Teresa R. Funke's Blog: Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life, page 53

I’m Sorry, But I’m Not Embarrassed

In my industry, there’s been a lot of talk about Ruth Graham’s article in Slate suggesting that adults should be embarrassed to read young adult titles. Never mind the slights to YA authors, let’s look at what else she says:

She argues that adults should challenge themselves with a higher form of literature and leave the stories written for children to children. She says that if adults keep reading YA books, children will stop, because they don’t want to read the same books as their parents. A possibility, but not one that I’ve seen played out in my household.  My teenage children and I often read the same books, and some are YA. There’s genuine pleasure in having a meaningful conversation with my kids about a book we’ve all read. And that doesn’t change whether the novel is The Fault in Our Stars or Pride and Prejudice.  In fact, back in the heyday of Harry Potter, which is— gulp— a middle-grade series, my kids were discussing the books not only with my husband and me, but also with their grandparents. A multi-generational appreciation of a good story. Period.

As an artist, I would hope people will always be able to recognize true talent and skill. I would hope we never stop challenging ourselves to understand the genius of a Shakespeare or a Mozart or a Monet, but we always make room for the countless artists who fall below that mark. To be honest, I’m more embarrassed when I don’t “get” a highly acclaimed piece of art than I am to carry around a copy of The Hunger Games.

To me, the definition of art is something that moves or inspires us. If it leads you to see beauty in your world, if it challenges your prejudices, if it pushes you toward action, if it makes you feel happiness or outrage, if it stirs you to want to learn more or see more or hear more, than the artist has succeeded.

Let the critics judge. It’s their job, after all. But give us a little credit. We know the difference between a classic symphony and a catchy pop tune, but sometimes we just want to dance.

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What To Do When Your Life is Filled with Stupid People

My daughter called Tuesday night in a panic. She is competing this week at a national speech and debate tournament and had encountered a judge whose behavior was shockingly unprofessional. He would watch thirty seconds of a performance, scrawl a nasty note like, “I hate it,” on his notepad, and then play on his phone for the rest of the performance. She was terrified that his comments would damage her chances to advance.

Unfortunately, this is life, especially for those of us involved in the arts. We have all been screwed over by ignorant and unprofessional people at least once in our careers. We’ve lost plum roles to actors who are friends of the director. We’ve received scathing comments or reviews from people who clearly did not read our books or listen to our albums.  We’ve been marked down by well-intentioned judges who lacked qualifications and by judges who were just woefully inept.

In the early stages of our careers, these episodes upset or even depress us. We take them personally.  As we move forward, we get cynical. This is when many artists give up and walk away. If we hang in there, though, we come to accept that this is the way things are sometimes, and not just in the arts. In corporate America, the wrong people get promoted for all the wrong reasons. In politics, the intelligent and learned candidate loses to the uniformed idiot. In the nonprofit world, some board members further their own agendas rather than the organization’s mission.

The mother in me wanted to drive to Kansas City and give that judge a piece of my mind. But the artist in me knew this was a painful but necessary lesson for my daughter to learn.  Here’s what I told her:  “There’s no way for you to know if his behavior hurt your chances. So tomorrow, go out there and kill it. Do the best you’ve ever done.  Have the most fun you’ve ever had.  Because if his ranking did affect you, at least you go out with a bang. And if it didn’t, you’ll prove to everyone you’ve earned the right to move forward. Either way, you rise above the stupidity. And that’s all we can ever do.”

 

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Are We Artists or Salesmen?

There’s never been a more interesting or a more challenging time to be an artist. So many new avenues have opened up to us and choosing the arts as a profession is no longer looked down upon (at least not as heavily as it once was). But now, with so many of us working or dabbling in the arts, it’s getting harder and harder to draw attention to our work. It’s all about the marketing, they tell us. It’s all about social media and big publicity and huge newsletter mailing lists.

But we, as artists, are asking how we balance our need to express ourselves in ways that feel authentic and meaningful and still bring us attention in a crowded marketplace. What compromises are we willing to make? Take this blog post, for example. Am I writing it for you, my reader, or for the search engines? Is it more important to create something insightful and thought-provoking or something peppered with great keywords? Should the length of this post fit my message or the “suggested word limit” on the SEO check? Should my title match the theme or should I drop in the name of some star who is trending?

The internet marketing experts respond this way: what good is your brilliant post if no one can find it and read it? A valid point. What good is your masterpiece if no one ever displays it? What good is your show if no one ever sees it? On the other hand, have you ever stumbled across a piece of unknown art at a flea market and loved it? Have you ever discovered some obscure title in a bookstore and counted it among your favorite reads? If I could choose for this blog to momentarily inspire thousands of people or profoundly change the life of just one person, what would I choose?

These are questions we each must answer for ourselves. There are compromises we all must make. There should be days when we sit down with our promotion plans and tick items off our lists and days when we erase all thoughts of the marketplace and simply create. As for me, if there’s a hot new keyword that happens to fit my blog posts, I’ll use it. If not . . .

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How to Handle Rejection – Video

Happy to share my newest writing video here, which also runs on my YouTube channel, Teresa Funke. It’s on every artists’ favorite topic—rejection. If you’re involved in the arts, you know that sinking feeling when you open your inbox or mailbox and see the communication you’ve been dreading. You’ve also know the butterflies you get when you recognize the name of that editor or agent or producer or director on your Caller ID and answer with high hopes, only to be told you weren’t chosen. But if you’re a dedicated artist, you also understand that rejection is part of the game we all play. As many times as we succeed, we will fail.

In this video, I share my favorite tips on how to deal with rejection, from learning to make light of it to seeking solace from trusted peers to relishing those “good” rejections. Mostly, though, I talk about one of my mottos: Rejection is Progress. Any good salesman will tell you he sometimes has to make one hundred calls before someone buys. For every rejection we acquire, we are one step closer to an acceptance, but only if we never give up.

Watch the video by clicking below!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Good-bye Maya and Luana

Yesterday I heard the news that the incomparable Maya Angelou had passed away at age 86. Later that afternoon, I received word that one of my longtime writer friends had been killed in a car accident.

When Maya read her poem On the Pulse of the Morning at Bill Clinton’s inauguration, a whole nation listened in awe. My friend, Luana, never experienced a moment like that with her writing. She had a few pieces published in respectable markets, but she never knew the high praise or stunning success of a Maya Angelou.

Still, in the twenty years I knew her, she went steadily about the quiet business of being a writer. She was at her best when penning essays about nature, and she had an eye for detail that I admired. She would rework a piece over and over again, as any good writer does, trying to get it right. I’ll never forget the look that would cross her face when our writer’s group critiqued her work. It was a mixture of stubbornness and frustration and acceptance, much the way I imagined my own face to look when it was my turn to be reviewed.

I knew Luana in the moments when she was thrilled to announce a new acceptance and in the moments when she wanted to throw in the towel and quit. She never got a big book deal, never saw any of her stories made into a movie, never won a major award, but she wrote what she wanted to write, and she relished the company of fellow artists.

Though Luana was many things to many people, in my mind, she will always be first and foremost a writer. As will Maya. On our last day on earth, what will matter most is not whether we achieved fame or success, but whether we lived our art. And both of those amazing women did just that.

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You Have to Own Your Art

Is it really this simple? You announce to the world you are an artist, a dancer, a singer, and, voila, you are. Yes and no. I was both terrified and exhilarated when I quit my low-paying job 22 years ago to become a writer. I didn’t tell many people at first. I had to figure out what to call myself. Back then, I was writing articles for newspapers and magazines, while also working on my fiction. So, I told people I was a freelance writer. It sounded more like a real job, and less like a lofty dream.

In time, my children were born and my writing workload decreased. Then I told everyone I was a stay-at-home mom who “did some writing on the side,” as if it were a hobby, not my life’s ambition. After a while, in addition to articles, I started getting some literary work published, and now, truly, I could call myself a writer. But I didn’t. Not for a while.

Finally, I decided if I was ever going to see myself as a writer, I needed to own the title. A doctor doesn’t say, “I dabble in medicine.” A teacher doesn’t say, “I spend part of my day helping kids.” So one day someone asked me what I did for a living. I took a deep breath and stuttered, “I’m a writer . . . but also a stay-at-home mom.” Well, it was a step in the right direction.

If you want to succeed in the arts or entrepreneurship, you have to own your calling. You have to declare to the world that this is who you are and this is your work, not a distraction. You need to seek out the company of fellow artists who call themselves artists and count yourself among them. Create a business card. Put up a website. Teach your friends and family to respect your “work” hours by not calling or texting during those times.

As artists, our paths are constantly changing direction. Every time you start a new project, or introduce a new product, or add a new title to your resume, push your doubts aside and announce your intentions to the universe. We are what we say we are, after all.

 

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I Know More Than I Ever Wanted to Know

Do you ever wish your brain had a “delete” button?  That there was some way to dismiss all the clutter that seems so necessary for getting ahead in today’s world and just start over? I—a liberal arts major who fantasized about writing all day—now know more than I ever wanted to know about how to run a business.

My head is bursting with information about everything from taxes to technology. I know how to pin and tweet and share. I can tell you how to light a video and where to place the mic. I’ve read dozens of books on how to blog, how to speak, how to market, how to sell. I wish I didn’t need to know about SEO or DPI or LLCs. I’m not sure I can handle yet another update to my phone or my network or my computer. And I’d give money to go just one week without hearing about the newest app I simply must install.

I’m getting better at texting, and I can now remember which of our six remote controls goes with which device. I finally understand how the server works and what the router does and where the back-up lives. I know ten times more than I’d like to know about accounting and one hundred times more than I’d like to know about the back end of my website. I know how to create a business plan, but I still hate doing it. I know just enough to get by in Excel and PowerPoint, and on WordPress and YouTube, but I still can’t figure out how to get my MailChimp templates to behave.

My brain hurts from reading countless articles, my eyes burn from scouring the Internet, my fingers cramp from typing hundreds of e-mails a day. No more do I dream about long days of writing. Now I long for five minutes. I fantasize about a full day tucked under the covers reading a good old-fashioned book. I pray that the world will just slow down long enough to let me catch up, and that my brain won’t start dumping important data, like the names of my children, to make room for the steps for how to convert my books to the latest e-book format.

And with that, I’m shutting down for the night.

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A Little Mystery Goes a Long Way

When I was a teen, I was a huge fan of Gone with the Wind. I could tell you anything you wanted to know about the book or movie. I loved having all that inside knowledge until the day I came across an interview with Vivien Leigh, who played Scarlett. She commented that she hated kissing Clark Gable because he had bad breath, and that he was so short he had to stand on a box in some of their love scenes. Now all those romantic posters I had in my room of Rhett and Scarlett wrapped in warm embrace were ruined for me. Is it possible that sometimes we know a little too much about the artists we love?

In this day of Facebook and Twitter and Instagram and 24-hour television and nonstop internet reporting, we know what our favorite artists had for lunch, when they last walked their dogs, what’s playing on their iPods. We also know every detail of how they created their art and why. It ruins a song for me when an artist says, “I don’t really like that song, but my producer wanted it on the album.” Or a writer states, “I’m burned out on the series, but I’ll finish the next two books as promised.” It may be true, but do your fans need to know it?

As a writer, I’ve had readers come up to me and thank me for a metaphor I never intended or read something more into a detail that was really just a detail. It’s happened to every writer I know. The historian in me, the journalist, wants to set the record straight, to tell the reader they are “wrong,” but another part of me respects the connection they made with the work, though it was not the connection I hoped for.

I’m not arguing that we should put artists on pedestals. You have every right to be honest with your fans and to express your opinions and to show your true self. We’re interested in your creative process and in your highs and lows. I’m not asking that you shelter us from your reality, but let us keep our illusions now and then. You are far more interesting for the things you don’t tell us than the things you do.

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Art Nights – Great Ideas Giveaway Series

Yesterday I attended the awards ceremony for my daughter’s speech and debate team.  They had a stellar year, and I most enjoyed watching the video, which showed talented kids working hard to win, but also creating memories as a team.

As artists we often work in isolation. As entrepreneurs, we handle every aspect of our businesses on our own. At times, I miss the camaraderie of being on a team, the satisfaction of collaboration, the ability to hand off just one decision to someone else.

I’ve always been amazed by the generosity of artists. We are quick to support each other’s work, recommend it, buy it, promote it. You’d rarely see two tire salesmen sharing leads or business opportunities or buying each other’s products, but artists do it all the time. We share our knowledge, our connections, even our methods. But we tend to associate mostly with artists who work in our own mediums. I know writers who never attend the theater, and musicians who never go to art galleries. But when you chat with an artist of any medium, you’ll be surprised how very much we have in common.

That’s why I’m sharing my newest video in my Great Ideas Giveaway series here today. It’s called Art Nights and it’s born of my firm belief that artists of all kinds need to support each other, and that when we do, we all benefit. I’m proposing here an evening of entertainment that will bring artists of different mediums together to expose their work to new audiences and to cross-promote. But it’s also an opportunity to learn from each other and to have fun in the company of fellow creatives. Best of all, at the end of the night, the artists take the house, which means they must work as a team to fill every seat.

As artists, we often need those hours of quiet contemplation, of focused study, and solitary effort, but we also benefit from connections with like-minded people and the energy of a supportive audience. There are moments when our muses whisper in the silence of a quiet room, and times when they prefer to shout above the roar of a crowd.

To bring Arts Nights to your community, watch the video below. A downloadable PDF will also be available soon on my website.

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Art Amidst the Tumbleweeds

Just returned from a school visit with my good friend and fellow author Natasha Wing. We drove nearly four hours through sagebrush and tumbleweeds to reach the small town of Eads, Colorado, where we were greeted with much fanfare. The children and the art teacher had made posters and hung them throughout the school and in the local post office. The kids had also prepared gifts for us and eagerly ordered our books in advance.

When I was conducting a writing workshop with the 6-8 graders, I asked, as I always do, who among them liked to read. To my surprise, every hand in the room shot up. When I asked about their favorite books, they didn’t quote the usual titles, Harry Potter or The Hunger Games, they named books even I had never heard of. When I asked how they found those books, they pointed to their English teacher.

Later, I asked the third grade teacher how it was that so many of the students had come to love reading. She smiled and said, “Well, there’s not much to do around here.” But it was more than that. Though the teachers at Eads Elementary are saddled with the same time constraints as teachers all across the country, Mrs. Gifford told me she finds time to read to the kids every day and to help them select books to take home. The school has built a culture around reading.

Those of us who live in cities sometimes, shamefully, make fun of small town living, and those of us who work in the arts often feel sorry for country kids because they don’t have as much access to concerts and live theater, etc. But these kids were not just observing art, they were creating it. Maybe the key for all of us, everywhere, is to construct an environment that supports creativity in our children. We can set aside a certain hour every day that is technology free and give our kids the chance to inquire, and create, and imagine. Instead of overcommitting them to every sport or activity in town, we can make sure there is at least one afternoon each week for them to just be kids.

Because truly, most of the time, a love for the arts and innovation starts with a bored kid who amuses himself by creating something new. And from that, a lifetime of exploration begins.

 

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