E-relevant

I'm a writer -- er, not just a blogger, but I like write stories and sometimes poems or attempted plays things sometimes. I know what you're saying: "So the feck what, CAS? You're a writer. Big deal. What's that mean in 2006?"

Yeah, it pretty much means I'm irrelevant. My fiction produces no revenue for anyone. Periodically my nonfiction does; I can slam out a pretty good article on some basic science or technology from time to time. But that's not me. I sit around mooning about people who don't exist, and periodically I get into this warped little trance where I have to perch over the keyboard and tell the Ether about it. This is, I'm convinced, a barely controlled form of obsessive-compulsive disorder -- the kind that's channeled into a harmless behavior that doesn't interfere all that much with your ability to function as a semicontributing member of society. These numerous strings of alphanumeric characters that result, what happens to them?

Well, they become bits & bytes, of course, stored on my hard drive. And as such, they are just slightly more real than when they were floating around in my head. If I'm really super lucky, some friend of mine or member of the family will take pity and scan a few lines. They'll say nice things, maybe offer a little constructive criticism, and that's about it. I might make a few changes as a result, and then what? Well, not much.

Don't tell me to "send it out." I have. Various things have gone and come back again from time to time. Sometimes with kind or encouraging words, sometimes with a Xeroxed formletter, sometimes nothing at all. But here's the point, folks: Why even bother? What would happen if the answer was "Gee, thanx for sending that! We love it! We'd like to turn it into a product!" OK, so now you've got ink on paper -- or maybe just more bits & bytes intended to glow on someone's screen. And for me, what? A hundred bucks, maybe? Periodic royalties measured in cents rather than dollars? Yippee. Let's celebrate. I could make more on an assembly line.

'Cuz nice little stories, my friends, ain't worth $hit in 2006. Nor are not-nice big ones. This is the day and age of reality television (cut out the writing staff, more credit and profit for the producers!), manufactured pop music, and movies like "Date Movie" and "The Wedding Crashers." In other words, ladies and gents, crap. The world doesn't want your little story, it doesn't care what you think or have to say; it only cares what you look like, how much money you have, and who you're sleeping with. Especially if you'll go on TV and tell all the juicy details. Or better yet -- set up a webcam in your bedroom and invite all of Big Brother's little brothers and sisters into your home!

Admittedly oversimplified. After all, the occasional worthwhile piece of art does catch the attention of the masses. For, what? A week? A month at best? It's just a product. There are new ones coming out all the time. That's the deal, see? Even if your nice little or not-nice big story becomes a huge freakin' hit -- a phenomenon even -- it hasn't done a damn thing. Two years later they'll be saying the latest steaming pile of crap to come oozing out of 50-Cent's ass is so very much better. Remember "The Matrix," folks? Do ya'? What kind of references do people make about it now?

Irrelevant, see? All of it. Your painting, my novel, Jimmy's short story, Kelly's little song, Freddy's blog, and even Mikey's latest film... None of it changes anything -- the days of artists affecting the hearts and minds of the public are long gone. At its best, at the pinnacle of its success, art is nothing but a product. Why don't we just make shoe trees or grow plums? This is what I'm wondering today. Why don't I trash the lot of it and just take up gardening?

But maybe that's just the writers' block talking.

--CAS
(looking for a house in Lane County)