Dear Rilke,
Like god, I do not play with dice nor believe in coincidence
There’s a funny emotion that overtakes me whenever I take a writing class. To preface, I try and conquer my fears lest they conquer me. But in taking a writing class, there’s this inherent quality called criticism. No, not all criticism is bad. In fact, criticism has its place. In order to perfect, one needs criticism. But then there’s the added stress of maintaining my voice. I’m very particular about my voice. Like god, I do not play with dice nor believe in coincidence. Call it a god complex, if you will. But in writing or speaking, I’m very precise in what I say and when I speak or write I’ve given it thought already before it pours out of my mouth or fingertips. This precision has become known among my friends as ‘The Patty Pause,’ because unless I’m drunk there’s a perceptible pause before I respond to someone.
This could somehow be related to the way I’m very particular about eating my food, in that I’ll start with one dish eat half of it, then eat the remaining dishes before finishing up the last half or third of the main dish. Unless I’ve been starving myself, and usually the particulars go out the window. Libra has commented on my eating habits several times, and it kind of makes me self conscious but I’m digressing.
I know criticism is critical to perfecting any art form, and yet it terrifies me. Rejection, I can handle. That’s an emotional and physical response without much thought. Criticism, however, is the cerebral validation of rejection.
To gain freedom of insight and action in a more remote context, often at the price of ineptitude in an immediate one, is a definition of genius. – Roberto M. Unger
This goes back to my previous letter about how I view life as though I’m doing a very intricate dance that constantly changes the beat, sometimes following the music and sometimes off spinning in my own little world. My mother has commented that I will do what I want to do; most of the times with regard to others but sometimes not. And I’ve realized in hindsight the pain this can cause.
To punish me for my contempt of authority, Fate has made me an authority myself. – Albert Einstein
I remember my second attempt at restarting my education career back in the fall of 2007, when we began discussing New Criticism in one class and the idea of genius in another class. God how I love Comparative Literature because the two seemed to work in tangent. But I digress. In New criticism, they judge solely on the text instead of outside sources. Alternately, in the other class we were attempting to define what or who is a genius and in the process of discussion I argued everyone has the potential for some form of genius within. The teacher disagreed. Payment was late on the classes and I never really bothered to return. Blame it on my contempt of authority. I also got into an arugment with the Moon about the merits of New Criticism, and was personally offended when he said he believed in new criticism, but that’s another post.
As a writer, artist, creator, etc, I can’t fully dismiss outside sources. My dad asked me to read a passage in the Bible last fall, and I asked him why. Not because I didn’t intend on reading it or commenting on it, but I wanted to know his own personal opinions going into it and what he thought so I could compare my own reaction to his comments and discuss with him instead of having a discourse on “yes that passage really helped and resonated.” So perhaps I am a critic.
When I read a play or book, knowing what went into making it makes it more credible, for me. I realize the paradox here in criticising criticism, but I like to think of it as catharsis that enables me to create, by acknowledging critics will exist but like G/g-od(s) I do not play with dice nor believe in coincidence. I am particular in what I do, and recognize and respect the works of other artists. Amy and I described Comparative Literature teachers, in some vein, as judging students in Comp Lit classes based in a large part on their own personal level, and not compared to other students in the class. All of us are/were in there for different reasons.
In a peculiar sense he will be aware also that he must inevitably be judged by the standards of the past. I say judged, not amputated, by them; not judged to be as good as, or worse or better than, the dead; and certainly not judged by the canons of dead critics. It is a judgment, a comparison, in which two things are measured by each other. – T. S. Eliot “Tradition and the Individual Talent (1910)“
The Three Fates, attributed to Jacob Matham. Print, Engraving, 33.81 cm in diameter. Collection of the Los Angeles County Museum of Art.
My regard for Eliot has somewhat diminished upon finding out he’s considered a founder of New Criticism, but was tempered by discovering this statement he made. And it ties into Einstein’s quote about how when one has contempt for authority, the Fates and Lady Fortuna exact more responsibility on one. When I criticize and judge myself, I don’t compare myself to my contemporaries, but judge myself based on past examples I’m attempting to emulate. The very fact of creation is making it new in the same vein no two twins are alike nor have the same experience. Perhaps that’s why the phrase make it new always irritated me. I love you Pound, but your words still continue to haunt and irk me.
At any rate, in undertaking this class on dramatic writing I’ll be exposing my writing voice, which I’ve been cultivating since age 5, to criticism and feedback. Necessary to grow and evolve as an artist and auteur. I just have to remember to take it with a grain of salt, I suppose; treating the criticism as ‘what I’m communicating isn’t coming across how I want it to be perceived.’ Which is probably the aim of any criticism. Positive criticism, that is.
And if you care to read this as well, an article by Dana Levin in APR about ‘making it new’
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