Writing As An Art…
After waiting several months, I finally got my hands on a copy of a book I had been dying to read. My hands shook as I read the first chapters. Yet, as I continued to read I realized something quite painful.
This author was not who I thought she was. Her characters have no depth, no heart, no soul. In short, there was nothing real or even relatable about them other than the fact that like me… one walked into a situation with a certain impression and was met with a harsh truth.
That truth being… That things were not as she thought they would be.
So, after reading through ten chapters, I had put the book down.
I lost respect for this writer as an author. This writer took something I had experienced and made it surreal. In a way, she also painted the reality of living with a mental illness as something almost out of Alice In Wonderland, only nothing made sense.
Why would someone not be checked in on regularly in a psych ward? Why would vitals not be taken upon admission? Why would the psychiatrist be more fixated on praising her artistic talents than addressing the issue? Why would the MC be so fixated on her own talents as well that she would need to mention her own song titles and website?
Needless to say, it was hard to connect with the main character. Let alone find the plot. Basic questions had no answer. What did the MC want? Aside from freedom? How was she going to go about it feeling sorry for herself and judging everyone else around her?
Writers We Remember…
Maybe this is where I am being judgmental.
Most the artists that are immortalized are those who did not elevate themselves.
Artists who live on for centuries are those who:
Teach us something about
These people are also those who shake us, rattling us to our very core.
Anyone who calls themselves and artists and does not do this… at least, in my eyes, cannot be rightly called so.
Please, share with me. What is an artist to you?