Just Another Artist?

*** UPDATE the hardcover of Water So Deep is now available for purchase on Amazon!***

Last weekend, I went to a retreat with a few good friends. We spent our few days writing our tails off (I got 12,000 words done on Legacy, so YAY!) and also took a short break to detour to a nearby writing conference, where two of my friends were on panels.

We were literally there for a total of two hours, and then we left. In that two hours, I ran into quite a few people with whom I am friends or at least acquainted, and those were only a few of several hundred people who were in attendance at this conference.

One of the hazards of publishing these days is that there are so many authors writing so many books, that at some point or another, we all feel slightly lost in the sea of awesome.

My oldest son and I had a discussion this weekend in which he informed me that he’s not sure he wants to go into art as a career field, because it is just too hard to be anything more than “just another artist.” And it’s true. He is a phenomenal artist. He paints, and draws, and creates some amazing things. He has such talent. But unless he fully commits himself to rising above the crowd, that is all he will ever be.

There are those cases in which one special artist or author breaks through the bottle neck on the first try and succeeds in a way that most of us will only ever dream of, but even those people will at some point have to produce a spectacular product in order to keep their audience/fans happy, or they too will become lost in the sea.

But is that a reason to give up? To go a different direction? Maybe for some people. And that’s okay. But for others, it’s not. It’s really not. Because while all artists need to be paid, we are not ALL in it just for money (although, at some point, we have to at least break even with our time and investments*). Some of us are in it for the love of the thing. Or to change the way someone thinks, or heck, to just entertain someone. And that’s enough for those of us who are in it for the long haul.

Anyway, I guess what I’m saying is that there is no such thing as being “just another author/artist.” Each one of us has something important and unique to share, as long as we dedicate ourselves to doing it.

Are you dedicated to something in life?

*To clarify, most authors/artists only make pennies per hour for the work they do. Love of art can only go so far when it comes to survival. Please remember that downloading pirated books/art greatly risks our ability to continue producing more books/art. Please consider our art at least as valuable as a cup of coffee or a soft drink and pay for it. Thanks!

The Fine Art of Talking About Nothing

I’ve been thinking this week about small talk, and how many of us spend so much time trying to make it. And I’ve realized something. It’s hard. Trying to have a conversation with someone you don’t know, or who you only know a little, or with whom you have little or nothing in common can be stressful for the most talkative of people.

Most of us kind of suck at it. (I’m one of those people.) In fact, I dare say some of us struggle to converse with people we see every day, or whom we’ve known our whole lives. Sad reality.

But every so often, I come across someone who has perfected the art of talking about nothing. And by nothing, I also mean everything. These are the people who you’ve never met before, or who are maybe only acquaintances or whatever, but no matter when you see them, they always have something to say and—miracle of miracles—what they’re saying is not only interesting, but inspires an intelligent/witty/smart-aleck response from you.

These are the people who seem to be friends with everyone because EVERYONE has had a conversation with them. And not just a conversation, a satisfying conversation, wherein both parties were present and both spoke and responded.

Everyone needs people in our lives to whom we can talk about nothing in particular and know that we are heard. To have those people actually respond and reply and give input. I have a few of these friends, and I treasure them daily for the very vitality and brightness they bring to me. I'm recognizing more and more how very important these seemingly meaningless conversations can be, because nothing is meaningless when it makes someone feel valued.

It’s an art form, really. And one I think I need to study. What kinds of qualities should a talented talk-artist have? (Seriously, I’d like answers to this if you have some!)

Art that Spans Generations

For the 4th of July, my family attended a local fireworks show / concert. This year’s headliners: The Beach Boys. (And seriously, who doesn’t love the Beach Boys? What’s more American than that?)

I’ve seen the Beach Boys before. In fact, I saw them at this same exact show a number of years ago. They have the kind of sound that makes people stand up and dance and sing at the top of their lungs, even if they don’t know all the words.

There was this guy a couple rows down. He had to be forty-five-ish, at least. But as soon as the band started to play, he whooped, and hollered, and jumped out of his seat to belt out the songs. And yes, he definitely danced, even when his kids got in the way.

Between songs, my teenage son turned to me and said, “This is the kind of music that will never go out of style. It’s classic. Why don’t they make music like this anymore?”

My first response was to point out that we were at a concert, so obviously someone still did make this exact music (notwithstanding the fact that the band members are in their 70’s ish). But then I thought about popular radio play these days, and wondered what songs and which groups will be considered classics when my grandchildren are teenagers.

I often have similar wonders about books and other literature.

I have fond memories of stories by Judy Blume, Beverly Cleary’s Ramona series, and Nancy Drew and the Hardy Boys. Those are the classics I grew up with. The stories that stuck with me. The art that carved out a piece of my soul and reshaped it. There were others, of course. I loved to read as a kid. But when I think of personal childhood classics, those are the first to pop into my brain.

In the age of technology, when there are thousands of books to choose from, and kids can buy them with the click of a button, I’m wondering which ones they will remember most when they’re grown.

And I have to admit, I kind of hope that someday, one of them will be mine.

For your enjoyment, this is the 1963 version.

A Theme Song

There’s this Facebook poll where you fill out the questionnaire to have a computer tell you what your life theme song should be. I took that poll once. It wasn’t even remotely accurate. In fact, I’m still trying to figure out how Boom, Boom, Pow by the Black Eyed Peas could be anyone’s theme song.

But my life does have one. It’s different every day. Or maybe every week, depending. Music, like the written word, has a way of reaching inside me and pulling out the very best parts. Deep, strong, true emotion.  

Of course, in order for me to feel that emotion, the artist who created it must have been feeling something similar when they sang/wrote/played it. Same with beautiful writing, or incredible artwork, or actors in a touching film or play. All art boils down to emotion. And when we identify with something, be it a song, or a painting, or story or whatever, when we let that thing touch our souls in protected and hidden places, those things have a tendency to fill us up, give us strength and courage.

At least, that’s how it goes for me. So. My theme song is probably more like a playlist. And I won’t bore you by listing all of this week’s picks. But I will share with you lyrics to a new one.

This is ten percent luck

Fifteen percent skill

Twenty percent concentrated power of will

Five percent pleasure

Fifty percent pain

And a hundred percent reason to remember the name.

~Title: Remember the Name by Fort Minor

Do you have a theme song today? Tell me about it!

Another Kind of View

Last week I was honored to hear a keynote address given by the beautiful and talented Mary E. Pearson (The Adoration of Jenna Fox). During this address, she confessed that when she went to college, she became convinced that other than teaching, there was no practical use for an English degree. Instead, she got her degree in art. (Tee hee.)

Mary talked about the many things she learned as an art major, but they culminated into helping her see pictures and other works—such as books or stories—as a whole, rather than in the technical pieces. (You know, plot, character, setting, etc.)

Without going into detail about the different pieces of artwork or writing (or music or life) that make up the whole, I’ll just say her words struck me as true in many ways. She likened each book to a painting to explain in more simple terms the rejection process.

She said, “A book may not appeal to me personally, but that doesn’t detract from its contribution or value. It just means it doesn’t look good over my couch.” (I’m probably paraphrasing a bit—that might not be exact.)

For me, this way of thinking applied to so many different aspects of my life (and writing) journey. Like rejections and reviews. Opinions. Inclusion or exclusion from certain exclusive groups, clubs, or teams.

It doesn’t matter. Whatever our contribution to society and the world, it is not only beautiful, but valuable in innumerable ways.

Don’t you agree?

Whatever happens, don’t get discouraged. Regardless of where you are, you are making a contribution. And that alone is worth all your hard work.

Someone Stole Christ

By Nichole Giles

For the past few years, Clear Horizons Academy, a private school for autistic children, has held an auction to help fund scholarships to pay tuition for special needs children. Tickets to the event include entry to the silent auction, a formal dinner, entertainment, and a live auction featuring beautiful art pieces, furniture, and even a baby grand piano. It’s a wonderful event, focusing on autism, and the progress children can make by having their special needs understood.

My dear friend, Tiffany Wood-McCarthy, is on the board of trustees, and because of her, I was lucky enough to snag a couple tickets to this year’s event. When we showed up, the silent auction was underway. Gary and I perused the tables, bidding on the things we thought we could use, knowing the money was going to a good cause.

Among the items featured were a few canvas prints from talented local artists. One—by Liz Lemmon Swindle—happened to be a stunning portrait of Christ holding a little boy on his shoulder in a wheat field. Raylene, another of my friends, fell instantly in love with the portrait, and continued to increase her bid through the duration of the auction. In the end, her number was the last one on the bid ticket, and she laughed with glee as we left the silent auction to go into the next room for the dinner.

Ten minutes later, a few of us snuck out to have a group picture taken—my four girlfriends and I—in our nice clothes. Someone had donated a beautiful island themed Christmas tree for the silent auction, so we snuck over to pose in front of the tree. As we did, Raylene noticed that the canvas of Christ was gone. “Hey,” she said. “Where did my painting go?”

Tiffany scrunched her forehead. “Maybe they started taking the items to the register already.” And then we all went back to finish our dinners and participate in the live auction.

At the end of the night, though, the painting couldn’t be found. Sometime between the silent auction and the dinner, it was stolen.

Now, it’s bad enough to steal something. No matter what, it’s dishonest. But how does one wrap their mind around stealing a picture of CHRIST? From a children’s charity, no less. To me, that’s tantamount to stealing a stained glass window from a church or temple. It just isn’t done. Like I said, stealing is a terrible thing anyway, but…if you’re stealing, how can you dare look at a painting like that as you carry it out of the building? Wouldn’t you feel Him watching your dishonest actions?

I just don’t get it.

Last month, I was running errands and picked up a couple of Christmas gifts. As I went through the checkout, I realized I didn’t have my checkbook, and because I was digging through my purse, didn’t listen to the dollar amount the clerk announced, just blindly ran my credit card through the machine. Luckily, I have a habit of scanning receipts before I leave a store. When I looked closely, I realized I’d only been charged for one of the two items in my bag.

From the doorway, I looked back. The lines were very long, and I was in a bit of a hurry. I’d watched the lady scan my items, and she had scanned both—so maybe (I tried to convince myself) they were on a two-for-one sale? But the original purchase was for ten dollars, and I knew I should owe another fifteen.

What should I do?

It would have been so easy to walk out, dump the bag in my trunk and feel glad I’d saved myself fifteen dollars. Except then I’d have had to live with knowing I hadn’t paid for that item, and every time I looked at it, I’d feel a pang of guilt that I’d stolen it. Even though it wasn’t intentional.

I turned around. A security guard stopped me in the front of the store. “Did you have a return?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “Actually, I was checking my receipt and noticed I didn’t get charged for one of my items. I need to go back and pay for it.”

The security guard was so impressed, he walked me to the front of the line where I’d originally paid and asked the embarrassed employee to hurry and ring me up again. It cost me less than five minutes and fifteen dollars to be honest that day.

As I drove home, I wondered about how I would have reacted if the situation were reversed. Then I remembered it had been. Last year I was charged seventeen dollars for a tube of toothpaste. It was a complete computer error, but you can believe I was all over it. I marched myself to customer service immediately to get my fifteen dollars back and though I wasn’t angry at the store employees, I sighed a breath of relief that I’ve taught myself to be diligent in checking my receipts. This year, I had another opportunity to feel that relief, though from the other side of the spectrum.

I don’t know how to live with small dishonesties like that. I’ve spent my life believing in the importance of honesty, which is why I have such a hard time understanding how someone could steal a portrait of Christ. How will they live with themselves?

I don’t understand the universe, and I can’t answer that question. All I can do is promise myself that I, personally, will choose to make honest choices and try to be a good example of honesty to my children.

As for the auction, I’m thinking next year Clear Horizons may have to hire security. But it’s like Tiffany said. “If they really needed a portrait of Christ bad enough to steal it, I feel sorry for them.”

Yep. I agree.