The only reason I did not stop reading and throw this book across the room in frustration is that I was listening (ha!) to the audiobook and didn't want to damage the iPad.
I loved The Artist's Way and Vein of Gold, y'all. Like, I've done morning pages nearly every morning since 1998. Twenty five years. And I've never regretted it. Cameron really hit on something with this core set of routines for creatives, and I don't see myself stopping the system any time soon.
That said, I've kind of stopped reading Cameron's books, largely because it's felt a little like she's been beating a not-quite-dead-but-on-its-way-out horse. TAW at work, TAW for people, TAW for small angry dogs or something. After the third or fourth reading of essentially the same book, I kind of gave up, and decided to just keep what worked for me (the original) and let the rest go. I don't need to read every book.
But when I saw that this was "the creative art of attention", and looked briefly at the synopsis, it looked like this was going to be a different book for a change, and I was all down with that. Managing my attention's kind of an ongoing battle with herding a bunch of overcaffeinated raccoons, often set to circus music...and I can definitely use help in a creative way for creative things. I picked it up.
Y'all. Y'ALL.
It started like all her books start. (Or all that I've seen.). She spends a significant chunk of time extolling the virtues of her TAW tools. I think there were either four chapters or four long sections of the same chapter about each. individual. tool. Which, if you've ever read a Cameron book before this, you've already read. Probably to the point of exhaustion. But I get it: if there's a newb who picks up the book, having the most basic tools is important. So I can forgive the fact that like 1/4 of the book is just a rehashing of a rehashing of a rehashing ad nauseum.
But it just spirals, y'all. The first chapter has a lot about listening to your friends, with some relatively decent tips on active listening skills. It starts to get a little name-droppy right away (everything is "my friend XYZ, the famous and talented actress" or "my friend ABC, the award winning playwrite and poet". One starts to believe that Cameron's holiday card list is like a who's-who of all the "right" people.), but there really was some decent info, so...fine. We can overlook the social climbing/look-how-relevant-I-am-because-of-my-tribe stuff.
But when I say spirals, I mean *spirals*. The name dropping intensifies. There are stories about phone lines and windstorms and four million stories about her dog, Lily. (And if they weren't all just either random or made to, I guess, make some kind of unclear point, I'd be down for that. Give me all the dog stories.)
And then, the Jesus came. Need I say more?
Which, okay, fine...I'm cool with people who have a strong faith in whatever it is they believe. They seem to be nice and grounded sometimes (and total zealot-esque whackaloons sometimes, but...benefit of the doubt).
But the DEAD PEOPLE CAME.
No. Really. There's an entire chapter about how you should talk to dead people. Not just people you knew before they expired, either. But famous people. People who are...er....*were* your heroes. Reaching "beyond the veil", because those people will always talk to you and give you advice.
( deep breaths)
Let's break this down a little.
1. Cameron claims to have direct spiritual phone line access to, among others, the dude who started AA (who was, apparently, a big spiritual medium, himself), and Carl Jung. Yes, THAT Carl Jung.
2. Oddly enough, these "messages" from these dead people sound a whole lot like Cameron. And, of course, they always agree with her and every action she's taking, because she is talking to herself. This is not an objective source of guidance. This is borderline schizophrenia. (With all apologies to schizophrenics, who have to deal with spiritual white ladies making their lives even harder.)
3. Apparently, everyone, from all of time and space, is just waiting to talk to you, in specific, and are spending their entire afterlives just sitting in some kind of green room in case you need validation for whatever stupid book you're writing next. It's arrogant. Even if you overlook how unhinged it is, to think that EVERYONE is at your beck and call now that they're dead is...deeply egotistical. There are a ton of people I have no interest in talking with now, while I'm still breathing; there's no way I'm gonna come a'runnin' if they call me after I've shuffled off this mortal coil. They have no right to just expect my time and attention.
4. None of 3 really matters because it's literal bullshit.
She ends this wild ride with a story of how she's gassing her dog to keep it from barking. Normally, this would be enough for me to go all one-star self-righteous, but frankly, I'm so exhausted by the rest of this thing that the dog-poisoning isn't even in the top ten things I hated about this book.
And that's saying something.