The other day, I posted a list of things I was thankful for in my life.
Clarity of vision is both a blessing and a curse to the creative mind. Writers, and artists of all other forms, see the things that “normal” people dare not. We see the gods and demons, angels and monsters, the things that live beyond the mundane.
Along with the vision, though, comes a heavy responsibility. It is not enough just to be a witness to the larger world, we must also testify to what we see. It is our duty to the human race to show the glories and tribulations that lie beyond the veil.
Why? That is up to each artist to decide individually. I only know that I am compelled to write about the things I see, to transcribe the voices from other worlds. I am compelled to improve the world by creating beauty and, maybe, touching other lives.
What do you think? What is your sense of the artist’s* responsibility?
*Yes, I believe that writers are artists. Stories without art are just words — full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Each word is a note in the symphony, each sentence a line of color in the painting, each paragraph a shape on the sculpture, each scene filmed through the creative eye. Your opinion may vary, but I cling to mine with a strength born of the faith that my toil and tears will not be in vain.
To be an artist means never to avert one’s eyes. — Akira Kurosawa
This is another theme that recurs in my mind frequently. The problem with having a creative mind is that it is sometimes too creative. I spend so much time thinking about unrealities and fictions that I have trouble seeing the core truths that are necessary to make them meaningful.
Once again I find that I have stalled out on Washed in the Blood for the simple reason that I refused to see the truth.
Heard on the radio this morning:
“Do y’all stuff your turkey?”
“Uhhh, no.� We bake it.”
In any case, don’t just stare at a blank page, put something down.
A few things I am thankful for:
– Driving to work under a dawn sky
– Driving home from work under a sunset sky
– Walking by the river at sunset sometimes
– Coming home to a wife, dogs, and cats that love me unconditionally, even when I grump and grouch. Or cry for no apparent reason.
– Having time on my morning and evening commutes to relax and fling random thoughts at each other to see which ones stick.
A lot of my readers, the few who are left, know that Winter is a bad time for me, especially December.
|What American accent do you have?
Valley of the Soul (Bantam Spectra, 2006, ISBN 0553587110) is the third novel by Tamara Siler Jones, the third book in her series about Dubric Byerly, Castellan of Faldorrah, and her third book in the subgenre she invented — forensic fantasy. With forensic fantasy, Jones combines mystery, police procedural, horror, and fantasy into a unique and quite tasty blend. The forensics never violate the technology of the pre-industrial society, and Jones avoids the temptation to use magic or to have a Sherlock Holmes clone. Good old-fashioned police work, mud-slogging footwork and attention to detail, is Dubric