyone's ass, and Chris Brown, the jerk who beat up Rihanna when they were a couple, performed twice. Did I miss anything? Oh, and I did catch Taylor Swift, one of my favourites, who was very good. That's not a surprise. (And for people who insist that she can't sing. Um, neither can Bob Dylan, if you're going to judge voice that way. Fortunately, not all of us need some mythical tonal purity and a chance to cash in on someone else's success to appreciate good music (and storytelling) when we hear it. The whole vocal shitstorm with Taylor Swift strikes me as sexist, especially since she's noticeably better than she used to be. She doesn't have to be Mariah (or even Jennifer Hudson) to be great. Here's what MTV thought about the night's winners and losers. (Though I disagree on the Chris Brown "winner" label.)

TIM THOMAS

Elsewhere, Tim Thomas, Stanley Cup winning goaltender for the Boston Bruins, was in the news again for his latest Facebook post. Apparently, he wants everyone to know that he "stands with the Catholics in the fight for Religious Freedom." He's referring, of course, to the latest wedge issue for Republicans debate over Obama's healthcare program, in which all institutions providing health care were required to cover contraceptives. The Catholic Church (by which, I mean the papacy and bishops) don't believe in women's rights or rational thinking the use of birth control, so they officially objected, forcing Obama to compromise. There are a few issues here, but Thomas, who refused to go to the Whitehouse with his team a couple of weeks ago, and then claimed it wasn't political, is acting like a douchebag missing the point. Jim Braude thinks he's a coward, which is right on the money probably going too far. At least, that's what most people with an IQ above eighty Joe Haggerty thinks.

CATHOLICS AND CONTRACEPTIVES

As for the Catholics themselves, I truly don't get it. I was raised in a devout Catholic home, was an altar boy for five years, and still love the way that so many Catholic churches involve themselves in helping the poor and providing for those in need. Even my parents don't agree with the Catholic breeding program position on birth control. In a recent poll, 98% of Catholic women have used birth control at some point and 58% of Catholics disagree with their church's position. Some commentators feel that Obama handled this in a clumsy manner. I don't think so, and neither does John Ray, a professor of Political Science in Montana. I think he gets it right when he calls it a misinterpretation of the First Amendment and an important issue for women's rights.

For all the good the Catholic Church does in the world, and they do A LOT of good, as an institution they treat women like breeders have never considered women equal to men. (TEASER: Later this week in the Scrolls post, we'll look at why that is so, and the one woman in history who understood that Roman tendency better than any other. Her name? Cleopatra.) Not that they're the only institution that thinks the purpose of women involves breeding procreation. As Dr. David Jeremiah, popular evangelical teacher, he's certainly not smart enough to be a real doctor… idiot, notes in his new book, procreation is one of the important reasons people should marry. Love is part of the equation, but only part. God put us here to breed until we overpopulate the earth and kill every other living thing be fruitful and multiply. Which is also why we should not allow gays to marry, he says, because they can't procreate. Aside from the fact his argument is hateful and completely ignorant illogical nonsense, I can't understand why so many people seem attracted to this drivel. We're smarter than this, right folks? Like, we didn't stop reading when the calendar moved past 1958, right? Sigh.

JEREMY LIN

The best story of the week, for me, is the Jeremy Lin story. If you haven't heard about LInsanity yet, you will. Jeremy Lin is the point guard for the New York Knicks. Well, he's been the point guard for the past five games, during which time he's averaged 25 points a game and about 8 assists. Not a big deal normally, except that those are the first five starts in the NBA for Lin, he has a degree from Harvard (The US presidency has had more presidents from Harvard (5) then the NBA (4)), he's been sent to the D (evelopment) League four times, was released by three other NBA teams, and as of two weeks ago was sleeping on his brother's couch in New York about to be released. And did I mention the Knicks have won five games in a row in what seemed to be a lost season with their two best players sidelined. He also happens to be a devout Christian (which hasn't come into play yet, but it will) and of Taiwanese- Chinese descent, which happens to be the NBA's biggest market outside the US. Yes, the NBA headquarters have been quivering with delight for two weeks.

Sam Amick looks at how Lin got to New York. But even before he became a pro, he was tearing it up at Harvard and causing all kinds of angst, at least for Jay Caspian King. On Friday, Lin dropped 38 points on the Lakers, proving he's no fluke, according to Chris Mannix. And then Jay Caspian King took another crack at the Lin saga this past week. This is a great story, and watching the kid play the last two games, I'd agree that he's no fluke. He has a Steve Nash quality to his game, but he's more Sam Cassell, more a scorer. That will be the thing to watch, by the way. How he shoots the ball. If he continues to hit his jumper, he'll be fine.

AMERICAN IDOL AND THE IMPORTANCE OF CRITICISM

Oh, and from the archives this week, I found this old article by Owen Gleibermen commenting specifically on American Idol's shitty fluff weak judging last year and how it affected the early cut of Pia Toscano on the show. Thematically, however, he tackles why criticism and critics are necessary, how good critics help us see things in a new light. And also, it makes me feel better about all the criticism I dish out every Tuesday. And yes, I watch American Idol. I wasn't sure what it'd be like after Simon left, and they had some problems last year, but my wife and I still enjoy it. There are so many commercials now, however, we probably wouldn't watch it without a PVR.

Feel free to post your own favourite links from the week, folks. Or let me have it if you think I'm out to lunch. Otherwise, enjoy.

Steve

Sex, Gay Marriage and a Culture of Vitriol

The cashier frowned as he took the cash from the man standing in front of me. It wasn't an obvious frown, merely the downward wrinkle of lips and gathering of skin between the eyebrows, as if he was thinking about something important. Unless you had seen it before, or you were looking for it, it was difficult to spot. I was standing next in line, waiting for my turn to pay for gas, so it wasn't hard to miss. The gas stop was painted a bright red and white, as if to counter the gloom of another rainy night. The smattering of conversation from a couple of girls buying snacks drifted up towards the front. The man in front of me however, didn't seem to notice the slight as he accepted his change with a smile. He was wearing a dark sports coat and gray slacks with a white button down shirt. Well dressed, but nothing out of the ordinary. But his movements just felt wrong. Too fluid. Too much wrist. As if he was dancing while standing still. He was about my height, but lean and smooth shaven. He said good night, and the cashier whistled silently through his teeth, watching him for an extra second as the man glided out into the rain.

I bit my lip and frowned at the cashier, a burly man in his early forties, but he didn't notice and brightened considerably when he saw me.

"Another rainy night, eh?" He said, taking my money.

"Another rainy night." I repeated, my voice flat.

I wanted to say something more, but what could I say? Hey, Mr. Uneducated Jerkoff, I saw how looked at that guy because you thought he was gay? Instead, I was left to fume at the obvious bigotry, and headed out into the rain without saying another word.

Rain teased down the windshield, blurring the lights into a miasma of yellows and greens and reds. It was still warm enough to leave my window open, and I drove slowly through the streets, listening to the patter on my roof and the squish of tires, enveloped by the silence that always seemed to follow the rain. I had a hard time getting the incident at the gas bar out of my head. The cashier was probably a conservative, I thought. Probably a Christian, too, since there weren't a whole lot of white Muslims here. The more I thought about it, the angrier I became. How could someone be so prejudiced? Hadn't he read the papers lately, heard anything at all about the rash of gay suicides by teenagers down in the States? Who was he to judge someone like that?

By the time I pulled into the underground parking lot, I was so angry that I nearly drove into one of the columns before finally bringing my car to a screeching halt. I had to write about this… do something. For a writer, turning thoughts into words on a page is largely how we deal with things, but it doesn't necessarily mean we deal with them correctly. This however, was something else. I was tired of the prejudice, misogyny and bigotry so evident in our society. Why couldn't people see it? I didn't know the cashier, but I'd seen his type before. White, of course, and male. Probably loved Glenn Beck and wondered why the world didn't look like 1950. Probably watched Mad Men and wished things could go back to the way they were. (Missing the entire point of the show) That women and minorities had few rights sixty years ago probably affected him not at all. By the time I was sitting in my spot on the balcony, I was ready to chew nails. For the next four days I pounded out two thousand words on a fictional white male who tries his hand at both the Tea Party and Homosexuality before realizing that he might have made a misjudgement. I let Bethany read it, and she gave it back with a few suggestions. (She's a great editor) There was something about it however, that I didn't like. I knew a few liberal magazines that might be interested, but I had this feeling that I was missing something. Something important.

You have to understand that I am not a classically trained writer. I did not major in English or do an MFA. Most of my formal education, though not all, is theological. Whatever you see here (and hopefully you find it stimulating) is the result of fifteen years or so of reading How-To books and sitting at the Desk, pounding things out. As a rule, I write by feel, not unlike a musician who plays by ear. (There are more effective ways to write, and I do wish sometimes that I had more formal training, but it has always been such, and I've learned to live with the results.) I put my ear to the winds blowing in both my heart and mind, to the phrases that stick and those that stick out, to the order of thought and clarity of presentation, and try to listen. More importantly, I listen for the tone of the writing itself. Tone is important, because once you're comfortable in your own voice, the first step for any writer, the tone is more than just another tool. It is the music behind the lyrics. More than that it a reflection of self, it is a vivid mirror that reveals a great deal about where you are along the road to discovery.

And so, as I looked at my article a few days later, I realized what was wrong. I was ashamed of what I'd written, and spent some time in prayer to do some soul searching with God. Why? Well, we must go back a ways to understand…

2002

"If we let gays marry, what's next? Polygamy? It's a slippery slope once we go down that road." I said.

I was sitting at the Starbucks after another long week at the school. Jim sat across from me, playing with the lid of his cup.

"I don't know, Steve. Seems kind of… wrong. I don't like dudes, but what if I did? Seems kind of crappy that they can't get married and be unhappy like the rest of us." He said, smiling.

"Bah. It's a lifestyle. A choice. Marriage is a sacred institution."

I felt good saying that. After two years of separation my wife and I had put everything back together. Things weren't great, but marriage was sacred. A covenant. A vow to God. And if it wasn't great, so what? You just had to work harder. I certainly wasn't going to let people who chose to have sex with the same gender up and change our society with their liberal views. Hell, if we made gay marriage legal what would be next? Brothels? Men with six wives? Animal lovers? Why couldn't people see just how dangerous it was?

Jim didn't say anything, just played with his cup.

"How are things at home?"

"All right." I said. "Well not great but we got a lot of issues. We'll figure it out. We have to."

2004

The pub was packed. We were near the front though, so it was quiet enough to talk. I sipped my beer, and Duane plopped down beside me. He was a relatively new friend, a friend of a friend, and we'd been hanging out throughout the summer. The divorce had gone through the past winter, and I found myself out more often than ever. I guess it was to be expected. Being alone was not a lot of fun, and while the pain of the divorce had slowly receded, my life had changed drastically. For now, I was happy to be out and have a few drinks and forget about the past two years.

"I have a question for you, Steve." Duane said.

"Shoot."

"You're religious, right?"

I nodded cautiously. Less so than in the past, I thought, and yet in some ways, it meant more to me now. Most of my friends weren't Christians, but it wasn't an issue. If anything, we'd had a lot of great conversations about faith and spirituality and what it all meant. Or what it might mean. In some ways, it was a role, and one I didn't mind. I liked talking about God. I certainly had never been shy about it.

"Do you think God would love a gay man if he got married?"

I nearly choked on my beer, but managed to smooth my features in time. Barely. Duane was well dressed, as always, with an open collared shirt and black jeans. His hair was long and wavy, and though his smile suggested this was just another one of our 'religious' discussions, I knew there was weight to the question. The thing is, we all knew Duane was gay. He hadn't admitted it to his friends, but it was fairly obvious. He'd never had a girlfriend and showed no interest in girls whatsoever.

"Well, the Bible is pretty clear about sex outside of marriage. And so-"

"I know, but what if they were married?"

"Um, I don't know, Duane. I mean, marriage is between a man and a woman. It's always been that way. And the Bible…" I stopped and looked at him. Watched his fingers curl around the glass of his beer. Noticed the flex across his jawline. "It doesn't mean God doesn't love you. I'm not sure it's right, but God always loves you."

My answer sounded lame even to myself. It wasn't right, I thought. For a moment, I allowed myself to walk in Duane's shoes. What would it have been like to spend all those years growing up and NOT being interested in girls? Especially when your classmates and friends were talking and joking about them. Girl watch and social status are the two highest priorities for a straight adolescent boy. As awkward as that was, what would it have been like to be attracted only to boys, the same ones who were asking you about girls? And then there were parents and family expectations. Long dinners and reunions answering questions about when 'you were going to bring someone home'. And then, of course, was the inevitable bullying that occurred if the other males caught a whiff of your sexuality.

I wanted to say something more, but what? When I finally looked up however, Duane had drifted over to another group of friends. When I went home that night, I thought long and hard about his question. I was determined to give him a better answer the next time.

It never came.

2010

People always tell us that sex sells, to the point where it has become a truism of our society. Perhaps fifty years from now we'll discover that it doesn't sell nearly as well as we think it does, and something else will take its place. There is however, something that sells even more readily than sex, especially within an increasingly diverse, postmodern population. Advertisers use it. Writers and talk show hosts use it. Churches use it too. Even more than sex, surety is the greatest force of all. With all the choices now available to us, either through the market place or the information highway, nothing sells like surety. This is the paradox of choice; that given too many options we are mostly apt to freeze. We want someone to tell us what to do, what's best how we should think. We want our choices narrowed so that we don't have to think about everything. In some ways, it not only makes sense, but it's a legitimate response. (Whether it's lifestyle or business or our choice of movies, there is simply too much out there to know everything.) And the ones who take advantage of that vulnerability can reap the greatest rewards.

How else can we explain the counter movement of fundamentalism cutting a wide swath through our cultural landscape? I'm not talking simply about religious fundamentalism, but the entrenched black and white thinking that dominates politics as well. We so desperately want to be assured that we are either right or wrong, that we have created a polarized culture that has become increasingly judgmental and filled with vitriol. Just go to any article on the internet. Listen to the radio and you'll hear it.

Hate mongering is on the rise. Instead of being more understanding about sexuality, despite what we've learned, hate crimes and bullying, and consequently, gay suicide, are on the rise. Despite all we've learned about gender and equality, there is a boorishness in young males who can find any number of books to wallow in their destructive stereotypes regarding women. And yet, the source of this vitriol has skipped no one, not even the ones who count themselves to be enlightened and tolerant. People who question religion and tend to think of themselves as better than others because their worldview is more understanding.

Yes, people like me.

Self-righteousness and arrogance are two sides of the same coin. And wherever they are present they inevitably infect whoever else is there. Self-righteousness tells me that I am right most of the time. It gives me special status and allows me to look down at others, because I have somehow advanced myself more than the other humans with whom I share this planet. Self-righteousness is a creeping disease because it knows no boundaries, and cannot be stopped by any single belief or system of beliefs. You may think that you are more loving and tolerant and wise because of your religion, or because you reject religion, or because of your politics, but that is merely the voice of self-righteousness speaking through you.

It is one thing to believe that you are right. It is another to know it. One requires faith and humility. The other asks you for nothing. Self-righteousness does not need you to feed it, it merely needs you to ignore it. To brush aside questions about your own mortality and beliefs and accept your own convictions. I have sometimes wondered how it is that people can be so wealthy, and yet so nasty, so dismissive of others. But if we never question our own ideas, or at least entertain them with humility, why would we be considerate of those we consider less than ourselves.

Ultimately, self-righteousness is about status, and our hunger and desire for it. So long as we believe that all humans are NOT created equal, it will continue to grow and fester, and as it does, continue to spread its vitriol throughout our culture.

…The balcony was still a bit damp, but the wind had pushed away the clouds, and the stars glimmered in the night sky. Beads of rain water clung to the railing like a row of unlit lights. In the distance, the blue lit CN tower nestled in along the other lights of the city. I didn't like admitting what I'd written or the way that I'd written it. It was akin to saying that I'd been a jerk. That I hadn't published it or sent it out didn't matter. That I supported gay marriage, or worried over the increase in bullying and taunting in light of the gay suicides this past year, were important and weren't going to change. However, thinking that I was better than people who did not agree with me was unacceptable. Had I not thought the same things myself? Had I not been wrong in the past about my convictions? Where was my humility?

The white light of my laptop seemed unnatural somehow, as I watched the beads along the railing shimmer in the wind. Some days it was hard to be human. More than that, it was difficult to continually admit that I was fallible and often wrong about how I considered the world. It was so easy to get drawn towards self-righteousness, so easy to sneer at others through either my words or my actions. I could pray that I would get better, that I would remember we were all just trying to figure out this thing called life. In the meantime, I asked God to forgive me as I clicked off my computer. Tomorrow was another day. Another day to remember what I'd discovered and respond accordingly. Perfection wasn't attainable, but with God's help, a bit more grace and a little more understanding could go a long way.

-Steve