You won’t.
Writers, let go of your ideas of perfection, open iWork Pages (or Microsoft Word) and just fly. The perfect first draft is the one that successfully navigates the flight from your heart to your keyboard. That’s it.
Later, you will sculpt it. Work your alchemy. Form it into little sculptures of light.
My last blog post:
27 drafts. (A new low record. Usually, it’s between 85 and 100.)
The only way up this mountain is to just climb it. Lift up your head.
Go.
Indy
If you landed here at Grits and Bottle Rockets because of my Don’t Compare Yourself to Celebrities Pinterest Board, you’re probably confused.
Don’t Compare Yourself to Celebrities on Pinterest
I don’t talk about celebrities on my blog. (Forgive me, regular readers, here’s the context. I have a popular board on Pinterest that teaches people to question the messages in advertising.) I don’t even own a television.
I started Grits and Bottle Rockets in 2010 so I could write about relationships, faith, art, politics, and reconciliation without the restrictions of traditional publishing. Two years ago, I didn’t give two craps what Angel was on the cover of The Lingerie Store’s catalog with diamonds on the soles of her shoes, or whether she’d had a digital ear-ectomy.
Then I got a Pinterest account.
My first boards? The basics. The recipes one, the hilarious one, the stunning photography one… and the thinspiration one.
I’ve always been skinny but nonathletic, and I’d just joined a gym. I needed something to remind me to log off at the end of my creative but sedentary workday and shake my moneymaker at Zumba. So, I found a few images of women with muscles and pinned them. One day, I spotted the hashtag “thinspiration.” I plugged that into the Pinterest search engine and stared in disbelief.
Pinterest, land that I love, has a very serious problem on its hands.
That search turned up thousands–and I mean thousands– of deeply tanned, bone-thin, balloon breasted, heavily airbrushed beings that supposedly represented perfection.
But they weren’t perfect.
They were digitally hatched frankenpeople with waist-length locks, radioactive glowing skin, hollowed out and sticklike thighs and legs (think bowlegged 8-year old boys), the fingers of ringwraiths, water balloon breasts or no breasts at all, and huge eyes with whites so white it looked like someone had glued little black tutu halves onto their lids instead of eyelashes.
I’ve been around many very pretty people, some of them famous. I’m around beautiful people every day, in fact: I’m related to them. I’m friends with them. I work for them. I write movies and books with them. There’s one in my mirror.
Despite that, I have never met anyone who looks like those images, even famous people. Not ever. Not in L.A., not in Nashville, not in NYC, not in my travels across this globe.
The worst part was the horrible–and yes, I judge them as HORRIBLE– captions on these images:
“Do 100 jumping jacks, 100 mountain climbers, 100 push-ups, and 20 burpees for perfect abs”
“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels”
“I will have this dream body”
“Stop eating and the inches will fall away”
“I want him to feel my ribs when he picks me up”
“I want shoulder blades like angel wings”
“I will be so proud of myself when I am thin”
“To look like doll parts”
“To be skinny like Barbie”
“Shock them and make them jealous”
“So they will never laugh at me again”
“You know you want this body”
“To prove I can do this to everyone who has doubted me”
“My thighs cannot touch”
“So I will look good in every swimsuit I try on”
“Body type: skinny with no appetite”
“Hunger hurts, but starving works”
“Hip bones, collar bones. Hip bones, collar bones…”
“Perfect”
“Beautiful”
And the one that keeps me awake at night: “Shut your mouth and work out.”
Shut your mouth and work out.
Okay, first off, every human being has something to offer this world–something to improve it. That thing you have to offer? Your looks don’t usually qualify you to use it.
Secondly, if a perfect you exists, you won’t become that by turning into someone else.
Poured out on these boards were the fears of thousands of Pinterest users who felt victimized by their looks, who believe that life would never improve until they finally looked like celebrities and models.
Y’all, I’ve been in publishing for 18 years, and I can tell you: celebrity and model images don’t deserve your trust. They’re messed-with, Photoshopped, heavily-staged images. Fakes. It’s like the difference between looking at the classic Windows desktop image (with the flawless grass and sky) and spending an actual spring day in the countryside with someone wonderful. There is no comparison. Human beings are too fearfully and wonderfully made.
Our celebrity- and looks-obsessed world subliminally (and sometimes actively) paints a hellacious picture of non-famous people in their natural state: ugly and inferior. They should be treated, tanned, thinned, toned, plucked, waxed, exfoliated, moisturized, sculpted, contoured, masqued, Spanxed, color-coordinated, and completely made over so they don’t singe everyone’s retinas. To stand out and become happy and successful, people must become very attractive. Hot. Screwable.
Beautiful.
You didn’t get that job, that scholarship, that irresistible guy? Clearly you failed to be the prettiest girl in the room. Look at your face without makeup. You feel ashamed for good reason. Anne V is always the prettiest girl in the room. She got that Maroon 5 guy. (What’s his name again?)
I enjoy mythbusting, so let me tell you from firsthand experience: being skinny? Being pretty? Being a model? None of that protects you from bad days, fails, pimples, stupidity, heartbreak, poverty, and other nasty little surprises from life.
Magazines, cosmetics companies, hair product manufacturers make money off of your shame. You must be convinced you’re broken because they’re selling your little fix right here, honey. If you became confident and turned your back on the mirror, they’d hemorrhage money.
Let me be clear: Marketing is never, ever done with you. The beauty industry creates a constantly-changing standard of attractiveness. They fabricate beauty “problems.” They tempt you with the mythical and otherworldly gorgeousness of the professional pretty people who set the beauty standards then issue the altar call at the nearest makeup counter or sale rack full of airbrushed images of models: “Fall to your knees! Send us your money, and your sins of unattractiveness will be washed away by this $38 toner!”
It doesn’t work that way in real life. Why? Because you have a looking glass. The models and actors? They have software.
After I saw those boards of frankenpeople, I hit “Delete” on my own thinspo board and clicked on “Create a new board.”
I suddenly had something to say.
This post is just the beginning of our conversation, but right now, I’m going all Ted Mosby on you.
Kids, to fully understand why I started mythbusting magazine images, you have to go back to December 2007, when I opened my Nikon D40, Elvis, on Christmas Eve.
To be continued.
Indy
Wanted to share today’s meditation.
Humility is not the same thing as an inferiority complex. Inferiority and low self esteem come from fear. Humility comes from the belief–and peace with the fact– that other people are every bit as important as I am.
Artists,
You know that little voice in your head that starts yammering the second you begin work on a terrific new idea?
You brainstorm and prepare. 
Set out paints. Insert fresh memory cards. Open a new pin board. Lay out your ingredients for that sweet potato and bacon dish you just dreamed up… and lo and behold, there’s the voice. The inner troll.
You’re not ready.
What makes you qualified to even try this?
Someone else already did this. Hers was better.
You tried this before and you’re not good at it.
If you close WordPress now and watch reruns on Netflix instead, you won’t look stupid on the internet.
No one wants to hear about this subject.
People want to hear about this subject, but you’re not qualified to address it.
You think this is new and exciting, but it’s lame. Lame people always think their ideas are new and exciting.
It’d better be perfect on the first try, because if it’s not, everyone will know you’re not a real chef (photographer, songwriter, designer,etc.)
You’ll offend people, and they’ll take screen shots that go viral, and the world will see you’re a loser.
That other guy sang it better.
You’re writing draft 1 in passive voice. Stop and fix it. NOW. Fixing it made you lose your train of thought? Good going, stupid.
My inner voice is a mashup of this and Piper Laurie as that awful mother in Carrie, screaming, “You’re weak! They’re all gonna laugh at you!”
Rejection silences artists.
Few things are as persistent as the inner troll. She never takes a holiday, even if I do. She never shuts up, not in church, not at work, not on dates, not in confrontations, not on the best days of my life.
Everything I do in life is in spite of this voice, because she never thinks I’m ready, never thinks I’m qualified, and never thinks I do anything right.
Like you, I have a choice. And I’ve decided that instead of shrinking back into silence, I’m going to let this voice train me.
Every time that hateful inner voice says no and I still move forward, I’m that much more prepared to face the critics who will materialize as I release my art into the universe. If I don’t live down to my own expectations, I won’t live down to anyone else’s either. The more I address that voice with reason or “I’m not going to dignify that ridiculous notion” silence, the more it erodes the internal fear that I have nothing to offer.
When a critic stands up and calls me a no-talent fraud, I’ll be ready. I will understand that rejection is part of the process, and I will not see it as a permanent stop sign.
You may not think I’m qualified, but I’m the one getting this done.
Every day I will learn more and grow my talent.
If this message burns inside of me for weeks, months, and years, it is proof that I have something to say.
I will write that chapter and fix the passive voice later.
I will create something and send into the world, in front of people who could hate me for it.
I forgive myself for every mistake I have ever made in the course of trying.
Time spent trying to please the inner troll and outer critics wastes creative mental space, so address it.
Raid the dungeons of your insecurities, confront your troll, take back your art. When the critics come, you’ll be ready. You’ll be unstoppable.
Indy
“I’ve been absolutely terrified every moment of my life – and I’ve never let it keep me from doing a single thing I wanted to do.” -Georgia O’Keeffe
“Don’t judge” is the new pop culture catchphrase, and it makes zero sense.
Somewhere along the way, Americans decided–definitively (ironic, isn’t it?)– that decisiveness is bad. Therefore, if your friend has a raging eating disorder, say nothing as she starves herself. Better to do that than ask if she needs help, just in case she thinks you’re judging her. (If she actually has a disorder, she will think you’re judging her, by the way. And while you’re pandering for her approval, the disorder will kill her just as dead.) If another friend shoots heroin, don’t judge… let him live his short life. Are you a vegan who didn’t like Lady Gaga’s meat dress? Say nothing. Don’t judge.
Funny thing is, in the name of letting everyone have their opinions and encouraging people to be themselves in a nonjudgmental environment, we’re censoring an awful lot.
I’m normally polite in this blog, but let me be blunt, readers, family, close friends:
I hope you judge. I hope you judge me. I hope your judgment is clear, sharp, compassionate, accurate, helpful, and above all, wise.
I hope you spend a lifetime working on and using your good judgment, because I need it whenever mine goes bad like a New Coke. I need people who will always believe that two plus two equals four, even if television and all of their friends–and I– insist it equals a chocolate cake. I need those people on my exhilarating good days, and in the darkest hours of my life.
I hope you share with me things you have considered, pondered over, meditated on, and learned from going through hell on earth without receiving a dismissive response like “Don’t judge!”
If I can’t allow people to disagree with me without labeling that disagreement as judgment and hate, I clearly have no idea of what love really is.
Shaming people in ways that frame me as morally superior is little more than being controlling, which is a pathetic, ineffective, and selfish substitute for love, which is so, so, so much more durable.
And if you enjoy trying to strip away someone else’s right to their beliefs by quoting “Judge not, lest ye be judged,” here’s a lesson in the theology you’re trying to evoke: That Biblical passage means that you should expect to receive the exact same kind of treatment you dish out to other people. That includes silencing any and all dissension to your own beliefs in the name of open-mindedness.
You don’t have to believe in absolute truth– that’s not what this post is about–but if you do, know that it works everywhere, and in all situations. Forcing out all contention isn’t necessary for it’s veracity… that’s just insecurity.
So pop culture, I’m going to use a word you don’t like: “No.” I reject your silly catchphrase because I prefer to think for myself… and little passive-aggressive “shame bombs” won’t stop me.
Until next time, be wise as serpents and harmless as doves.
Love on. And call a spade a dadgum spade.
Indy
The Endorphins in Your DVD Library, or Why Marty’s Still Pretty McFly For An Eighties Guy
I’ve seen grown men cry in public, en masse, twice:
1. During a Sigur Ros concert at the Ryman.
2. During a packed-house screening of The Passion of the Christ.
With cinema, ten bucks buys you a ticket to another world, makes you question your deeper motivations, and sometimes, transforms your way of thinking. (With another $80, you get a small popcorn for the trip.) With that in mind, I came up with this list of endorphin-producing happy flicks. Think puppies. Unicorns. Bobcat Goldthwait.
If you agree, disagree, or want to add your own selections, WordPress has an awesome-sauce comment box just for you.
Top Ten Feelgood Flicks
10. Rudy
Rudy falls into the “Beaumance” category, meaning it’s a Chick Flick for guys. Beaumances are emotional, sometimes-father-and-son films (boy-and-dog films, man-and-the-sport-he-digs-more-than-chicks films) during which grown male viewers are formally allowed to turn on the waterworks. In Rudy, Samwise Gamgee loses his bestie, motivating him to hit No. 1 on his bucket list: play football for the Fighting Irish. Trouble is, he plays football like your mom. (Cue the triumph-over-self sniffles.) If you aren’t standing on your futon shouting “Rudy! Ruuudy! Ruuudy!” in the final minutes of this movie, you have no soul.
9. Dumb and Dumber
If you’re the guy who, yes, would like to hear the most annoying sound in the world, this is your flick. Viewing after viewing, Dumb and Dumber is idiotic, side-splitting nonsense at it’s finest, tailor-made for people who love silliness and jokes about bodily functions. (And y’all get that if Mary tied the knot with Lloyd, her name would be Mary Christmas, right?) If you can’t afford the DVD, sell your dead parakeet to a blind kid.
8. Marilyn Hotchkiss’ Ballroom Dancing and Charm School
“In 1962… the gum in baseball cards still tasted good. McDonalds only had a million served. I was twelve-years-old and I hated girls more than liver.” You’ve never heard of it, but Hotchkiss delivers a charming dose of Sixties Americana in the sad, hilarious way The Wonder Years did in the 80s. A terrible highway accident unites two men in a life-and-death experience. To get through it, Steve Mills (John Goodman) tells Frank Keane (Robert Carlyle) what it was like to be 12 years old in the Sixties. Throw in Donnie Wahlberg, Marisa Tomei, Danny DeVito, and Mary Steenburgen as a weird dance instructor, and it’s pure magic. Hotchkiss was a short that was later extended into a full-length film. This means we get a double dose of underrated actor Elden Henson, who stars both as a child and as a grownup.
7. Bruce Almighty
I’d heard of stuff being so funny that the audience “rolled in the aisles.” My initial theater viewing of Bruce Almighty marked the first time I actually saw people fall out of their chairs with laughter.
Church folks were nervous at first about Bruce, but writer Steve Oedekerk handled his subject with brilliance: He allowed the viewer to look at human suffering and imperfect love through a God-shaped lens. Morgan Freeman plays a witty, likable, and caring God who answers Bruce’s complaints with “You think you can do better, son, here’s your chance.” It isn’t for the easily offended, but it certainly makes you think. And pee your pants. (Particularly during that one newscast with Steve Carell.)
6. Ferris Beuller’s Day Off
I’d describe it, but you’ve already seen it. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.
5. The Neverending Story
In 1982, Wolfgang Petersen–who didn’t speak a word of English–directed American actors in the adaptation of a certain children’s book that “was not safe.” This film goes out of it’s way to melt the walls around every child viewer, transport him to another world, and bring out the dreamer inside. I’m still struck by the ways Petersen gently addressed grief, depression, optimism, and self esteem with little children–using every unique character from the Rock Biter to the terrifying Gmork.
To this day, I dream that the Ivory Tower is still standing.
4. E.T.
Before E.T., most filmmakers treated space aliens as unholy terrors. Think about it. War of the Worlds. Invasion of the Body Snatchers. That horrendous, grodie facehugger thing that impregnates men.
Yuck.
Then Steven Spielberg turned convention on it’s huge green head by saying, “If we’re ever invaded by squashy alien men, let’s remember the wonder of childhood. Let’s put down our shotguns as they put down their cavity probes, and try to understand the meaning in their weird speech patterns and their lightbulb fingers.” Spielberg’s tenderness with the subject shows in a character with minimal screen time, known to the audience–until the end–as a relentless alien chaser with keys on his belt. *Spoiler alert*
Keys: Elliot, that machine, what does it do?
Elliot: [in a sickly voice] The communicator? Is it still working?
Keys: It’s doing something… what?
Elliot: I really shouldn’t tell. He came to me, he came to me.
Keys: Elliot, he came to me too. I’ve been wishing for this since I was 10 years old, I don’t want him to die. What can we do that we’re not already doing?
Elliot: He needs to go home; he’s calling his people. And I don’t know where they are, but he needs to go home.
Keys: Elliot, I don’t think he was left here intentionally, but his being here is a miracle, Elliot. It’s a miracle and you did the best that anybody could do. I’m glad he met you first.
And now I need a tissue.
3. The Karate Kid
Before it was creepy for a lonely old man to befriend a teenage boy, Robert Mark Kamen wrote a teen film that was the stuff of underdog miracles: Ralph Macchio moves to Cali and repeatedly gets the stuffing kicked out of him by the Cobra Kai, a bad-haired bunch of teenagers who failed to take their morning dose of Ritalin. To solve the problem, Daniel consults *gasp* an adult and engages in a mentorship that makes him stronger and wiser on every level. The remake was good, but it will never hold a candle to the bully-pounding, sky-is-the-limit, good-guy-wins-in-the-end original. Hit after agonizing hit, Daniel just keeps getting back up to face his aggressors, transforming from a mere good guy into a real hero.
Take that, gossipy postmodern teen movie with Autotuned songs from a wannabe rock star.
Miyagi was right: Man who catch fly with chopstick accomplish anything.
2. Back to the Future
If you read Dude, Where’s My DeLorean, you’re not surprised that this made the list. Bob Zemeckis got my entire allowance in the summer of 1985, because I saw this movie in the theater nine times. Message to Hollywood: Please, you can never, EVER, EVER remake this film. Not ever. It’s perfect.
1. The Goonies
Pretty much any child of the 80s lists this as an all-time favorite. Whether you saw it in a theater in Pittsburgh or a backwoods Tennessee drive-in, Goonies was the big-screen childhood fantasy we experienced together… and everyone has a favorite moment (usually involving Chunk.) Goonies (80s children drop the “The”) hand-delivered real adventure to ordinary American kids— from the ones on the screen to the ones in the theater. It told a glorious, full-color tale in ways we couldn’t touch with play time and recess stories. We didn’t need busy CGI to get butterflies in our stomachs. Goonies was a simple, terrific story that squeaked around in hi-top sneakers, mesmerized us, and made us laugh.
I keep praying that Hollywood will never remake it either.
Alternates/runners-up: The Rocky series, It’s a Wonderful Life, Fried Green Tomatoes, Field of Dreams, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade, Life is Beautiful
Did I leave any out? What is your favorite feelgood flick?
Indy
Everyone is allergic to one particular word.
Image courtesy of Michelini, http://www.sxc.hu/photo/545785
The word.
I’m not referring to politically correct/incorrect words or the naughty four-letter bleepers Grandma enjoyed using.
I’m talking about that one word or phrase that annoys the crap out of you every time you hear it. Things like, “Well ain’t that just the cat’s pajamas” or “Whatever!”
So…. what is it?
P.S. My browser crashed during the writing of this post, so it posted multiple times. Apologies, dear subscribers.
P.P.S. Panties. I really hate that word.
