Leadership--Apparently, Ai Haz It, Part 1: Or, Uneasy (Sometimes) Lies the Head that Wears the Crown

In my high-school days, I was famous for joining groups.

I was a member of Pep Club, a natural extension of how much I loved cheering at athletic events...and a natural extension of many of my friendships. My small group of buddies and I spent many a Friday or Saturday night at basketball games, in our uniforms of red vests and gray culottes, screaming as loud as we could for every basket and free throw...not to mention having already spend much of autumn in the bleachers cheering every touchdown and extra point. To the best of my recollection, I was never a "leader" in it,  in that I didn't hold an elected or appointed office. But that was one of the few instances in which I didn't! 

I was a member of Thespians, again, a natural match. I loved the theater, still do. And I earned my stripes through many an hour of securing props, doing makeup, and even--wonder of wonders--being one of the student directors for three one-act plays my senior year.

And I was a member of the staff of the literary magazine. By all reasonable measures, I was in line to be editor-in-chief my senior year; I'd served with distinction all four years in school, and all my peers knew I was the best there was. But then, I butted heads with the faculty advisor...and things got interesting.

First, someone submitted the lyrics to Jimi Hendrix's song "Little Wing" as a poem, signed only "J. Hendrix"...which I promptly brought to her attention. Clearly meant to mock us, to "dare" us to know where it'd come from. Well, I did. And I said so.

She pooh-poohed the concern, told me it had been submitted "anonymously" by someone who wanted to "use a pen name," and that surely I was mistaken. I offered to bring in the album cover of the Hendrix recording from home and show her, but she told me that wouldn't be either appreciated or necessary. And so, our literary magazine published--as if it were original--song lyrics for which we could have been sued, seemingly without concern or worry.

(In 1970, that didn't draw attention like it could have in 2022. Just sayin'. )

The second was my discovery of more plagiarism--of one of MY OWN PIECES of writing--submitted by a former friend who'd basically fallen out with me. She'd turned it in as work to her English teacher, gotten an A, and her teacher had submitted it to the magazine.

You can imagine my feelings when I read it...and who had supposedly "written" it. 

How did she get it, you ask? Simple. In my early teens, I was a fledgling writer whose close buddies enjoyed reading her work.  So, I'd shared it.

This piece was haunting, emotive, and pretty darned good for the 15-year-old I'd been when I'd penned it... but it was also MINE, not hers. Not even two years later, which was when it surfaced.

I squawked. I demanded to talk to both her and her English teacher. I offered to bring in other friends who'd read it, from my hands, two years before. And I kept squawking.

The advisor, faced with my adamant protests, unbent enough that she supposedly went to the other English teacher, who confronted the girl, who admitted to the plagiarism. And the piece was removed from consideration in the magazine.

But she was allowed to keep the A.  Without redoing the work.

I was livid. And I let the advisor know it. I told her, point-blank, to her face, that this was wrong. That letting this girl get away with keeping a grade was, in effect, rewarding her for cheating.

What did I hear in response? "Oh, she apologizes."

To which I said, "Not good enough."

To my knowledge, no other demand was never enforced.

And from that point on,  I was apparently regarded as "trouble."

The advisor gave the editor-in-chief job to a sophomore in one of her classes, one who had less than a tenth of the experience I had but who was one of her "pets"...and I quit. 

This all by way of demonstrating that, when I enter a group, seemingly inevitably I end up becoming a leader in it. For better or worse.

Sometimes, that leadership isn't appreciated at all. 

Sometimes, that leadership gets you publicly vilified.

But then, again, sometimes that leadership "thing" can pleasantly surprise you.

As it has lately, for me.

More on that in Part 2!

To be continued...

Janny

So What's With The Profile Picture, Anyway?

Yanno...it's dawned on me that someone may be wondering who the lovely lady, featured in one corner of my profile, is.  

Well, now, there are a couple of answers to that:

1. If you're a tall, dark, handsome Irishman who plays percussion during his waking hours, and you wonder if it's actually me, in costume...of course, the answer is HECK, YEAH!  Come on down!

2. Okay. The truth, however, is...not really. For one thing, I'm a little more contemporary in my dress than she is. (!) And there are, shall we say, a few other differences as well. Alas.

But the reason that picture is on my page is something that happened a long time ago, at my RWA Chapter meeting, when someone had an old book in which they were doing research and came across portraits of famous poets and writers--and their spouses.

And at that time, that lovely person pointed to the image you see and said, "Wow, you look just like Lord Byron's wife."

To which we all laughed--until we looked at the image. And realized that at that time in my life, yes, indeed, I DID kind of look like this woman. 

Of course, we've all changed in the ensuing years.

Lord Byron's wife is, clearly, no longer with us.

I still am among the living, but...trust me...I don't look like that fresh-faced young thing anymore. 

Although, it must be said, her expression is remarkably similar to the expression I had on my face in one of my bride-alone wedding pictures.

I was looking somewhat pensive, thoughtful, solemn, whatever you want to call it...and to this day it's a shot I think is one of the more beautiful pictures anyone ever took of me.

Of course, I was also 29 years old. So who doesn't look wonderful at 29?

BUT...

In any event...

That's the answer to the question. The lovely lady is Lord Byron's wife, Annabelle. Her story is a sad and disturbing one, with enough soap-opera elements in it to seemingly justify the old saw about artists "suffering to be brilliant." But in this picture, she's clearly enjoying a more serene moment, and I'd like to think that a little of that serenity was in my expression* when my fellow writer declared the likeness.

There you have it.

Any famous, or moderately famous, person out there that they say YOU look like?

Feel free to share in the comments!

Janny

*lest there be any misunderstandings, however, "serenity" has rarely been used to describe my temperament!

The Little Stuff--or, "Would You Like Fries With That?"

Had the TV on yesterday, watching part of a feel-good Hallmark movie as I ate my late lunch, and saw a commercial come on for the finale of This Is Us. It started with a woman singing a snippet of "Time After Time," and clearly was focusing on one of the characters whose memory was going, probably permanently, through one of the horrific mind-stealers such as Alzheimer's.  

Now, I don't watch that show. I never have, although it's been recommended to me. I got a couple of glimpses of some scenes in promos, heard some comments online about it, and decided it wouldn't be a good place for me to hang around, for more than one reason. So, in one sense, I had no context for how deeply the commercial hit me.

But it did me in.  Because the woman's voiceover was saying, "I'm not afraid of losing the big stuff. That's not what I'm worried about. It's the little things I'm afraid of losing."

And I sat in front of the TV and bawled.

Because that's what it's always, and ever, all about. 

That's what life is about.

A thousand little things. Strung together, for a few thousand days, multiplied over a few decades' worth of walking the planet...are what life ends up being about.

And it's what loss is also about, in its most painful and persistent form.

We all talk about it, after we lose someone we love.

We talk about the little things. Like missing their voice on the phone. Like longing for their smile across the kitchen table. Like expecting them to come walking around the corner any minute, carrying the newspaper, or a coffee cup, or the cat...

But they're never going to do that again.

And every time we have to face that, over and over, it's a new shattering inside.

This has nothing to do with whether we believe we'll ever see them again. For Catholics, as it says so touchingly in the funeral liturgy, life is changed, not ended, and frankly? That's the only thing that keeps most of us a) sane, and b) from offing ourselves out of sheer agony or despair. We know we'll see them again. 

But that's also what makes it so hard. 

Because when someone is woven in the warp and woof of your life, their absence leaves holes in you. And those holes often don't mend all the way. Sometimes, they snag. Tear open. 

And sometimes, the craziest things can be snags.

Like the ad for a TV show you don't even watch.

Or an ad for French fries.

Yep. You heard that right. 

There's an ad out there right now from Wendy's, touting their "Hot and Crispy Fries."

But Wendy's fries were bragging material way before this...at least in my world.

As in, early 1980.

When I first began hanging out with Patrick, one of our conversations touched on the various jobs we'd had over the years. One of those jobs, for him, was working in high school, part-time...at (you guessed it) Wendy's.

Making French fries.

Yeah, of course, tons of kids work in fast food when they're in high school. And the Wendy's connection is "just a coincidence."

Except...that the conversation we had about French fries would probably have made Dave Thomas himself proud. Because Patrick didn't just learn how to make fries; he learned how to make  them from a guy who was so good at it that people used to stop at Wendy's in Palatine just for the fries. They'd get the other parts of their meal elsewhere, but Wendy's had the best fries in town, even then. Even before they decided to call their brand "Hot and Crispy," this guy's fries were hot, crispy, and addictive.

And he taught Patrick how to make them that way, too. Something that this young pup took very seriously, indeed, because the restaurant's reputation hung on it. 

Thus, during one of my first conversations with my future husband, I learned the proper way to prepare fries so they were hot, crispy but not dry, and tender  but not soggy. Patrick enjoyed learning how to do it, and he was proud that he learned to do it to his mentor's standards.

The funny parts about this?

First, that I couldn't tell you exactly how it was done now.

But second?

That Patrick could take a look at the technique of the "fry guy" in any food place we went to, pretty much for the rest of our lives, and tell me if the fries were going to be any good or not.

And he'd be right.

Recently, I heard some sports commentators talking about working the "fry" area of a restaurant--and claiming that "everybody knew" that making fries was the worst job in the place. It was always given to the rank beginners, the guys on the bottom of the totem pole. 

Yet, at least one guy--and his apprentice--made the product of that lowly job something the restaurant became  known for, and did it with a great deal of pride.

I applauded it then, as I applaud it now.

Little things.

You never know how they may come back, years later, and touch your life.

So pay attention...now.

And appreciate that good fry guy, if you've got one. 

Because someone, somewhere, loves him.

And he won't always be around...for either of you.

Thoughts?

Janny

What's YOUR Theme Song?...continued

Last time, we talked about what your "theme song" is, writing-wise.

Not what themes your work explores...but the "lens" through which you inevitably write most of your fiction. (Or, for that matter, probably your nonfiction, too. But since I'm a novelist, I'm dealing with the fiction side of the "fence" for now.)

I mentioned that my theme, which I discovered early on, is Things are not always what they appear to be. 

Now, if you think that through for a while, you'll realize it applies to much, much, much of life.

In the current climate of everybody-looking-for-an-enemy that we seem to have in the world at large, you can just about count on this to be true, 105 percent of the time. 

But this blog isn't the place where we discuss social or sociological issues; here, we're talking writing, a little spiritual stuff here and there, a little wine and food here and there, a cat or two...stuff that really makes life enjoyable and positive, rather than stressful and negative. So, relax, sit back, and think about how that "theme" of yours contributes to how your stories take shape...and to generating more of them, if you feel creatively "dry" for some reason.

Wondering what that means? Let me give you a few examples from my own books.  

In From the Ashes, James Michael Goodwin's career isn't what it appears to be--nor is he. So much so that, in the beginning of the book, he's got a gun to his head. Because he's tired of pretending through the pain.

The other side to that "pretending" happens when he heals...rediscovers his muse...and falls in love.  But even then, there's another scenario at work behind the scenes, one that twists the story into an almost terminal black moment.

In Voice of Innocence,  everybody "knows" Lachlan MacAndrews is a user, a married man who illicitly led a younger woman on--and probably was responsible for her death. The problem is, what everybody "knows"...isn't true. Lachlan is something else entirely, living a terrifying situation brought about by someone else manipulating events around him to construct a noose around his neck.

In my present (being marketed) Dean's Daughter books, the dean's daughter at a prestigious conservatory is in danger of falling in love with--of all people--the conservatory's piano tuner--an affront to both academic hierarchies and common sense.  Only Malachi Jonah Goodwin is more than just a tuner, and how much more astounds everyone...maybe Malachi himself most of all.

Those are just a few examples of how, in my own writing, I've taken the idea that things are not what they appear to be, and from that premise spun entire new sides to characters, to what "looks like" the plot, to who "looks like" good guys or bad guys--and so forth.

The best news about this "deceptive" theme is that it has infinite variations.

Because in this wide world of ours, things are rarely, if ever, exactly only what they appear to be at first glance. Or second. Or even fiftieth. 

We all experience this when we meet new people, or try new foods, or go new places, that we're sure we're not gonna like--and, instead, make what can be lifelong friends, new culinary passions, or memories of adventures we treasure forever. 

Ergo...all you need to do to create a whole new story with this theme is to look at a situation--any situation--and flip it on its head. What if what you're seeing isn't the reality? What if that person isn't the sweet, helpful soul he or she appears to be...but has an agenda in mind for your doom? What if you are in an intimate relationship...with someone who wants you dead?

And that's just a jumping-off point. If you don't want to write suspense, or sinister people, you can still use a "theme" like this for "sweet," lighthearted stories. (Like, what if that piano tuner isn't just a piano tuner, after all?)

What take-away is here for you, then?

A suggestion--that if you don't know your "theme song" already, sit down and think about what it might be. It could be an actual "song," of course. But I'd suspect it's more likely a simple sentence, a simple premise, a simple lens...through which you see your world, and through which you can then, with a little kaleidoscope-turn, make a surprise happen. 

Or more than one surprise.

Or a whole swackload of stories' worth of them. 

And you'll never have to worry about repeating yourself--because a really good theme is bare-bones, the basics, the foundation. What you build on top of it is still limited only by imagination. And we all know how limited that is!

So....don't be shy. Think about it. When you come up with it--even if it sounds silly--try it out here in the comments section. And let's talk a whole bunch of new music!

Thoughts?

Janny

What's Your Theme Song?

More and more, I've gotten the urge to write about theme. 

As in, what's yours?

Notice I don't ask what the theme of your work is. I ask what your own theme is.

There's a difference.

Written works can have all kinds of thematic material in them, of course. They can be metaphorical, symbolic, transcendent, spiritual...inspiring...enlightening...

You get the idea. And we all had those assignments in school where we read a piece of literature and were directed to discuss "themes," compare and contrast, illustrate with examples, and such.

But I'm talking about something way more basic than that.

Way beneath it, matter of fact.

As in peeling the layers of the onion...to find a crux that goes beyond the surface, and even beyond any deliberate "themes" you're trying to write about...and reveals the central lens through which you write most of your work.

 

I discovered mine very early in my fiction writing career, and it can be summed up in one sentence:

Things are not always what they appear to be.

Now, that sounds almost simplistic, doesn't it?

Almost too "obvious" to be a theme of any kind, for anything, except a very basic short story. Or, perhaps, an essay.

But that simple sentence has been the very backbone of what I write.

All the way from my very first short story, Number Twenty-Seven, in which a mysterious (haunted?) island beckoned to a surfer...and changed everything. 

Including what became of him.

That work was a high-school short story that may have inadvertently been the very first "write your own ending" approach; I left the story so vague at the end that, when I finished reading it in front of the class, everyone asked, "What happened?"

To which I answered, "What do you think?"

And my English teacher got a very pleased expression on her face.  

Creative, it was. Conclusive, it wasn't.

I entered that story in a contest. It didn't win. (!)

So, in the ensuing years, I have endeavored to know the ends of my stories, and make them very clear. And that approach tends to work much better in the real world of publishing. 

But the stories are still based on the same sentence.

Things are not always what they appear to be.

From this sentence has come most of the body of work I have now...

...and has also developed into a subtheme that, it must be said, encompasses my favorite stories and has engendered more than a few surprises.

I'll talk more about how that happens next time!

So...don't be shy. Tell me about your theme song in the comments!

Janny

Happy Irish Musical Monday!

Check out a purely beautiful song for today's Musical Monday installment...and let yourself dream a bit.
A gorgeous love song, sung by a master. <3

You're welcome. 

https://www.facebook.com/smallsoprano/posts/4438475016204640

Called to Write: What It Is...What It Isn't, Part 2

Last time, as you recall, we talked about writing as a "calling."

As in, my realizing that (as Harry Caray used to say), "...it might be...it could be...it is!"

Yeah, I know. Stop laughing. I know that was his home-run call!

But in a very real way, discovering that you do have a "calling," and that it's something you love with every fiber of your being...is a home run of sorts. (A grand slam, by my way of thinking.)

The next question becomes, then...if you're called to be a writer, who's called you?

The answer to this is obvious, if you're a believer. If you're not, you've got a thicker wicket to navigate. 

Many arguments exist for it being a call from your Creator, but I'm not going into those here--because that's not the purpose of this post.

Although it does address a related issue, which is what I'll talk about next.

And that is...what you're called to write, and how.

And here's where even people willing to attribute their calling to Someone higher can and do get into another sticky wicket.

A generous number of people out there consider their calling--their writing--a ministry.

Some of them even claim that if you are called by God to write, then by definition, that's what your writing is, and you'd jolly well better treat it as such.

But I am definitely not one of these people.

I don't believe that's what a "calling" to write fiction is about at all.

In fact, I will go so far as to say that if you embrace this attitude toward fiction writing...

...you are in very real danger of becoming a hack.

Strong words. I know.

But hear me out.

First off, let's get a distinction clear here.

There is a very real need, and always a market, for good religious writing.

Authentic teaching.

Inspired insights.

Uplifting encouragement.

Exegesis, study, and enrichment.

But IMHO, none of that should be the purpose of your fiction.

And if you're writing fiction with that aim, as the memes are fond of saying, "Ur doin it rong."

I think we as believers do everyone--ourselves, our audiences, and even God--a disservice when we consider our fiction as a way to "minister" to readers.

To get the Gospel in front of them.

To present the plan of salvation.

In other words...to preach.

Because, as Harry Caray also used to say, "There's danger here, Cherie."

I read a review recently in which the reader said a book had "all the elements of good Christian fiction": Scripture was quoted frequently, the Gospel was presented, etc., etc...

...and my blood ran cold.

Because re-read that. And then tell me how that describes a great novel.

Not how it describes a glorified tract, or a "sermon in story form," or a morality play....

...but how it describes a great story.

I would submit that you can't.

And therein, ladies and gentlemen, lies a big problem.

Because inevitably, whether you intend it or not, this approach becomes heavy-handed.

It eclipses your storytelling.

And the ironic part of all this?

It doesn't work.

It preaches to the choir most of the time.

The rest of the time, you join the reject piles of the very people you're trying so hard to cleverly "reach."

Because they know something that maybe you're not ready to admit, and that many of your fellow Christian "fans" won't tell you: that there's nothing clever about it. 

It's manipulative, transparent, and...worst of all...it does fiction in general, and Christian/religious fiction in particular, a bad turn.

In the end, it's little more than script.  

A formula.
And guess what people who write to formulas--who write books in which the same "message" has to be conveyed, and certain boxes have to be checked, over and over--are generally called?

Yeah. 

Hacks.

So what should you write instead?

Stories.

Deep, emotional, romantic, adventurous, madcap, spine-tingling, entertaining stories.

Good stories.

Great stories.

Without evangelization, salvation, Four Spiritual Laws, conversion scenes, testimonies, Scripture quotations, "witnessing," or anything else shoehorned in  that wouldn't be a normal part of the story if it wasn't "inspirational" fiction.

"But," I can hear you protest, "God gave me this gift, and I have to glorify Him with it!"

Yes, you do.

But if you read Corinthians, you know not everybody's called to be a preacher, either.

And I would submit that, if you've been given a storytelling gift...you've been called to do something even better.

Richly, expressively told stories, in wholesome spirit, do give glory to God.  Just as they are. Without the need to mention God's name every other sentence...or, in fact, at all. If it wouldn't normally be part of the story.

If you really feel led to tell the story of salvation, spell things out, and try to "witness"...then write nonfiction. That's where that preaching belongs.

But I would humbly implore you that, if you're called to write fiction that Someone gives you...then, have the trust to simply write it to your very best ability, and put it in His hands to work with further.  Without feeling you have to "use" a book to "get a message out." Without worrying that you'd "better get salvation in here somewhere, or I'm not doing my job."

It's His job to "get salvation in there."

Write the best danged stories you can, and He'll do it.

 Just watch. 

Thoughts?

Janny

Called To Write: What It Is...What It Isn't, Part 1

Okay, this is a post that's been a while in the making.

And some of it is downright serious, even heavy, stuff to consider.

(Don't let that deter you. Keep reading. 😉)

Since I was 10 years old, I've been spinning stories.

Not "lies," as in the tales kids tell to stay out of trouble (or try to get out of same), but actual stories. I clearly remember reading a lot at that age and being fascinated by the idea that you could just "make up stuff" and it'd actually entertain people. So I proceeded to do that with some of the younger kids on the block. Sometimes I'd retell stories I'd read; sometimes I'd make new stuff up. I even tried to write a "book" myself, complete with illustrations. (The less said about that, the better, but hey...I was 10!)

I point out the age at which this happened because I've heard, over and over again, how major "achievers" in the arts, or music, or literature, or anything creative, often have said that they first "caught the bug," as it were, at 10 years of age. The more stories I hear about this, the more convinced I am that that is a crucial watershed in our lives, whether we know it or not, and often, the choices we are intrigued by at that point in our developmental years become the things that "take hold" of us and don't let go. 

Music took hold of me even earlier in life, and it, too, hasn't let go. Just so we're clear on that. But one muse at a time is what we're dealing with here, and so...

...and so, I've been writing. And writing. And writing, since my teenage years.

I was the one the teacher always made read her stuff in front of the class.

I entered a national short story contest at 17.

I was the one my English instructor at Harper tried to persuade to change majors. (!)

I joined RWA, as a matter of fact, not so much because I was a romance writer--but because I read about the Golden Heart contest and decided I was going to win it. You had to be an RWA member to enter. So, I did. (And I did. Win, that is.)

I've come very, very close to selling novels more times than anyone should who hasn't gotten there more than twice (so far), and that with small presses.

I've worked as an editor, a proofreader, a ghostwriter, a writer's mentor, and a ton of other writing industry-related stuff in order to help keep body and soul together.

I love words. Anyone can tell you that.  Heck, I've been known to read dictionaries and say, out loud, to my kids, "Listen to this. This word origin. It is so cool!"

(Yeah. They get that look on their faces, too. LOL)

But it wasn't until I had worked an early version of my romantic suspense book CALLIE'S ANGEL to that magical point known as typing "The End" that I turned to my husband and said, out loud, "This is what I was born to do."

And, yeah, it sounded a tad pretentious at the time.

But it also struck a deep chord that resonated inside me.

And it was scary as heck to declare...even though I felt it, to my bones.

You see, I wasn't raised in the age of snowflakes and "participation medals."

I wasn't raised to consider anything I did particularly special--even when it was.

Which is why when someone gets all excited about a gift of mine, I'm happy--but at the same time, a little confused. And I mean that honestly.

Because part of me, a deep inner critic, is always saying, "So what? Lots of people can do that. And lots of people can do that a lot better than you do."

And trust me, that critic doesn't even take time off to sleep.

This isn't saying that I think what I do isn't worthwhile.

It's saying that, in the overwhelming majority of cases, I tend to think that any particular thing I may have done isn't important or  meaningful or significant enough to designate as "the thing I was born to accomplish."

But in that moment of exhilaration, my heart told the truth...and spoke it out loud.

And I've been coming to terms with that, as part of my sphere, ever since.

It hasn't been easy, or natural, or even believable, at times, to look at my life and consider that a) anything I do is very important in the end and b) the thing that I do that I love to do...may, actually, be "what I was born to do."

In other words, a calling.

But over the past several years, difficult as they've been, I've come to believe.

To acknowledge.

And to accept that, in truth...

...I am called to write stories. 

Sweet fiction in particular. Wholesome. Clean. And, in the end, uplifting.

Not because I set out to "edify" anyone...but because, at my core, this is where I live. I simply bring others into that world, too, when I can. 

This is an honor and a blessing that, now, I embrace...and don't take lightly.

I can accomplish lots of other kinds of writing, of course. And I do.

But these created-from-thin-air stories are what fire my blood.

They're what keep me burning figurative candles at both ends.

And they are--most importantly--a gift God gives me to share.

A gift to both myself and to others.

Engaging "yarns" to spin in my own particular style.

In a way only I can do.

Something pretty miraculous, when you think about it.

And that makes them, and my calling to pursue them, in a very real sense...important.

Not profound.

Not earth-moving.

Not "impactful" or "challenging" or "socially enlightening."

And it's okay that I'm not called to tell that kind of story.

This revelation has turned out to be the most spine-tingling part of this whole journey.

Because a "calling" is as much about what you are not meant to do...as what you are.

How do I discern the difference?

We'll talk about that in Part 2!

Thoughts?
Janny

Books! We Have Books! Part 2...

 

Just got this release from Rob Broder, one of my fellow AKA Literary "Wolf Pack"--and I HIGHLY recommend it. What a sweet book--check it out! 

Janny

Books! We Have Books!...

...no, no new ones from me yet...(cross your fingers, light candles, say prayers)...

BUT some from my fellow AKA Literary crowd, otherwise known as the Wolf Pack!

Check these authors and books out...

Rob Broder

Carolyn Howard-Johnson

Margaret Mizushima

Joan Donaldson

...because you KNOW your TBR pile needs to expand! 😉

Thanks,

Janny

The Genius of the "Hummable Tune," Part 2

You'll remember when we last left our heroine, she was rattling on about a tad bit (okay, a lot) of snobbism/elitism/pseudo-intellectualism that had crept in and run rampant about the music-school hallways...and how disheartening it was. 

I mean, here we were sitting on several hundred years' worth of great stuff, musical feasts galore that could have kept us happily exploring, plumbing depths and nuances for the rest of our lives...only to be told, by those who were oh-so-much-further-evolved in this thing, that that was "irrelevant."

Our duty, it seemed, was instead to make up our own "brave new world" of music that required extensive liner notes and analysis to explain.

That challenged audiences.

That often puzzled, perplexed, and irritated  the hearers, rather than uplifting their spirits, offering them escapes or dreams, or providing them something as "simple" as enjoyment.

Not surprisingly,  audiences didn't like it...

...prompting  many of these oh-so-enlightened folks to declare that they were hopelessly "hidebound"...perhaps, even brainwashed!

At the very least...unsophisticated.

And the way out of that unsophisticated ignorance was...you guessed it...not to be found in "Standard Repertoire."

It was to be found in the brave-new-world stuff, in "challenge" and "expansion of horizons" and "relevance."

(There's that word again...)

Fortunately, some of us ignored them.

And, instead,  chose the adventure inherent in peeling back the layers of what was already on hand...and allowing ourselves to experience every crazy bit of it.

Because the best-kept secret of music school isn't about  "brave new worlds." 

It's that classical music--even "Standard Repertoire"--is a treasure trove of crazy.

Real, beautiful, inspiring, honest-to-God insanity.

That's the "secret handshake" we should be spreading to the crowd.

That's the "secret language" that, if we bother to teach, people learn to "speak" and "understand" so well that they pack the halls.

Listen to Gustavo Dudamel conduct Saint-Saens' Bacchanale. It's madness.

Watch Leonard Bernstein conduct Brahms' First Symphony, in performance, without a score. It's nuts.

And if you happen to be in the car while the "Great Gate of Kiev" section (the conclusion) of Pictures at an Exhibition is playing on your car stereo...you may have to pull over. I ought to know. I almost had to, one day, driving back from lunch for afternoon classes.

I was darn near still bouncing off the walls of the music building when I came in from the parking lot. And, as I was describing the way that music made me feel...one of my favorite professors started laughing. 

Not at me, but at the sheer fun of my reaction. 

Then, said something along the lines of, "Don't ever lose that."

Think about that for a second.

The Mussorgsky (especially in the Ravel orchestration) is "Standard Repertoire." 

The stuff that was being called "hidebound" and "irrelevant."

And yet my music prof, possessing a doctorate from a major highbrow school, didn't scold me not to get so excited about the stuff...

...but to, if at all possible, keep that ridiculously nutty enthusiasm as long as I could.

Because he knew what the "brave new world" advocates hadn't caught on to yet:

That "relevance" isn't what art is about. Never has been. Never will be.

So, what does this have to do with writing stories, you ask?

A fellow writer shared a quote recently that, paraphrased, is along the lines of "writing that is effortless to read takes a great deal of effort to produce."

The parallel in music? That "hummable" doesn't equal "unsophisticated."

It equals accessible. 

It equals simple, in music wrought from care. And effort. And love.

And, yes...more than a little craziness.

Done well, it takes people to a place outside themselves. 

Expands their worlds. 

Refreshes them.

Just the way a beautiful story can.

The "hummable" theme in classical music goes hand-in-hand with the "keeper" on your bookshelf. Both may look deceptively simple, when viewed from the outside.

Only when one plumbs a little deeper...or creates the "simple" thing from scratch...does one appreciate just what goes into either one.

These "keepers" (or "chestnuts," as the popular pieces of classical music are often called) are probably the clearest evidence of true communication with our audiences that we have--and the best proof that we, as artists, have done our jobs well. 

In music...and in stories.

And so, the accessible--and enjoyable--are what I aim for every time I sit down at the keyboard, take out my box of words, and attempt to combine them in alchemy that will make music of its own.

Simple.

Hummable.

Genius.

Thoughts?

Janny

 

The Genius of the "Hummable Tune," Part 1

There is such a thing as knowing too much.  

Now, if you know the CWC at all, you know there are things she infinitely prefers people do know about, especially when it comes to the written word.

She prefers people know the correct word for what they're expressing.

She prefers people know how to spell.

She prefers people know the difference between verb tenses, and which one is right for the moment.

She prefers people never, ever, ever, ever-ever make a plural with an apostrophe.

(Did I mention "ever"?)

But, I'll say it again: there is such a thing as knowing too much.

Or...maybe...just thinking we do.

And we're missing a splendid opportunity for real genius when that happens.

Let me illustrate.

Long ago, in music school, I was surrounded by a whole bunch of people who were all convinced classical music needed to be "refreshed."

And so they did unspeakable things to pianos and called the music for "prepared" instruments.

They made noises on electronic devices and called the music "multitonal."

They composed "music" like John Cage's "4'33"."

They brought in spoken word, and gesture, and slide shows, to "liven things up."

Why?

Because, in their estimation, "Standard Repertoire" (or "Western Music," or any other term you want to use for it) was filled with "timeworn, hackneyed 'chestnuts' written by a bunch of dead white men" that needed to be "thrown out" because "it wasn't meaningful anymore."

They were especially disdainful of music that people loved because "they could walk out of a concert hall humming it to themselves."

Why?

I didn't know then. And I still don't know now.

Let's face it: classical music is not necessarily the first music of choice for a general population. Many reasons abound for this, but at least one of them has to be that because, unless they find a comfortable way to get a good dose of it, they don't feel like they can "walk out of a concert hall humming [it] to themselves."

And that's a shame. Because there's some great stuff out there...

...if someone cares enough to bring it to them.

We see this happen all the time. 

Most of us learned our first classical music not from a venerable record collection in our parents' homes, but from background music for Looney Tunes.

Not to mention the use of Strauss in 2001: A Space Odyssey, Ravel in 10, or Pachelbel in Ordinary People...among countless instances of the music in movies. 

What happened after that exposure? People went nuts for those pieces. 

So, can you imagine what would happen if they were exposed to even more of it?

Yeah. 

Only these people, with whom I was going to school, didn't see that possibility at all. 
To them, classical music audiences only loved Beethoven, and Bach, and Brahms, and Haydn, and Mozart, and Mendelssohn, and Wagner, and Schubert, and Stravinsky, and Chopin, and Gounod, and Franck, and Dvorak, and Tchaikovsky, and dozens more pieces of music by those and other "dead white men" because "they didn't know any better." And that it was the job of those in the art to "enlighten" the audience.

(If this sounds suspiciously like both snobbism and elitism...you're catching on.)

Because an attitude like this has to have as its foundation the assumption that what you are throwing out, you're already thoroughly familiar with, and have found useless and/or boring. In other words, the attitude toward traditional classical music at that point becomes, "Seen it all, heard it all, next."

Only, speaking quite bluntly? For most of these people, especially for the college-age folks I encountered, that would have been completely impossible.

Haydn wrote over 100 symphonies.

Mozart wrote over 40.

Dvorak wrote 9, Beethoven wrote 9. And so on. And so on.

That's not even touching opera--or talking about Puccini, or Verdi, or Bizet.

Or oratorios (Handel, anybody?). Or cantatas, of which Bach alone wrote over 200.

Or march or waltz music (Strauss, Sousa, and a host of others).

Nor is it venturing onto the shores of polyphony and/or counterpoint of the likes of Vivaldi, or Palestrina, or deLassus, or Mouret, or Lully, or...

That's a whole lot of "notes" that, in terms of the general population--and even music students themselves--is stuff they've never heard before.

Stuff that, once heard, can change their lives forever.

And leave them wanting even more.

(I know. I was a music student with precious little background, and I drank the stuff up like a college kid at a kegger party.)

But all that was what these people wanted to dismiss, en masse, as being "irrelevant."

Because...people could hum it walking out of a concert hall?

Because...it was unsophisticated? 

Because...it wasn't profound, or deep, or meaningful?

Since bloody hell when?

(I defy anyone reading this to immerse yourself in Brahms' Fourth Symphony and not find sophistication, profundity, depth, and meaning in it--while you're humming it to yourself!--but, I digress.)

I'm here to tell you, as I wanted to tell them, that they'd not only missed the point of the art in the first place...but they'd missed the bus, the train, the ship, the plane, and the Concorde in the process. 

Because "relevance" isn't what makes music, or any art, wonderful...or valuable...

Nor has it ever been.

My dream is to write stories "people [can] walk out of a concert hall humming to themselves."

Why I put it that way, we'll talk about in Part 2!

Thoughts?

Janny

Beware Musical Monday!

Yeah, of course, you have to know this is coming...

And yes. Everybody knows "Vehicle." That's why this page has something even better.  😊

You're welcome!

Janny

A Happy Musical Monday Bonus...

...from my favorite Chopin player, in honor of Chopin's 211th birthday. 

(Unfortunately, the poor man only lived to be 39. Frederic, not Vladimir.)

Sit back, think Monday thoughts, and this should fit perfectly.

Enjoy!

Janny