Mister Wizard, Get Me Out of Here
Do people everywhere say they covet prayers?
I have heard a thousand people say that they coveted my prayers, or the prayers of everyone. I’m glad there’s nothing in the Bible against coveting your neighbor’s prayers, because man would we need a lot of repentance in the south.
Do not be deceived, people of the listening audience; this post is all about the craft of writing (or singing, clogging, etc.) and not about prayer coveting. But is there a parallel in the world of writing? Let’s force one through, shall we?
You shall not covet your neighbor’s writing? OK. Let’s go with that, I guess.
I usually chafe a little beneath the bridle of our popular culture’s religion of selfish rebellion, with all its focus on originality and uniquity. Uniquity is defined (by me -because I think I just invented it –original!) as a sinful preoccupation with your own uniqueness. Witness the fad of denying the sufficiency and inerrancy of the Scriptures and the rush to express and encourage private, personal, non-binding, accommodating, and feckless meanings (which just happen to be fashionable).
But it can also be a humble approach to aim to express your own gifts. If we see them as that –gifts- then we should not be tempted to take too much credit for them. Nor will we be too surprised when the way we express ourselves as writers (or painters, or banjo pickers) is different from others. Maybe we’ll also be better prepared for criticism. Bonus.
Imitation, they say, is the highest form of flattery and I’m sure there are cases when it’s appropriate. But if you are a gifted writer, then be yourself. We do not need another C.S. Lewis. If we did, he would still be here. But we might need you.
Clones are boring.
In my youth (and adulthood as well) my wise father frequently quoted from that great fount of philosophical wonder –the Tooter the Turtle cartoon. In this show’s conclusion Mister Wizard would invariably remind young Tooter that his desire to be someone else (a knight, a baseball star, etc.) was misplaced. He argued for contentment, and his exhortation to use your own gifts and be your own self is folk wisdom in a grand, glorious gulp.
“Always, always I tell you, Tootor. Be just what you is, not what you is not. Folks what do this has the happiest lot.”
Sounds good to me. Now, about actually doing it…
A.S. Peterson has crafted a work of compelling historical fiction which begs the question, “Can this really be a debut novel?” With dogged fidelity, Peterson captures the spirit, manners, and social conditions present during the American Revolutionary War. We meet colorful, credible characters who navigate the high seas of life and love, dependence and independence, war and peace, truth and consequence, and despite forays into dark places, The Fiddler’s Gun is beautiful, lyrical, and redemptive.
Walt Wangerin, Jr. strikes again.
Janner Igiby lives in Glipwood, a nothing little village in the land of Skree, on the edge of the Dark Sea of Darkness. Manhood is on the horizon, but Janner finds it hard to feel much hope for the future. Skree is ruled by foreign oppressors, snake men called the Fangs of Dang, servants of a shadowy emperor named Gnag the Nameless. The Skreeans are weak and weaponless. They’re even tool-less. Any Skreean who needs to use a hoe has to borrow one from the Fangs (and fill out the requisite paperwork). And from time to time, the Black Carriage arrives in Glipwood to carry young Skreeans toward an unknown fate across the Dark Sea.
I am not a fan of Civil War literature; in fact, I have always thought of it as one of those weird sub-genres for obsessive types. They’re almost like Trekkies with their re-enactments and maniacal devotion to detail. It’s just not my thing (although I’m secretly jealous that they get to dress up and shoot cannons).
A Randall Goodgame song is like a great independent movie. Characters deliver lines like they were lifted from a break room, a truck stop, or a downtown diner. Seemingly incongruent scenes are juxtaposed and plot isn’t obvious; in fact, narrative–a good story–is often more evident than linear plot lines. An indie movie, like a Randall Goodgame song, seems to tell itself. Rather than being rudely yanked by a chain through a sequence of contrived events, with a Randall Goodgame song, I have the sense that I’m being allowed a willing, but vicarious sneak peak into the real lives of his real characters.
Sara Groves irritates me just a little bit. With each album she makes, she moves from strength to strength and is always raising the bar with the quality, depth, and lyrical ambition of her work. And as a fellow artist, that’s just a little irritating since it means the rest of us are going to have to work harder if we hope to keep up.
I am outside on my front porch. The yellowed leaves are methodically falling from the black walnut in the yard, my breath is chalky visible in the recent cold snap, and lately I have been exploring the unpleasant nuances of the dark night of a soul - my own, to be exact. It is a strange passion we live out on this over-glorified orb of rock hurtling through space at some rate that I’m sure would astound me were I to know what it was. It is an odd series of days, I am realizing, when you question your own faith more than you question your own doubt. And, indeed, it is these nagging questions which have prompted me to share my thoughts on Andrew Peterson’s 2003 album, Love and Thunder.
11-year old Reuben Land, a character in the 2001 book Peace Like a River, provides narration that is clear-eyed and insightful, yet retains the magic, wonder, and innocence of youth. I found it easy to entrust my imagination to the author’s clever method of telling the story through the sensibilities of a pre-teen boy. An author with lesser skill would have either made the boy too smart-alecky for his own good or impossibly cute.
I just finished a book that upon closing it, I felt like it finished me in a sense. A quiet meditative book that reached down and stirred the deep waters in me. It’s Marilynne Robinson’s 2005 Pulitzer prize winner Gilead, given to me by my friend Andrew Peterson.
Eric Peters’s body of work addresses a diverse range of topics, but hope is a recurring theme that gently percolates in the midst of it all. And yet, somewhere between the 2001 masterpiece Land of the Living, and Scarce, the flavor of hope that Peters’s work emits has evolved closer to a tone that is more resolute than what came before. And though the complexion of hope has a broad range, the lyrics from Scarce–while intermittently contrite and timorous as in previous efforts, are now strengthened and bolstered by roots that have grown deeper, radiating an underlying grit and security.
Having read The Great Divorce many times over the years, I’ve found this classic from the great C.S. Lewis to be full of startling clarity and depth on the differences between Heaven and Hell. The only thing both have in common is that both begin in the human will; we can either let Heaven enter us and rule in us to blossom into love and goodness, or allow Hell to infect and reign in our hearts by the daily refusal to submit to Heaven.
Even if you haven’t heard Room to Breathe, its still likely you’ve heard Andy Gullahorn. He’s what I’d call a heavy lifter by trade. He writes lyrics, plays guitar, arranges vocals and adds production help to the work of artists like Jill Phillips and Andrew Peterson.
Allow me to preface this by telling you that I am a great despiser of gushing reviews. I’d much rather write (or read) a scathing dismemberment of the latest Brett Ratner film or Terry Goodkind book than suffer through four hundred words of overblown hyperbole about even the best of things. But when asked to write some thoughts on Frederick Buechner’s Godric, no amount of distaste for high praise was able to intervene. I hope you’ll take what I say with the understanding that I do not say it readily or lightly.
This post has generated random thoughts in my brain. The first is that scene in The Incredibles where Elastigirl says to Dash that everyone is special, and he replies something to the effect that that’s “another way of saying that no one is.” The second is Andy G’s Original Cliche song. I think both of these thoughts were generated by the sinful definition of uniquity. Am I getting your point? Or do you have more ’splaining to do? Us engineers be skillet headed sometimes.
I long for the contentment that comes with finding my own voice as a songwriter as opposed to trying to either A. Sound like whoever is popular at the moment or B. Sound like no one who has ever existed to stand out artificially. I’ve caught glimpses of that contentment, but there’s some level of “trying not to try” that starts a downward spiral of self awareness until you find yourself laying on the floor like a Tickle Me Elmo doll with low batteries. Uniquity indeed. Thanks for the encouragement to be who I is.
By the way, I used to covet prayers. I also used to covet short, well thought out comments. Not any more.
Personally, when I first started writing, I struggled a lot with two feelings: 1. that to write badly would be demeaning and embarrassing,, and 2. that for my writing to sound like someone else’s was outright failure.
The first sentiment is, of course, a subtle form of egotism and must be rejected. The second, however, is a way of reflecting S.D.’s point on uniquity (great new word!). Ultimately, copying is the only way to become great. Borrowing (not plagiarism, of course) requires humility.
In classical music’s heyday, all composers borrowed from a common pool of themes, licks, and musical ideas. Mozart is considered great because he used this pool to the greatest effect and added the most to its breadth and scope. But strictly speaking, these composers borrowed from others with an abandon that we would consider unseemly. But it allowed for artistic development in a way nothing else could.
Case in point: how many children have started their own fantasy book with a bad Tolkien-esque opening line? How many plot twists, story arcs, characters, and even morals have been, essentially, “passed down”. Why did Stevenson, Scott, Sabatini, and the rest all have the same historical adventure framework?
So yes, copying is, in the end, something to avoid. But on the other hand, there is no other way to know how to be great than to mirror greatness.
Benjamin,
I like your assessment. As a singer, I admittedly started out trying to copy someone I admired. At that time (roughly between the ages of 13 and 21), I mostly felt very frustrated and down on myself because I’d actually aimed very high (in more ways than one) in attempting to vocally keep up with the likes of Mariah Carey. Yeah, that sounds like a really foolish thing to admit, especially coming from a former teenage hillbilly singing karaoke in her bedroom tucked away up a West Virginia holler (the only “former” status, of course, is “teenage”). And that was just the singing aspect. From a writing perspective, I wanted to be as great as the people who had written all those old tunes my dad used to sing to me. Will there ever be another “Darby’s Castle,” “Without You,” “The Twelfth Rose,” or “Six White Horses” (Waylon’s version, I mean)? Nope, there won’t be. Looking back, though, in my attempt to be Mariah and the plethora of writers it took to make up some of my favorite songs (Dolly and Kris Kristofferson being two of my most immediate inspirations), I actually managed to be them in my own way. Do I sound like Mariah? No, not by a long shot. But trying to all those years definitely taught me two things about my own voice: What it do and what it don’t do.
The thing about putting ourselves out there, I’ve learned, is that folks will always find someone who came before you to compare you to. I find it infinitely ironic that the person I’m chastised the most for “trying to sound like” had little or no influence on me when I was actually pre-occupied with trying to sound like someone else. I’m flattered by the comparison, but not by the accusation that my goal was to emulate someone. Anyway, maybe that’s another topic. My point is, human nature is to pick out things we recognize because that makes us comfortable. That’s why so many “ghost faces” are found in pictures of trees and smudgy windows. Our brain automatically sees shapes and turns them into human faces. And voila! Grandma’s backyard is haunted and has a little girl watching her 85th birthday party from the attic. Thus (I say “thus” to make this statement more like a proven scientific finding, though really, it comes from the If A = B and C = B, then A = C logic of my own conclusion drawing), people will hone in on similarities moreso than differences because if similarity = familiarity and familiarity = comfort, then similarity = comfort. Errr…What?
Forget everything I just said and remember this instead: Great post Sam.
Stacy
Heh… and here I was, congratulating myself on recognizing your title as being borrowed from The Matrix… but of course that wouldn’t be very unique.
Also, I’ve been quite confused by prayer-coveting too; eventually I just gave up, just like I gave up correcting incorrect uses of the phrase “beg the question”.
Funny how “uniquity” can apply even to those of us in the less artsy world (though here it may just be the desire not to be accused of academic theft, patent violation, and the like).
Play it again, Sam! That should really tick off the unique-ers.
Peter, I have never seen Tooter the Turtle, and so I never understood that line in the Matrix. Thanks for making that connection. Hold on…let me see…yep, that’s the very last thing I didn’t understand about the Matrix. Now I can check that box and move on.
Aaron, that’s the second time you’ve made me make that “hocking a loogy” sounding laugh noise today.
Aaron, I’ve never seen the aforementioned unfortunately-titled show either. I just figured the movie quote was a tribute to Don Herbert.
Do you think it’ll be possible — after the end and the real beginning — for us to count how many times we “knew” something that was actually an incorrect assumption? Because that just might be my top “ultimate question”, if it weren’t so darn self-centered.
Peter, I made the same incorrect assumption you did. I don’t think I want to know how many times I’ve done that. And anyway, all of my top ultimate questions deal with professional wrestling.
You guys are too young for “Tooter the Turtle”. Sam, how do you find this stuff. For years, I would use lines from that cartoon. “Help! Mr. Wizard!”
“Tooter, Tooter! Time for this one to come home!” Yes, it was a goofy little cartoon about the misadventures of Tooter Turtle. Thanks for reminder Sam.
I’m sure the rest of this post has value, but I’m stuck on memory lane.
“No one who bothers about originality will ever be original.” CS Lewis. He went on to say to just tell the truth the best you can.
I have taught banjo at bluegrass camps where people ask about being original, partly because I have evolved a distinctive banjo style. I tell them I learned what I know by copying Earl Scruggs and J.D. Crowe solos note for note, and also loving electric guitar, blues and such, people like B.B. King, Freddy King, Larry Carlton. Over time this imitation amalgamates into “originality” as it is combined with experimentation.
Cloning only really happens when we hold to a very short list of influences. There is a very distinctive and influential player in bluegrass named Tony Rice; he is so good that many have him as their sole influence. As such they may be great players, but the highest they can attain to is “They sound almost just like Tony Rice.”
When I was a kid I knew a guy who didn’t listen to music because he didn’t want his own music to be influenced by others. I knew instinctively that was a recipe for disaster.
Ron, given that progression of celebrities, I expected it to read “B.B. King, Freddy King, Larry King”.
Now THAT would be original.
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You guys have such funny and insightful comments. Thanks a bunch. I always (OK, usually) feel a bit of the “What am I doing foisting this nonsense on people, this makes no sense” pang when I put up a post.
This comment thread has done again what has happened so many times here at the RR. You guys can really turn these things into a good conversation.
Many of these posts are really lacking without the light and humor you guys bring to the table (at this public house). It would be a lot dingier place if not for the friends who pipe up with winsome words to enliven the atmosphere. You make this place a kind of community (such as can be had without face to face).
So, thank you. You are all unique, and weird. And I love that.
Okay, I too, have fond memories of Mister Wizard and Tooter growing up. But only cause I have the same father as you. This was a good post. I appreciate it.
Sam, the other day Elijah told me that he’s a weirdo. I told him no he’s not thinking maybe one of the little girls had called him that. And he said, “Oh yes I am! I’m a weirdo just like you and Daddy.” “Heck yes,” I told him. “Heck yes.”
Ron, that reminds me of an artist review page I ran across the other day on that artist’s own website. It was from several different DJ’s all concerning one single and at least every other review contained the accolade, “Sounds just like Bill Monroe.” Bill Monroe did a good Bill Monroe, that’s for sure. Funny, I can’t remember the artist’s name all those reviews were about.
Ron, it seems like I heard Harry Connick Jr. make a remark in an interview one time about how when he was writing he stopped listening to other people’s music. It didn’t make any sense to me. Of course, I’ve also heard him list his numerous musical influences.
Mr. Smith, I’m glad you overcome your “nonsense” pangs and put this stuff out here. Thanks.
Stacy:
Thanks for the visual…or do I mean audio???
Eric
The best writers read widely and constantly. And wasn’t it T.S. Eliot who said that immature poets imitate, and mature poets steal?
On a side note - this is the second time this week Tooter Turtle has popped up on my daily web readings! Andree Seu also referenced him: http://online.worldmag.com/author/andreeseu/
Mr. Smith, I am expecting a personal introduction to the world of Tooter Turtle and Mister Wizard when I’m up there in December.
“Covet your prayers.” In my mind this is along the same lines as “a hedge of protection”. I need something more in the lines of a 20-foot-thick steel wall, not a nice clean row of perennial ligustrums for protection.
Why’d you hafta go and pick on Ron?
Aaron, I can see the point in not listening during the songwriting process as long as we listen a lot in general. But “I don’t listen to music because it will influence my playing” is like saying, “I don’t eat because we are what we eat.” If we don’t eat, we become what we eat - we waste away to nothing.
I feel like Tooter. I still haven’t read the content of this post. I was distracted by Eric’s post and wondered over to Stacy’s website. That gal can sing, so I picked up a copy of “Hurricane” from Amazon. Way to go Stacy. The sounds great.
It’s Rabbit Room music week for me I guess. Picked up Jason Gray’s new album and now Stacy Grubb.
Sam,
I promise to read the actual content of this post.
Be God’s,
Tony
Don’t do it, Tony.
Tony:
Sorry for the distraction…it is just that being raised across the border from WVA in PA, we were raised on hillbilly humor…you know…how many Mountaineers…etc…etc.. What’s the difference between a…
Glad I could distract you enough to promote Stacy’s music.
Eric
Funny how context shapes perception. After reading this post, I caught an article in the WSJ:
http://online.wsj.com/article/SB124881878743688051.html
About a guy who’s most public works were ghost writing for celebrities where he got little to no credit and the personal unhappiness for him that ensued.
Just in the context of artists and credit and originality and how our expression can be tied to purpose…
It was fascinating, I mean here was a guy that was a good writer and his words were read by millions… but he was coveting his OWN writing in some sense.
Ouch.
whose, not who’s… sorry.
Tony,
Thank you so much.
Eric (not EP),
The audio is exactly as you would imagine. The visual would include my sister pounding on the wall that separated my bedroom from hers and threatening my life if I didn’t shut up. That, of course, bleeds into the audio.
Stacy
Stacy,
You are most welcome. I’m just sorry I hadn’t picked up a copy sooner. Strong work my sister.
Mr. Smithereens…you scary!
UNRELATED POST
Happy Birthday to ….
Ron Block. 07/30/19 (your guess here)
So much love over on Facebook and not a word here on RR?
Whasup with that???
You Rock!
Eric & family
Eric,
Hear! hear! Happy belated birthday Ron!
Mr. Smither,
Thank you for your Tooter tutoring … I’m not sure if that played up in Minnesota or not when I was a kid, but I have never heard of it before. Very insightful.
The question is: When does Uniquity become Iniquity?
Yes, we must be humble to borrow, but I think we all start that way. We are all a mash-up of what we have read, heard, touched, talked-to, listened-to, etc. In fact, it would be difficult, I think, for anyone to even say who they sound like. Those around us often know, but we are often immune to seeing it.
This is also true in writing. Unless you specifically tried to copy copy copy, the best one could achieve would be a hint of someone else’s writing style. And if a hint shines through of this or that great writer, I’m not sure if that’s a bad thing. We all need to read, absorb, consume, and gullet-down great examples of writing, or else we will produce nothing but drivel.
I like Jeffrey Overstreets attitude (not that I’ve followed its lofty ambition) of only reading what he consider’s great literature, and therefore, hoping that in the osmosis of Osmosismosmos, that it would come out in his own writing.
(i.e.) If all Michaelangelo stuidied were pill-bugs, I doubt he would have painted the Last Supper or the Sistine Chapel.
But most of all, we need to take the “bent” that God has given us, study the true life around us, and write. That is where we insulate ourselves from Iniquity and become Uniquitous.
Thanks for inspiring a few, fleeting thoughts today, Sam-Smithers. You’re great, unique, and a good friend.
-Robert
A quick followup:
One of the reasons we have such difficulty with Uniquity is that historians rearrange the past to make it seem like great artists emerge in a vacuum. Yes, we know intellectually that this is total bunk, but if we don’t consciously recognize this fact, we can come to see people like Rembrandt, Bach, Shakespeare, and the rest as isolated geniuses.
This is partially because great men overshadow their lesser peers. But it is also human nature to elevate certain men beyond what their art actually deserves. Shakespeare is a great example. There is no poet or playwright greater than Shakespeare, but that doesn’t mean that Shakespeare’s work is perfection (at risk to my physical well-being, I think T.S. Eliot was right: Hamlet is a bad revenge play)
We all stand on the shoulders of giants, but if we end up taller in the eyes of the world as a result, let us not forget who got us there to begin with…
As someone who made her living as a ghostwriter for nearly 8 years, I can attest that the hardest voice of all to capture is your own. It took me half that long again to move from “ubiquity” to something approaching “uniquity.” Just one tiny letter…and all that time and effort! Even so, almost every day I read or hear something that strikes me as a pang and makes me think “I wish I could do that with words.” (Several of you Rabbit Room-ers have been guilty of this - just so ya know.)