Because during this process, a big part of what we were missing out on was this: With any artistic pursuit, the key to focus must be directed at listening to what happens inside of the soul. I've heard about--and seen--all sorts of manuscripts involving writers who tried to cram into stylistic boxes that were simply the wrong size. In a recent conversation I had with a dear, filmmaker friend, I told him, regarding forcing my work to be something that it wasn't meant to be, 'It's like trying to shove a dick inside of me that just isn't gonna fit!' Ouch.
But the references I make to boxes, including those of the vaginal variety, however, are somewhat poor--forgive the bad pun here--'fits' for this little chat we're having. Because writing, or producing anything of creative merit, isn't about trying to fit into a box at all, or any space that contains boundaries. What we must establish for ourselves, is the ability to live without limits; to exercise our personal liberties and authentic senses of self potential.
The unfortunate truth is that many writers want to be recognized by the world. As a result, they scour the markets for what's 'working' these days, they 'mimic' stylistic devices set forth by renown authors, they consume politics, hoping that if others will understand references to popular culture, these writers will in turn be accepted into popular society, and--with the goal in mind, the big time, the lottery ticket--ultimately become rich, loved, and famous. But what's horribly wrong with this picture?
The problem is that to try to get yourself into a market where you just don't belong could become analogous to marrying a man or woman who you wouldn't fuck with your best friend's equipment. It will not bring about self-fulfillment. For instance, earlier in this piece, I made references to dicks and vaginas. But for some of you, this may have been shocking, since I began the article by talking about the intellectualism of many, pardon my french, 'fucking haughty' intellectuals who think there is one way to go about pursuing art and one way only: to talk about it and then never produce!
But I've found, after over twenty years of personal writing, that it fits for me to do this; to not only talk, but to write about dicks, pussies, sex, and sweaty passion. That's what gets me going. That's what will get my ass into the chair to make shit happen. It's not about wondering if anyone will even read this, or trying to consider what market it will fit into. To be honest, if we could imagine ourselves fitting perfectly into one market, might we be doing something wrong? Because to say that we belong perfectly somewhere, is also to say that others might be exactly like us. And sorry to burst your bubble, but that's simply not possible. If you haven't explored your magnificent uniqueness, then you probably have some excavating to do. You are unique, you just might not yet know it. But get out there and realize it!
I guess what it all comes down to is a question: Are you interested in finding your c-for-creative c-spot? If you're okay with jumping on the train of 'they say' and 'this has to work because I saw it work for Betty or Joe,' then I support you. I do. I hope you find glimmer and glitz and fame and superficial, insignificant prosperity. Was that my inside voice? I personally will stay on track with my own racket: Doing whatever it is I do; cooking up sexual metaphors, daydreaming about sex, putting off for one more day researching the publishing industry, and writing as much as my hands and brain will allow each day, praying that eventually, I'll find the way to break my voice into the world, and go to bed each night with a nice purrrr...not because my sexual partner is going down on me, but because I know that after searching and talking and masturbating and crying, I finally found a spot that fits for my work...the spot where people realize that I am not an intellectual, and nobody else is like me...and I like it like that.
Happy c-spot hunting...
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