(no subject)
I'm realizing now that a lot of what's going on in my life at the moment is an odd sort of mental housecleaning, and that the more I sort of do this kind of sSpring Cleaning" of my mind, the more productive I am, and the more over-all happy I am.
It's a slow process, but at the same time I think part of it amounts also to being able to better take care of myself in ways that are easier for most people. I owe a lot of that to Corinne being with me, because without her, I'd sort of be stuck all over. I'm kind of amazed to realize that while I'm not super productive (like those college bursts of creativity I used to have burning the midnight oil for a few days and then nothing for several weeks) I'm more productive in general, working on something I want to see completed little by little every day.
As a matter of fact, the only time I feel bad about myself now is when I don't do at least a little work on something. I think writing the play had a lot to do with it, as well as helping me deal with some issues on its own. It was an outlet to explore the massive frustration that had been pent up in me, in some cases for as much as fifteen years, as a teenager.
I actually got into a bit of a row about it with my brother. He was one of the proofreaders of the rough draft, and he hated it, just detested it. While part of the reason he disliked it seemed to be that he felt it wasn't a very strong showing and that the characters were mirror images of myself--which were valid concerns for that early, early draft, he indicated that another reason was that emotionally it forced him back into that teenage headspace that he didn't want to revisit ever again.
Fortunately, I think the characters became more fully developed in later drafts, but the writing of that first draft (much of which was excised) was definitely a catalyst in getting me on a better life and career track. It's strange the things that stick in your mind. I remember watching, on Nick at Nite in my youth, an episode of The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, where Dobie speaks to a teacher who tells him of his failure to become a novelist. The episode stays with me because I can remember thinking that everything in the episode led to the wrong conclusions: specifically that failure to excel should mean settling. While Dobie ran off at the end of the episode to pursue whatever his dream was, his teacher was left in his office, sadly reading his last attempt at a novel and reminiscing romantically about the past him that dreamed.
The meaning of the episode was clear: dreams are for the young, and when you get old, you settle for banal reality. I think it reflects a value from a previous time, that adventure is only for the young--when in truth we see that given the lie all the time. Rather Dobie's teacher settled not because he was a bad novelist, but because he didn't want to allow himself to conjure a new dream after he failed to become a novelist.
I feel that Mr. Holland's Opus has much the same message, though it's mollified a bit. But I still find the idea frustrating, that dreams are repressed and crushed by life. If there's been any theme I've noticed in my dealings with others about my creative output, it's that most people involved have been very encouraging, but a small minority have responded with a spite so hateful and destructive that it has at times left me feeling that I shouldn't even try--and for periods of time I quit. What is the reason for these people, often in positions of academic authority to act so spiteful and cruel? Is it jealousy? That's how it reads, but what is there to be jealous of? Is it fear? I don't see what they have to be afraid of, it's not like my output threatens their own work since it's almost always moving in another direction. What is this anger, this rage, that they project on people who don't work in the exact same vein as theirs?
Anyways. I'm back to work on things on a more regular basis and it feels pretty good.
It's a slow process, but at the same time I think part of it amounts also to being able to better take care of myself in ways that are easier for most people. I owe a lot of that to Corinne being with me, because without her, I'd sort of be stuck all over. I'm kind of amazed to realize that while I'm not super productive (like those college bursts of creativity I used to have burning the midnight oil for a few days and then nothing for several weeks) I'm more productive in general, working on something I want to see completed little by little every day.
As a matter of fact, the only time I feel bad about myself now is when I don't do at least a little work on something. I think writing the play had a lot to do with it, as well as helping me deal with some issues on its own. It was an outlet to explore the massive frustration that had been pent up in me, in some cases for as much as fifteen years, as a teenager.
I actually got into a bit of a row about it with my brother. He was one of the proofreaders of the rough draft, and he hated it, just detested it. While part of the reason he disliked it seemed to be that he felt it wasn't a very strong showing and that the characters were mirror images of myself--which were valid concerns for that early, early draft, he indicated that another reason was that emotionally it forced him back into that teenage headspace that he didn't want to revisit ever again.
Fortunately, I think the characters became more fully developed in later drafts, but the writing of that first draft (much of which was excised) was definitely a catalyst in getting me on a better life and career track. It's strange the things that stick in your mind. I remember watching, on Nick at Nite in my youth, an episode of The Many Loves of Dobie Gillis, where Dobie speaks to a teacher who tells him of his failure to become a novelist. The episode stays with me because I can remember thinking that everything in the episode led to the wrong conclusions: specifically that failure to excel should mean settling. While Dobie ran off at the end of the episode to pursue whatever his dream was, his teacher was left in his office, sadly reading his last attempt at a novel and reminiscing romantically about the past him that dreamed.
The meaning of the episode was clear: dreams are for the young, and when you get old, you settle for banal reality. I think it reflects a value from a previous time, that adventure is only for the young--when in truth we see that given the lie all the time. Rather Dobie's teacher settled not because he was a bad novelist, but because he didn't want to allow himself to conjure a new dream after he failed to become a novelist.
I feel that Mr. Holland's Opus has much the same message, though it's mollified a bit. But I still find the idea frustrating, that dreams are repressed and crushed by life. If there's been any theme I've noticed in my dealings with others about my creative output, it's that most people involved have been very encouraging, but a small minority have responded with a spite so hateful and destructive that it has at times left me feeling that I shouldn't even try--and for periods of time I quit. What is the reason for these people, often in positions of academic authority to act so spiteful and cruel? Is it jealousy? That's how it reads, but what is there to be jealous of? Is it fear? I don't see what they have to be afraid of, it's not like my output threatens their own work since it's almost always moving in another direction. What is this anger, this rage, that they project on people who don't work in the exact same vein as theirs?
Anyways. I'm back to work on things on a more regular basis and it feels pretty good.