With the release of the illustrated ebook version of Friends and Benefits, I thought y’all might like a fun preview. In Chapter 18, Joe gives Sharon a Steve Hanks poster of a woman in a shower and then Sharon poses for Joe’s camera in an attempt to mimic the poster. Well, the original poster, and Tzratzk’s rendering of Sharon’s posing are below. Enjoy.
Recently, I’ve had the opportunity to critique the work of a handful of other authors. It’s a challenging and interesting endeavor.
Critiquing differs from reviewing in the intended audience. When I review something, I’m doing it for the potential consumers of whatever I review. On this site, my reviews are for you, the reader. I have no obligation and indeed no particular concern for the providers. I don’t worry about whether they like or are offended by my review. I don’t provide suggestions for them to possibly undertake. I might see how something could be improved, but mentioning it is mostly to inform the readers about a perceived shortfall.
Critiques, however, are for the producer. The author ultimately wants feedback on how to improve their writing–if not in that specific story, then in some future story.
This is hard.
I’ve read many critiques that were merely typo and grammar corrections. I’ve read many critiques that were two sentence attaboys. I think these are only of minor assistance. Sure, catching typos always helps, but it doesn’t go to the heart of writing. Similarly, I’m thrilled to know someone liked my work enough to write me the two sentences, but beyond that, such critiques don’t offer me much concrete to work with. When I was a new writer, those attaboys were wonderful and almost necessary in getting me to continue to write. Writing is a lonely enterprise and a writer is a lousy judge of their own work (we know what we intended to write, which makes it hard to evaluate what we actually wrote). The praise is a lifeline to sanity.
The next level up in critiques is when the person doing the critique gets enough sense of the story to know how they’d do it. What they’d do differently and, without not necessarily being conscious of it, what it would take to make it better. Often such a critique is very insightful.
The hard part with this is that the critiquer might not be any better than the author. Furthermore, the author may not have enough sense of their own style to realize they should say no.
For example, I recently sent my science fiction story to a friend for a critique. He thought the main character was too sarcastic to be sympathetic and suggested some changes. Sympathetic main characters are important, right?
Except I knew that making any of his suggested changes would completely change the tone of the piece. The story was greys and blacks with a lightning dash of white. Turning the main character into a warm lush human wouldn’t have accomplished my goal.
Which gets to the heart of the problem of a critique. The person doing it has to be capable of separating out what’s really wrong with the story from what the critiquer says is wrong with the story. They might not be the same thing.
And, being aware of this, it’s made it hard to do critiques. I can sift through and see what I really think is wrong and report on that. I can point out inconsistencies in plot. If I know the author well enough, I might even be able to point out inconsistencies in tone or voice. But after that…
I’ve decided that the best ‘art’ is simply to convey my reactions as a reader. It doesn’t make the author wrong or right–merely informs them of what one reader went through and felt. I’m not sure that it’s what will be expected in many quarters, but I do, in the end, hope it helps more than other approaches.
We’ll just have to see.
Once again, I recently found myself in a conversation about what it takes for writing to be elevated to literature, or Art.
On Art, I can’t help but recall my old Shakespeare professor who said that poetry was “a shortcut to the heart and soul.” I’ve since realized that definition rightly applies to Art with the capital A. We make Art when we connect with someone else.
And by that definition, Art is forced to be individualistically defined. There are people who don’t get Shakespeare, just as there are people who don’t get Opera. It doesn’t connect, so it’s not Art to them, even if the hoity-toity or academic set says it is.
Part of the reason I like that definition is that, for me, the most incredible written story ever was not Shakespeare or some other classic. It wasn’t even an award winning story of its time. It’s “Creative Constructions, Inc.” by Kent Patterson, published in Analog in 1991.
Kent died in 1995, which is truly unfortunate, because I never got a chance to let him know how powerful that story was for me. I’ve re-read it a few times a year for nearly two decades now. Objectively, by the standards of the Science Fiction community, it’s not much, and by the standards of the literary world, it’s just a trifling entertainment.
But fuck ‘em. It’s Art to me. And that’s enough.
If we work hard as writers, we might be able to make a few bucks or even make a living. Maybe we’ll even be lucky and be remembered and studied in a couple of decades. Or maybe we’ll connect with someone in a way that what we thought was a piece of simple entertainment turned out to rock their world.
Sorry to be so dramatic, but that’s my response to the pretentiousness about what’s Art and what is not.
But one of the arguments about Art is that it’s “what lasts.” Maybe a lot of 19th century literature isn’t all that good writing, but it’s still around. The lesser works, or less popular works have faded away. I could live with that definition somewhat, if not for the economic contributors that often matter as much. Did a given story last because it was “great” or because it was the pet project of someone with money, who could afford to keep it in print?
This question is not purely hypothetical, given the magic of the web. I mentioned my appreciation of Kent’s story to someone who knew someone and soon I found myself talking to the literary executor of Kent’s estate. This other author had inherited the responsibility of managing all of Kent’s works, both those published and unpublished. He managed to get a few other stories sold, but then time and the nature of the business pushed the effort to the backburner.
And now the magic of the web kicks in again. With self-publishing through Amazon and Smashwords and other venues, all those old works don’t have to disappear when the last copies of 1990′s science fiction magazines crumble. The literary executor is working to bring them out, and I am thrilled. It may not be soon, and it may be derailed by bumps not currently foreseeable, but there may be a day soon where I can point to something and say, “That is Art.”
And by the longevity definition, I might be right. If the story lives on, in part because it connected with me so personally, who is to say it won’t be studied in some literature course in 200 years?
So maybe what’s Art can be what’s personal and what lasts. And debates otherwise… well, what’s the point?
So in last week’s musing, I wondered what elevated a well done photograph or a story to Art. Specifically, I wondered if I was creating Art or promoting it when I found it. Those aren’t easy questions to answer.
The first problem is, of course, defining Art. I’ve already defined it (here) as “a way of connecting to others. It’s a short cut to the heart and mind.”
Well, that’s certainly nice and ambiguous. After all, Porn is a way of connecting to others. It’s a short cut to the genitals. And when we get more involved than just the genitals, we start arguing whether the work is erotica or porn, which is a perpetual argument in writing circles. I happen to like Poison Ivan’s (from Ruthie’s Club) definition, which is that one term is pejorative and the other isn’t and that’s their primary distinction.
But the pejorative implications do tell us something about Art vs. Porn. “Art” is supposed to be something… better. Better in quality or in connection or in craftsmanship. I think there’s also a snob/cost cultural element as well, where once again I call on an analogy to cuisine. Artistry in cooking does not need to be confined to the $200/person restaurants. There are plenty of diners and taco stands and neighborhood restaurants that are “better.” They’ve managed to infuse their food with something that connects with a person’s pleasure centers in the mouth, nose, and belly. There’s plenty of art in those environments.
Aside–the flip side of “90% of everything is crap” is that 10% of everything is likely to be good. Anyone who makes a broad generalization (“disco sucks,” “French films are stupid,” etc.) about a category is demonstrating their prejudices and lack of an open mind to possibility. At least for me, the quest for the 10% makes my life more enjoyable.
Going one step further with the diner anthology, there’s even the possibility of quality at an artistic level in the every day. Malcolm Gladwell makes the case for Heinz Ketchup as being as good as ketchup gets. I imagine that there are times a places it makes that shortcut and becomes an epiphany to the taster. Why not call it Art then?
Of course, that makes me wonder–why not have the perfect cum shot? Or the perfect sentence describing a blowjob?
So the definitions are problematic. So are the tastes of the audience. Roger Ebert makes that point when he declares there’s no such thing as a perfect movie (here). Even the films generally proclaimed as the greatest have their detractors. I think that’s true of all art forms. There’s someone who is blown away, and there’s someone else who just doesn’t get it.
Ebert also makes another point, too, which is that good criticism needs to explain why. That’s what I’ve tried to do with my reviews on this site–give you more than the “loved it!” or “hated it!” so that you can draw our own evaluations.
But that doesn’t answer the original questions. Am I creating Art? Am I promoting it when I find it?
I don’t think I can honestly answer the first question. Authors are their own worst critics because they know what they intended to put on the page, making it hard to see what actually is on the page. At best I can tell when I’ve poured my heart and soul into a work (which isn’t every story) and only hope that the craftsmanship kept pace. In some cases, such as The Ugly One, I think that’s come across, based on readers’ comments. In others, it’s hard to tell.
As for promoting it, I think I could do a better job. I’ve slowed down on reviews for a myriad of reasons and one of which is that I’m finding little that just zings me the way Art should. That won’t prevent me from doing some negative reviews or mediocre reviews, but I hope I can pick it up some. That said, the number one reason I’ve slowed down is available time. Nonetheless, we’ll see what I can pull together. Maybe pointing to stuff I find that rises above the crass will help.
Unfortunately, the reviews will still be “I know it when I see it.” I haven’t adequately answered the question of what elevates porn to art. So here’s my current thinking:
a) If Art is a shortcut to the heart and soul, there has to be something with heart and soul in the original work. That doesn’t mean shock and surprise don’t have their place, or pure arousal, but they’re not sufficient. They’re just carriers for something deeper. So Goatse and Two Girls One Cup type stuff don’t qualify, nor their lesser counterparts. Neither does stroke fiction, regardless of the story codes.
b) There has to be attention to detail. If someone’s pouring their soul into a work, they have to care enough to get the little things right. Typos, basic grammar, and so on for a written work. Simple elements of composition like lighting for photos. I’ve found that it’s usually the attention to detail that defines quality.
c) It has to have some persistence. By this I mean that I think about it or remember it later, when it’s not in front of me. That’s a good sign that it got through to me.
There are probably more criteria, but that’s what comes to the mind immediately. Any thoughts on what else is required, readers?
So I’ve recently stumbled (tumbled?) across Tumblr sex blogs, which are essentially photoblogs much like Nick Scipio’s Picture of the Day. Lots and lots and lots of photos, with very little commentary. The majority of the tumblr sites I’ve come across are essentially collections of porn and nude pictures put up by various individuals as their favorites. They can be amusing and sometimes interesting, but it didn’t take long for all the pictures to blur together, at least for me. And then it didn’t take long for all the tumblrs to look the same either, at least the ones I was coming across. Sure, they had slightly different themes, but they often swiped pictures from each other. Furthermore, they tended to get pictures from the same sources. Many of the pictures still had the watermarks or other labels from their original sources and I constantly kept seeing ones I’d seen before.
So this got me musing about several subjects–the first of which was copyrights. Given the rather large number of images tagged with copyrights by professional sites (Met-Art being one of them I saw frequently), I wondered how many were actually used with permission, as all of the ones in my gallery are. Similarly, I saw some that I knew were from professional sites (because I’d seen the originals), and they lacked the labels of where they came from, which means they certainly weren’t promo shots where permission had been given. I wondered if the tumblr site owners cared about copyrights or were just grabbing the pictures because ‘if it’s on the internet, it must be free to use.’
Now there’s easily a longer rant on copyrights and piracy, but that’s for another time.
For my second musing was for the pictures that were obviously amateur snaps. A few of the sites actively solicited amateur photos and clearly got some contributions. But, as I said, then those pictures started being copied by other tumblrs, and then by other tumblrs, and so on. I couldn’t help wondering if the original submitters had really understood how widely their quickie private snapshot could be distributed. I also couldn’t help wondering how many of them would get recognized by people who knew them. I certainly had to look more than once at a couple where the woman’s face (rarely obscured) appeared familiar.
And of course I couldn’t help note that few of the tumblrs contained the legal language about models being over 18. After all, how could they check?
But what struck me more was how, after a while, even the photos really did look all the same. The professional shots were clearly professional, with full color, busty models with makeup and flowing hair, and similar poses. The amateur shots had similar lack of composition, natural lighting, and not quite-so-perfect bodies, though often the poses were the same as the pros.
Aside–I must say, pussy spread shots get old really really fast. I think in part because there’s just not a range of emotional content that can be conveyed when a model’s legs are spread so wide.
And when I realized how similar the poses were in so many photos, it got me wondering–is this the definition of “sexy”? And if so, how did we get here? Why is a woman lying on her back on the bed with a pouty smile and spread legs sexy? What happened to the other emotions or moods? Heck, the reason I picked my model for Lisa was that she looked playful (and there are better pictures of Nadine and Sabrina laughing at Erotic Destinations, but I didn’t have permission to use them). I think ‘what is sexy’ has far more answers than the bulk of the tumblrs I’ve discovered.
Which also led to my final Tumblr musing–what would it take for a photo to take me breath away? Or to really make me think? Or to inspire a greater rush of desire than “oh, she’s hot” does?
And I realized that this was ultimately the question of Art. I can’t say whether it’s being jaded or more sophisticated, but simple sexy shots of naked women or people having sex don’t do much for me anymore. Maybe if I can fantasize about the activity in the photo, I can get a sexual rush, but that’s no different than a stroke story. I want more, at least most of the time now.
And realizing that spins me into all sorts of other musings. Am I creating Art? Am I showcasing and promoting Art when I find it? The former is tough because a writer is their own worst critic (can’t see what they’ve actually done objectively) and the latter is tough because my tastes may not match yours. 90% of everything might be crap, but I suspect there are long arguments about what clears the hurdle and what does not.
And what should I be doing with these revelations? I don’t see myself throwing my personal picture collection on the web in a tumblr blog for sure. I want something… classier. Which I hope is what this site is.
Time to go get tea (Earl Grey, hot) and let the musings continue…
Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott, is accurately subtitled “Some Instructions on Writing and Life.” I picked it up as a writing guide, and found it far more interesting as a window into Anne’s life and her own approach to writing. That said, much of the advice is quite good… read more »
In Dawn on the Third Day, Jen comments on Spider Robinson’s book Callahan’s Lady, and the concept of sex as Art. I happen to like the idea, though ultimately I think there’s a better analogy.
The main thing I like about the concept is that it captures what sex can be. Often, sex is a performance, yet because it is something that has been demonized in the Western cultural traditions (I can’t speak for the Eastern cultures), we don’t recognize or pay homage to the greatness that can be attained. Tantra, as adapted for the West (and possibly perverted, but more on that in another post sometime), does see the greatness, but tends to wrap it up in the mystical or religious. I don’t think greatness requires those overtones.
And of course, by greatness, I mean not just the ability to emotionally connect the participants, but the ability for sex to be something that connects period. We laugh at a good dirty joke. We roll our eyes, but often secretly admiring, the tales of sexual feats we hear about. Phil Foglio even managed a great cartoon about when sex is an Olympic event.
In essence, sex can do many or all the things that Art can do.
But I think the analogy has some major limits, and one of those is simply stroke porn. Let’s face it, a lot of sexual material is poor quality crap, but it still finds an audience. A lot of the times sex between two people can be pretty unconnecting, uninspiring, and not particularly fulfilling. There really isn’t a good “Art” equivalent.
Instead, I think the better analogy is that Sex is like Cuisine. A lot of the time, you just want something that’s reasonably good and can sustain you. At the same time, really great sex, like a really great meal, can go someplace deeper, into the realm of Art. Heck there are even aficionados of both, though there is no positive equivalent term to “foodie.”
And at the opposite end, there are times where you just want the greasiest, nastiest, most unhealthy fast food you can find and slide across your tongue (what, you don’t? I certainly have those cravings from time to time). It’s not good food. It’s not particularly good for you food. But it’s easy on the tongue, it pleases the senses, and it’s quick to get. Just like good old Penthouse Letters and other stroke porn.
I like to think that I’m wiser and enough in control of my cravings to not stoop to a fast food equivalent sex diet. Or a fast food equivalent porn diet. But I gotta admit that I don’t want Art all the time.
The Shape of Things (2003 film, based on the play of the same name) aims to stir things up and provoke conversations about art, relationships, and morality. It does that, but with one major flaw. The characters just aren’t likeable. If you’re willing to watch past that…
My wife and I just watched The Shape of Things, a movie based on a play that has a lot to do with people changing, but also with art. My review will be up on Friday, but I wanted to capture one part of the discussion my wife and I had afterward.
One of the characters, Evelyn, is a Masters of Fine Art candidate and she says near the end that Art is all that really matters. In many ways I agree, but I realized that I have a different spin on the morality of it.
Of course, the question starts with, what is Art? Capital A. My definition is that it’s a way of connecting to others. It’s a short cut to the heart and mind, as an old professor said about poetry. One can spin words and words and words, going through logic and rational argument, and in the end never connect with someone. Yet a simple touch of the hand, or a simple photograph, or the turn of a phrase, may convey more than words could ever do so.
Now I know that sometimes the Artist is trying to provoke. The Art works by connecting to the animal spine and stirring up outrage or the associated emotions. A play dramatizes the plight of holocaust victims. A ‘performance artist’ tries to call attention to the environment.
But provocation does not make a work of Art moral, and by that I mean morally good. After all, the morality of the cause is in the eye of the beholder or creator. The rabble rouser or political hack on talk radio makes a connection to their audience, after all. If Art stirs up a mob that kills people, can it truly be considered moral?
Nor, despite me often believing that Art is an act of channeling the Divine (a post on that some day), I do not believe that Art deserves any elevation to Godhood. Art is a path, a channel, a tool. Art is a mystical and powerful shortcut and an act, and Art done right is Big. But saying Art for Art’s sake justifies itself morally is like saying violence for violence’s sake justifies itself. It may be absolutely true in the boxing arena or football field, or in trying to stop genocide, but it just cannot be blanketly true or blanketly false.
So what shook out of my conversation with my wife is that Art, to be morally good, has to Serve. And by that I mean, it has to be based in Love in the Agape sense. The connection has to result in the audience being better off than they were before.
This is honestly not a tough bar to hurdle. We’re not talking ‘save the world and fix everyone’s problems here’–or at least I’m not, having given up that naivety even before college. A simple comedy that makes people laugh can leave them better off than they were before. Or a painting of a field that helps instill a sense of peace. Provocation has its place, but provocation is not enough. Inspiration is mandatory. Compare King’s I have a Dream Speech to anything coming out of Fox News to see the difference. King saw his audience as brethren, and not just sheep to be manipulated.
Which brings the discussion full circle. Evelyn manipulates people for her Art, and does so without compassion. And that, I think makes all that she does immoral instead of something truly worthwhile.
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