Monday, March 4, 2019

Pierwalker Log: March 4, 2019

Writing start: 10:40 A.M.
Finish: 3:32 P.M.
Total new words (est.): 1400
Edited (est.): 4900

1. Failure: Primary edit number three of chapter twenty-four

2. Book Three Melody: Off

3. Ant Story: 400 new words
Notes: I posted chapter four today to the blog. Enjoy!

4. Fractalverse V5: Off

5Rapscallion: Off

6. LOTR: 600 new words
Notes: Chapter six is completed! I'll start the primary edits tomorrow!

7. Angel: Book Three: Primary edit number three of the prologue

8. T-Bag: 400 new words
Notes: I am searching for ways to end this chapter sooner than later. I think if I end it sooner, it'll read better. We'll see.

Special Projects:  Work on "Becoming"

Extra notes: I endeavor to "de-herdify" myself every day--to become aware of hidden prejudices and influences that I have consciously or subconsciously adopted from the dominant culture. To examine the isms and the undercurrent philosophies said culture perpetuates unthinkingly, such as Blockbusterism or The Newest Big Thing. There are others: Ten Easy Steps, Made In China, You Own Nothing But Think You Own Everything, Security As A Cog, Recycle My Diamonds, and so on.

If I feel like it, I may delve into these one by one at some future point; for now, you can probably suss out what each stands for.

Blockbusterism has been an obsession of mine for some time now. It's a cancerous philosophy that says, in part, that if you are an artist, then your work is worthless and meaningless unless some group {a, b, c, d, ...} knows about you or it, preferably both. That group can be small or large. If it's small, then it must be a powerful, wealthy, and influential group; if it is large, then it necessarily includes the person standing in front of that artist and asking something like: "Oh! You're a writer? Have I heard about you?"

If you the artist answer honestly, "Probably not," then your work is worthless and meaningless to the culture at large.

(What constitutes "small" or "large" depends entirely on the person you're talking to, and varies widely within that person's herd.)

Blockbusterism says that fame and fortune are the only real reasons to do something like writing novels. It says that what the crowd wants to consume is more important than what the artist wants to produce. It says that bestsellers' lists are everything, and that if you aren't on one, or have never been on one, that your work is worthless and meaningless. It says that marketing your work as an artist is equally if not more important than creating that art. It declares that likes, upvotes, and reviews are of immense, almost infinite value, and that if you don't have any, or don't have "enough" (the exact value of which is never declared, much like "small" or "large"), then your work is worthless and meaningless. It not only assumes that most artists are starving; it demands that most are. Only a tiny elite are excused; only a tiny elite are allowed on big talk shows where they get to talk about how much they suffered and strived to get where they are.

The desire to be noticed for your good works is natural and should not be denied. The desire that your good works be appreciated is also natural and should not be denied. "Putting your work into the world" so that both may occur is a good thing. Blockbusterism says it isn't enough; not by a goddamned mile.

This blog turns two years old this Friday. Almost no one in the entire world knows about it. The same holds true for my published work. My work, and I, are, according to Blockbusterism, worthless and meaningless. I'm wasting my time. I'm tilting at windmills. I'm refusing to see reality for what it is.

The Internet hasn't damned or dampened or repudiated Blockbusterism; it has fed it horse steroids and cocaine and loosed it utterly upon this aching, shriveling, sagging, burning little planet. I doubt there isn't a culture on Earth that hasn't adopted it.