Listen to yourself…

I’ve seen too many entries lately from people who consider themselves in the "literary community" either talking about trying not to use, or asking themselves, with a seriousness that I have a hard time believing is not feigned, if they use too many metaphors, too much flowery language, too much description, too much poetry within their prose, etc., and declaring that those things are considered by the modern literary community to be mistakes every writer should avoid.  This perplexes me immensely.  How is that different from saying that no one should wear white shoes after Labor Day or mix primary colors in an outfit or wear pastels in winter or that shopping at a department store or discount store is vulgar?  You get the idea…my comparison of these silly literary rules to dumb fashion rules.  These are merely literary style trends and edicts declared and spread by people who lack creativity and the ability to form their own thoughts.  Anyone who pointedly adheres to them because of what the literary world currently advises is no artist.
 
In my opinion, anyone who listens to any other voice above their own, if not for a mere job in order to get paid, is absolutely not an artist.  This is not to say that no one should listen to constructive criticism, only that an artist decides for oneself what is valuable or rubbish to their work, endeavors, and overall worldview, instead of just blindly following the masses or their peers.  
 
What makes a person’s writing great is not that they successfully avoided focusing on too many details, using too many metaphors or poetic devices, or conversely, not that they avoided minimalism or dryness in style or a linear plot structure;  what makes a piece of writing outstanding is it having an original voice.  It being not like everything else out there, but something that conveys the unique perspective of the writer, and what he or she is uniquely capable of.
 
It is for this brand of pretentiousness and dominant fearful idiocy that I have never, since my early twenties, felt any inclination whatsoever to be a part of any writer’s group, poetry circle, book club, or literary association of any kind.  I normally despise most of the people in them and their attitudes, not all of them, and of course, not most of the people in every one of those groups, as that would be against the logic of probability, but most people in most of those groups.  If you are a writer whose work I enjoy, and you happen to be in one of those groups, that will not change my opinion of you or your writing.  To each his own.  There can be true individuals within groups.
 
But for the most part, I like irreverent lone riders, painstaking lyricists, mad scientists, rocketeers into the unseen horizons of mind or anything.  And random voyeuristic passers-by with an eye for true beauty, an ability to judge autonomously.

 

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