Everyone’s a Critic…but that Doesn’t Mean You Should Listen

So I’ve taken a sidetrack from the manuscript to do some more work on the charity anthology (that is, in fact, still in the works). It made me think a bit about critiques and what they mean to a writer/artist (for the purposes of brevity, I’m going to be long-winded for a moment and say that for the rest of this post I’m going to just refer to all writers and artists as “artist”).

They say everyone’s a critic–and they’re right. No two people are going to agree 100% on the style of any piece of art, whatever the medium. But some criticisms are useful. So how do you tell which criticisms to take to heart and which ones to ignore?

In my opinion, the artist is the ultimate decision maker on their art, regardless of what others say. As an artist, you are the creator. You are God. But even a god can make mistakes, and therein lies the rub. You have to be open to acknowledging those mistakes and making changes based on the critiques you receive.

Take your time when giving and receiving critiques. As a critic, try to put yourself in the mindset of the artist. What are they trying to say? Is that sentence fragment on purpose? Is that swipe of the brush an accident or a happy little tree? As an artist, think long and hard about what the critic is saying. Do you really need to rephrase that fragment? Should you make that brush stroke into a happy little tree?

It’s all subjective, of course. Well, not grammar…that’s objective. Except when it’s subjective. Savvy?

Critiques are that simple, and they’re that complex.

Here I Sit

Here I sit, in the dark

Trying hard to find my art

I sit and stare and try to think

But all I do is blink and blink

Here I sit, by myself

No hand to hold, no one to help

I try to wake from languid dream

Inside my heart it tries to scream

Here I sit, mind gone cold

No inspiration will take hold

I yawn, I stretch, I blow my nose

Still the emptiness takes hold

Here I sit, in the dark

No piece of mind, no warmth of heart

Throwback Thursday: Hostage in My Head

I don’t always post a Throwback Thursday, but when I do it’s usually art or poetry. Today, I’ve chosen one of my favorites out of the poems that I’ve written. It, along with other poems of mine, can be found in Kamikaze Butterflies on Amazon Kindle and in paperback on Amazon or Createspace. http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00PRGB1IM?*Version*=1&*entries*=0

Trapped alone

Awash in a sea of terror

No escape from my own deranged thoughts

Impossible futures scroll through my mind

Over and over on a continuous loop

My mental movie screen glows

As the macabre fantasy plays unbidden

Death and disaster overtake reality

Can’t focus on the here and now

When the “might be” looms on the horizon

Against my will my death plays out again

For the hundredth time this hour

I watch my lifeless form slide to the ground

Shot in the convenience store

Pulled from the mangled wreck

Coded mysteriously at work

At the sight of my imagined death

My heart rate soars and pounds

There’s nothing beautiful and delicate

About the kamikaze butterflies in my chest

Every single nerve

Teeters on the edge of a precipitous drop

With a nightmare at the bottom

Just one nudge

One little push

And everything will come crashing down

I tiptoe on the inside

Walking the fine line between sanity and oblivion

Pacing the padded room within my skull

Inside I scream for a reprieve, for escape

Even for sweet, sweet nothingness

But my calls go unheeded

The nightmare begins anew

I am my own personal terrorist

And I am the hostage

 

Inadequate

I see those around me

So successful, so confident

With interesting stories and interesting lives

I see their triumphs and their accolades

They rise up

And I stay stagnant

Nothing new, nothing remarkable

Just me

Safe, boring me

Where is my life going?

What am I doing that is special?

Even my accomplishments are trivial

The few things I can name as my own

So small, so insignificant

A tiny speck of space dust

In a universe of stars

Double Crossed

Now I go to raise my head

My body slept as though t’were dead

And though I try to open eyes

My lids are heavy, cannot pry

When opened how they twist and turn

For more sleep my body yearns

My vision goes from sharp to black

As eyes roll to the sides and back

I slept the night, I know not why

With each blink I cross my eyes

To the Sky

In honor of All Hallow’s Eve, I’m going to post a poem from my book Kamikaze Butterflies entitled “To the Sky.” Happy Halloween, and enjoy!

To the Sky

As we’re born, then so we die;

Sky to Earth, Earth to Sky.

They watch us well, the Lord and Lady

Through summer bright and winter shady.

But time then comes for us to leave

And for our hearts our friends to grieve.

Though thoughts of dead bring pain so deep,

Our memories we hold and keep.

Of times of happiness and regret

And things that haven’t happened yet.

Of chances missed to say good-bye;

All these cause tear-swell in our eye.

But remember this and take good care—

The dead surround you, everywhere.

Fragile bodies die so swift

But this one thought can you uplift:

The Spirit’s everlasting life

Will comfort you in times of strife.

No one ever truly dies.

We simply go back to the Sky.