Raging Negativity and the Artist's Life

I hope you like hearing No

SHVETS on pexels.com

Everything is too hard. The word impossible might be accurate.

Now, this idea came to me suddenly while looking over some online advice about songwriting. More on that in a minute or two. Is this an epiphany, you probably are not asking?

No. I think this is a minor revelation but also troubling and worth discussing for a little while. I am guessing that many readers can sympathize with my state of mind. This is my hope, anyway.

My interests are practically all art related. If you have been reading stories here, you might recall that I am now reclaiming my creativity from the trash heap where I once discarded it. One must not fight against his or her truest, most authentic self.

In the spirit of self-actualization, I wrote a song. I feel it’s good and began cruising the Internet just to learn more about how songwriters turn their creations into recorded music. Why not? It could not hurt to try, a gentle voice whispered to me.

Yet, it did hurt. Internet wisdom made it very clear: There is little chance to succeed unless one is close to the music industry and living in New York City or Los Angeles.

My laptop almost started laughing at me for grandiose thinking. There was much more learned that you do not need to hear about. Basically, all of the information was negative and deflating.

The negativity is depressing, in fact. It kills my energy and willpower. And whenever I read about writing careers (my main interest) or anything in the creative realm, I discover the same old tune. People recommend that you set your goals realistically (low) or abandon the vision of becoming a successful artist.

There are too many explosive land mines along the red carpet leading to success. “They” say the same thing, over and over. Have you encountered what I have?

I’m not sure if this is a problem, but I have never been realistic. It’s not very fun. My mind immediately goes to what is possible, and I hate limitations.

I dream of greatness, and I will not apologize for wanting something more than the ordinary.

The world of publishing is guaranteed to bring me back down to earth, however. Forget this notion of writing a book and putting it out there for a substantial audience to read it. Living in this world, as I have been part-time for almost a year, is like being stuck between unchanging red lights visible in every direction. There is no way to move and nowhere to go.

How about getting a literary agent?

They: “No,” they say. “Book agents are unlikely to respond well to your genre.”

Me: “But I have not even told you my genre.”

They: “Well, whatever it is, agents will not like it.”

Me: “What about—”

They: “No.”

Me: “Well, what If I—”

They: “Nope. Definitely not.”

Okay, so I am pretending a bit, but this is what the publication process would say if it were a person.

There is an endless supply of people online who are ready to remind aspiring authors of the odds against them (us). I do not know if it is one-in-a-million, but that’s what it feels like reading and asking questions about writing books.

The same is true for screenplays and anything artistic that interests me. Not you, not now, not here, not there, and not that, because it’s too soon, too late, too rough, too polished, too different, too similar, and too everything to publish, represent, read, edit, or respond to.

One reason it’s so hard to be a prosperous artist is that anything born from a human soul is a subjective thing bound to be interpreted unequally among the masses. There is no standard except good, great, spellbinding, not-so-great, and other non-specific descriptors. There is no bottom-line criteria and no formula, and this is why art is art.

Thinking about everything at once, as I always do, I have come to a conclusion that might be rightfully called a light bulb moment. It goes like this: “Blessed be those who know not what they do. Walk in naiveté, blind faith, and childlike wonder young artist, and ignore all the rules.”

Better yet, never learn the rules. The less I know what I am doing the more likely something good takes place.

There is less anxiety, too. I cannot fear making mistakes if I am oblivious to the do’s and don’ts. Does this make any sense, dear reader?

As I tend to do, let us now relate the subject matter of this story to mental health. I have avoidance disorder. It causes me to not check emails, phone messages, and texts. Now I can see how avoidance of potential pain created this artistic monstrosity of a person who never reads the fine print. More than that, I avoid rules and directions as much as possible.

Although, I am a perfectionist and an INFJ, so I must know the rules to some extent in order to perform flawlessly. This might seem very odd but it’s not, because I am an odd person.

Let’s refocus on mental health for a minute. It is often asked if one must be melancholy in order to produce great works of art. Or, it is said that tragedy is that thing that inspires the greatest works of art.

I will not answer either assumption, but I can now understand why artists tend toward the downcast emotions. Who wouldn’t if forced to exist in this world of nullifying invalidation?

Heartbreak is natural for poets, essayists, novelists, screenwriters, and the rest, I guess. My topic, unless I have strayed too far, is the waves of negativity one encounters and not merely the notion that the creative life is hard. Everyone knows that. An artist’s palette is his or her mind, and we all can attest how frustrating it is to try to pull something out of that tangled jungle of thoughts and make it coherent.

Well, I should have said this: It is hard to make our thoughts decipherable to someone else who has the power to subscribe, donate, appreciate, and buy. This might be because I am too starry-eyed and resist making obvious writing choices.

Forget that last part. Now I am too tired to make a good transition. So, I won’t try.

It must be easier to offer negative comments than tough but fair help.

I know from my teaching days that teachers tend to put more effort into critiquing conscientious students than lazy ones. I often did that. So, lots of ink on the page could mean that a teacher believes he or she is worth spending time on to cultivate talent and/or hard work. It really feels pointless laboring to correct someone who refuses to listen.

I didn’t mean to write a story about writing stories. I hope I have not done that.

Anything that is a little beyond the normal activities or behavior meets with some resistance, and my perspective follows my heart. That is to say, I am talking about writing because that is what I am doing.

Blessed be those who offer positive messages despite the endless cries of “No, don’t think so, and never.” Everyone needs to be picked up sometimes.

As for me, I have worked very hard on curtailing my raging negativity. It is not easy. I can pat myself on the back, though, because I have been far kinder to others than to myself.

With a history of pessimism to teach me, I long ago decided to encourage people even when I have doubts about their abilities. Why not? I think this is a good thing, but making art to be noticed will likely remain a cold and callous undertaking.

The good news is that the people who succeed tend to be stubborn and ignore the unhelpful noise. They just keep doing what they do, and you can too.

---

Thanks for reading. Support writers. Like and subscribe. That is the only way real writers can continue to do their thing and possibly get noticed. I am talking about those who create from the heart and not those who simply ride the latest wave of drivel.