Of course, the Wild does get free eventually. When it does, it sets to work swallowing vast chunks of Massachusetts and turning them to story; adventures ensue; and it’s up to Julie, who understands fairy tales better than most, to set things right again. If you’ve ever secretly suspected fairy tales are evil, this book will pretty much confirm that view. 🙂 I also personally think it deserves a nomination for Best Use of the Massachusetts National Guard in a Work of Fiction, but that may just be me. =-=-=-=-=
I’m currently partway through Art & Fear: Observations on the Perils (and Rewards) of Artmaking, by David Bayles and Ted Orland, and finding something I want to quote here pretty much every page. Here’s one bit from today that struck something of a chord:
Admittedly, artmaking probably does require something special, but just what that something is has remained remarkably elusive–elusive enough to suggest it may be something particular to each artist, rather than universal to them all. (Or even, perhaps, that it’s all nothing more than the art world’s variation on The Emperor’s New Suit of Clothes.) But the important point here is not that you have–or don’t have–what other artists have, but rather that it doesn’t matter. Whatever they have is something they need to do their work–it wouldn’t help you in your work even if you had it. Their magic is theirs. You don’t lack it. You don’t need it. It has nothing to do with you. Period.The belief that “real” art possesses some indefinable magic ingredient puts pressure on you to prove your work contains the same. Wrong, very wrong. Asking your work to prove anything only invites doom. Besides, if artists share any common view of magic, it is probably the fatalistic suspicion that when they’re own art turns out well, it’s a fluke–but when it turns out poorly, it’s an omen. Buying into magic leaves you feeling less capable each time another artist’s qualities are praised …