In an age where the starving artist has become the trendy-hipster-in-a-coffee-shop it seems what artists are really starving for is attention… Unless you’re Texan…then its attention, sweet tea, and some southern cookin’!
All artists are contradictory specimens in a nutshell. We see things in a different perspective and we cash in on that by showing it in some way, but we are also stiltedly immature and have a constant need for some sort of recognition. Whether it be the approval we never received in childhood or an undying need to be right, compliments to replace the flattery we are missing in daily life…. Things are published to be shared… and hopefully given a stamp of approval. And writers are the worst…
Writers, performers, artists, and even fashion designers, we all have a burning need to be the best, to be right, to be the one you turn to, and I am not sure what fuels it…I think a combination of different variables for different people. But, it all boils down to us being a baby Skrillex-esque nerd hipster, or “popular outcast” that needs to scream, “Look at ME dammit! I know things! I can do this!!!” (insert twirling five year old in a tu-tu). And then we artistically call it “self-expression”.
I can say this like I say crap about black stereo types because I am part of the community and I have super secret inside ninja perspective…and also because I think it will gain attention… “Hello, read my blog, I’m controversial! Ooooh!!”
But writers, maybe I should say autobiographical writers and bloggers, but that would leave out Stephanie Meyer. Writers spend their whole time brainstorming ways to be themselves but “cooler”. We build fiction by writing caricatures of ourselves and people in our environment in a passive aggressive attempt to convey what we really need to say but cant bear to speak for whatever reason. This whole blog is an attempt to explain why I write what I do, the way I do… And I want someone to hear it. I want someone to hear me.
The great thing about art, especially literature and blogs, is that a person can get out what they need to say in whichever way they need to say it and even if they don’t have vocal confirmation, or approval it’s possible to pretend because they have sent their piece of work, a small fraction of their fragile being into the great world, to be judged. And then they pray that someone might find that message in a bottle and relate to it entirely, and in that single spark of a moment, we are not alone. We are seen in a fraction and as a whole like no one in our daily lives’ truly sees us…. And we are content until the urge to be seen rises again like the need in wolf to hunt; and we are forced to scream at the top of our lungs…”I am here.”