Critical Hindsight

The blog world is strange. I feel I have to dig up interesting stuff and try to sell stuff and I feel I’m blogworshipping some Google God, trying to get as many hits as possible. Boo on me. It’s an exhausting endeavor. I used to just write what I wanted to write, when I was a teenager, and it came out all moody and indie and I tried to reference David Bowie in every paragraph, trying to prove to my peers that I am actually cool on the inside. But I look back on that old me and find her cute, just like the Bush supporters were cute, just as the highway and parking lot builders were so cute, thinking cars were our futures. Cute. None of these people could help it, including me.

Alexis Bledel’s going to be in a movie (probably cliche, probably a flop, but she’s SO CUTE!) about being a graduate and moving back home and not finding a job. WOW. That sounds familiar! It is incredibly difficult to stay motivated and to keep growing up when I live in the house I was born in. And I’m the youngest. Let me spill about my novel, too. I look back on what I’ve written and cringe at my dialogue. Oooo it’s bad. It sounds so natural in my head but on paper it’s like a Star Wars movie. Or Gran Torino. Anyone else notice how rotten the dialogue in that movie is? And the blatant Christ figure scene??? SO blatant, Clint. Clint have mercy. Anyway, I hope my mind can pull this novel through about 200 pages. I really hope it turns out good. And I hope it’s not the only one I’ll ever write.

Do you think good and evil actually exist? Actions that seem good at the time end up doing harm usually. But there has to be some sort of good. Art must be good. Sure, novels have come out and sparked entire movements of thought, but I can’t label any of those movements good or bad. The Modernist movement made some ugly buildings but it also produced some sweet design and it was direly needed after that opulent era. We will always look back at our personal past and criticize. We will always look back at our nation’s history and criticize. But who could have helped it? No one could have stopped the Industrial revolution from polluting our cities, even if we had known.No one could have stopped me from hating the world in high school. (That’s what breaks my heart about unhappy teens. They’re forced to be miserable by a bad upbringing until they can learn to be happy on their own. That needed self-awareness doesn’t kick in quickly enough.) There is only this moment; we can only do what we can.

I do know pain and joy exist. The latter is hard to recognize. I’m trying to connect with it more.

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