Ho Hum Life
One would think that this no-work job is the perfect place for finally executing that Great American Novel I like to talk about, but there's one problem: this lifestyle is draining the personality, individuality, enthusiasm, and creativity out of me. But it's like that story, Flowers for Algernon: the more you lose that mental capacity, the less you regret losing that mental capacity. Soon I'll look back at that old dream of my Great American Novel and I'll just be confused.
Flowers for Algernon: I was reminded of that wonderful short story I read many years ago because TCM was playing a film adaptation of it called Charly this weekend. The adaptation, made in 1968, is frickin weird, like the 60s on uppers - that is, with all the pretensions of artistic experimentation (notably the kaleidoscopic montage, as signature to the 60s as the task-based musical montage is to the 80s), made kitschy with time, but without any of the meaning-bearing functions that such symbols normally perform. I would say that the movie is boring at best, weird at worst (or is it weird at best, boring at worst?). But I enjoyed seeing it because I had forgotten all about Algernon up til then.
The reminder inspired a quick wiki search and I learned that the short story was well received upon its publication, winning several prizes and sparking controversies with educators - the surest sign that you've arrived. But the interesting part is that the story had its genesis in completely pulpy soil: it was first published in one of those sci-fi magazines that abounded around comic-book era and through the 50s (I believe Tennessee Williams also saw his first print in sci-fi pulp, for his story The Revenge of Nitocris), and a lot of its critical acclaim came from sci-fi awards. All this pulp provided a platform for a fairly sophisticated psychological tale, that then had more opportunities to be developed into a full-length novel, a play, and a few movies.
This begs the question, What the hell has the sci-fi community been doing lately?? Instead of going to conventions all the time, they should be conduits of contemporary fiction and birthing modern authors, the way they used to! Because of their shiftlessness, wannabe authors like me have no avenues for gaining experience or audience or building a portfolio. I had a conversation today with one of my co-workers, in which he remarked, responding to the running joke that I never have any work to do, that I should be making better use of my time writing...and not just little blog snippets, he said, but magazine articles. Ah, I rejoined, I've looked into that, but it appears that I'm not a good candidate for a magazine freelancer because I have no special area of expertise for a profit-making publication (business, finance, technology, love/sex, hobbies, cars, travel, food, etc.)
The fact is that I feel I'd be pretty willing to adapt to the market demands for writing pieces, if only they grazed the ballpark. I'd try my hand at writing sci-fi stories if, like in the 50s, they were mass-consumed and they provided one of the few opportunities for marketing solo creative work. Even better would be if we had a pulp market even more fertile than that of the 50s, if in addition to the sci-fi audience, we also had an eager crowd of readers consuming comedy, romance, mystery, horror, drama, or even poetry in pulp.
I don't believe we have that market. While the geeks are just as eager as they used to be, they've directed all their energies into supporting loser enterprises, like costume-wearing conventions - wholly controlled on a corporate scale - instead of supporting the offbeat little guy liked they used to.
All this tirading, I realize, is headed toward one simple conclusion: I should start writing comic books.
Flowers for Algernon: I was reminded of that wonderful short story I read many years ago because TCM was playing a film adaptation of it called Charly this weekend. The adaptation, made in 1968, is frickin weird, like the 60s on uppers - that is, with all the pretensions of artistic experimentation (notably the kaleidoscopic montage, as signature to the 60s as the task-based musical montage is to the 80s), made kitschy with time, but without any of the meaning-bearing functions that such symbols normally perform. I would say that the movie is boring at best, weird at worst (or is it weird at best, boring at worst?). But I enjoyed seeing it because I had forgotten all about Algernon up til then.
The reminder inspired a quick wiki search and I learned that the short story was well received upon its publication, winning several prizes and sparking controversies with educators - the surest sign that you've arrived. But the interesting part is that the story had its genesis in completely pulpy soil: it was first published in one of those sci-fi magazines that abounded around comic-book era and through the 50s (I believe Tennessee Williams also saw his first print in sci-fi pulp, for his story The Revenge of Nitocris), and a lot of its critical acclaim came from sci-fi awards. All this pulp provided a platform for a fairly sophisticated psychological tale, that then had more opportunities to be developed into a full-length novel, a play, and a few movies.
This begs the question, What the hell has the sci-fi community been doing lately?? Instead of going to conventions all the time, they should be conduits of contemporary fiction and birthing modern authors, the way they used to! Because of their shiftlessness, wannabe authors like me have no avenues for gaining experience or audience or building a portfolio. I had a conversation today with one of my co-workers, in which he remarked, responding to the running joke that I never have any work to do, that I should be making better use of my time writing...and not just little blog snippets, he said, but magazine articles. Ah, I rejoined, I've looked into that, but it appears that I'm not a good candidate for a magazine freelancer because I have no special area of expertise for a profit-making publication (business, finance, technology, love/sex, hobbies, cars, travel, food, etc.)
The fact is that I feel I'd be pretty willing to adapt to the market demands for writing pieces, if only they grazed the ballpark. I'd try my hand at writing sci-fi stories if, like in the 50s, they were mass-consumed and they provided one of the few opportunities for marketing solo creative work. Even better would be if we had a pulp market even more fertile than that of the 50s, if in addition to the sci-fi audience, we also had an eager crowd of readers consuming comedy, romance, mystery, horror, drama, or even poetry in pulp.
I don't believe we have that market. While the geeks are just as eager as they used to be, they've directed all their energies into supporting loser enterprises, like costume-wearing conventions - wholly controlled on a corporate scale - instead of supporting the offbeat little guy liked they used to.
All this tirading, I realize, is headed toward one simple conclusion: I should start writing comic books.
posted by Rex at 1:10 PM
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