Important Questions

Wednesday, October 14, 2015

Today I am grateful for important questions. Here is the one I heard on a wonderful documentary, “Packed in a Trunk: The Lost Art of Edith Lake Wilkenson”, which I had recorded a long time ago and only recently found the time to watch. It was a brilliant film about an artist from the early 1900’s. Her grand-niece, Jane, produced it after a relative found tons of Edith’s paintings packed away in an attic trunk. Far into the film this question was posed. . .

“Is art only valuable if it’s sold?”

I leave that question standing alone because it deserves much consideration. When someone uses the word “art” in this context, I take it to include any and all forms of artistic expression. That means sewing, painting, sculpting, music, photography, crafts, home design, you name it, it is included. And writing. . .which is the nearest to my heart.

I write every single day. Even if I’m sick and don’t feel I have the brain cells to post anything worthy, I still write. If I’m not near a computer, I’m writing in my head. If I get an idea in the car, I jot one word down on a tablet I keep there, to jog my memory when the time is right. I am never at a loss for an idea, even though much of what I write is nonsense. I happen to like nonsense. These days the world is running on nonsense. . .serious nonsense. . .but nonsense is what most of it is.

For as much as I write. . . I have sold very little. Oh boy, poor me. Here comes the pathetic plea for pity. Not so. Actually I have not even tried very hard to sell much. Selling is much different than writing and I happen to like the writing part so much I don’t want selling to get me off track from it. You still with me?

Not a day goes by where someone who reads my work doesn’t say to me, “You should have a book,” or “When I read your stuff I think it should be a syndicated column,” or “I can’t start my day without reading what’s new with you.” All huge compliments and I am humbled by those who find that my silly little missives touch them.

I am not making much (any) money with my writing. We could sure use the money. Each and every time I tell my mom that something will be published, or I share a story that was particularly popular, she asks, “What did you get paid for it?” Cash, US dollars are her determination of what is valuable. That measuring stick is imbedded in the culture of her youth. Nothing will ever change it and that’s okay. It’s just not me.

I don’t get paid in dollars, but I get paid. I bet you get paid for some of the things you love to do, too. And I bet it’s not in anything that shows up on your W2 form either. Does that make it less valuable? Not to me. And it shouldn’t to you.

I take a huge risk every time I post something that I’ve written to my blog and/or Facebook. Once the words are out there, they are out there. I will be plagiarized. If I haven’t been already, it’s only a matter of time. Someone is going to use my words and get actually money for my very own brilliance. That’s wrong. It’s also inevitable.

But also inevitable is that I am not going to stop “giving it away”. Quitting is no long an option I explore. Why? Because I’m happy doing it. . .and that’s everything.

A fact which many of you might not realize, is that almost all contests and even newspapers will not publish anything that has already been published. On-line counts. Yet those same publishers indicate that unless you have an on-line presence you have no hope of publishing something that gets you paid. Talk about a dichotomy. I spill my guts every day. There are only so many stories in my head. To regurgitate them and then be expected to regurgitate more seems phony. I am anything but phony!

When I was in my late 30’s and early 40’s I used to make this statement. “I just want to make a difference.” Bingo! I have. In my small, not-measure-by-cash-way, I know I’ve made a difference for some of you. I know that some of you have picked up paint brushes; or volunteered at something you never thought you would; or take more pictures of things that move you; or looked at the sky with a new appreciation; or stepped in to assist a stranger even though it’s totally out of your character; or just listened openly to a discussion that went against everything you believe. I know this. Because you tell me. Because you now know me. . . and that was the second part of my “make a difference” dream. To be known. And it pays me big time! Every day.

Will financial success from writing come my way? Maybe. I hope so. . .sort of. But not if it means I have to lose the voice I’ve struggled so hard to find. I’d rather be poor with my own words, than rich without them. They matter. Art matters. Ask yourself, ask your family, ask your friends, ask strangers and let me know what they tell you.

”Is art only valuable if it’s sold?”

-/$