Art Begets Art: Music, Mood, and Words

Around the time Solid Ground was released earlier this year, I penned a series of posts about my writing process and my journey to publication.

The articles were initially published on various book blogs, but with lots of new readers and social media friends, I've decided to re-issue them here. Here's the second installment.

Art Begets Art

The creation of any work of art is almost always influenced by art that came before. Sometimes the origin of the inspiration is obvious, clearly reflected in the substance or style of a newly created piece — a recognizable brushstroke, the sound a particular instrument makes, the repetition of a familiar literary trope or theme. In these instances, the homage is apparent. Other times though, the impact of one work of art on another is subtle, even imperceptible, the only evidence resting in the mood of the influenced artist or in his somehow altered understanding of the world.

The latter, that unnoticeable sway that seeps quietly into an artist’s consciousness, is the way music influences me when I write. Often, as I sit down to work on a chapter or a scene, I select a musician, or even a particular album or song, that will kidnap my consciousness, drive it far away, and then plop it down in the middle of the mood I’m seeking. I visualize the scene in my head and let the music wash over me, through me. As the music moves and inspires me, it feeds my mood, my vision, and my words — and it becomes art reincarnated, reborn on the page. The end result is not a story or scene that looks or sounds like the music that inspired me as I wrote, but words that evoke the same feelings in the heart of the reader that the music inspires in the heart of the listener.

With respect to my novel, Solid Ground, I owe a significant debt of gratitude to several musicians who inadvertently and unknowingly contributed to my work. I’m particularly grateful for the deeply sincere and introspective music of Greg Laswell and Gregory Alan Isakov. Give both of them a listen — particularly, Laswell’s 2013 heartbreaking remake of “Embrace Me” and Isakov’s haunting “Master and a Hound.”  If these songs don’t immediately appeal to you, that doesn’t mean you won’t enjoy Solid Ground, but I’d wager that if you appreciate the feelings these songs stir inside you, you’ll connect with my words and my story.

Self-Portraits of Famous Authors (And a Selfie)

Posted By: Jeff McKown

We are never more vain and obsessed with our outer selves than when we hear our own recorded voice or see our image in a photograph.

You know, that hideous and uncomfortable moment when your delusional self-image collides with the undeniable reality of what everyone else in the world instantly recognizes as exactly you.

Cameras and recorders don't lie, which is mostly why we fear them, but these devices do have their limits. They can only capture the outside you.

That's why I loved a recent Flavorwire article on self-portraits of famous authors. Self-portraits don't lie either, but they tell a very different story.

When you make an earnest attempt to represent yourself in ink or oils or pencil, the output of your work may or may not be a reasonable facsimile of how you appear to others on the outside, but it will definitely be a telling reflection of how you see yourself - from the inside.

You can see the Flavorwire piece with 20 famous author self-portraits here. Some of them are simple, some are curmudgeonly. Others are comical or tortured. Sylvia Plath, Henry Miller, Vonnegut, and more. Each portrait gives us a peak into how these great writers see their truest selves.

This self-portrait of Jack Kerouac was my favorite.

As for me, I'm no Van Gogh. My endeavors in the visual arts have never gone far beyond crude drawings of stick dogs and stick cows (which are indistinguishable except for the udders).

In the absence of any artistic talent, I'll offer up a cell phone selfie to which I'm partial (though not everyone is). I'm a little less bearded at the moment, but maybe not for long.

How do you see yourself?

Turn of Phrase - Neil Gaiman on Writing

Posted By: Jeff McKown

Linderhof Palace in Germany

"You put one word after another, like putting bricks on to a wall, and sooner or later, you look and you've managed to build the palace of mad King Ludwig of Bavaria out of matchsticks."

~ From acclaimed English Sci-Fi and Fantasy author Neil Gaiman.


Anyone who writes fiction knows how daunting the task is, and it's helpful to read encouraging words from those who have already climbed the mountain.

Flavorwire assembled short videos with advice for aspiring writers from Gaiman and 11 other famous authors. You can see the Gaiman video, as well as clips from Ray Bradbury, Anne Rice, Ian McEwan and more here.

Thursday's Children: It's the Words

Posted by: Jeff McKown

Thursday's Children is a weekly blog hop where writers come together to talk about what inspires them. I'm participating today and you can too. 

A link to other Thursday's Children writers is at the end of the post.

Thanks to Rhiann Wynn Nolet for orchestrating this affair.

I'm a massive dork when it comes to writing. I keep a schedule with daily word count targets and I track my progress compulsively. My customized Excel spreadsheet has one tab for story structure, and another where I keep a "to do" list of open questions and issues. But the holy grail of my spreadsheet, the tab to end all tabs, is the formula-laden sheet where I calculate my output and performance to daily goals - the page that lets me know whether to flog or reward myself at the end of each writing day. I’m just that kind of guy.

With my aforementioned schedule, I have a pretty good idea of when I’m going to finish the second draft of the novel I’m currently revising. In two weeks, I’ll be done and that scares the living shit out of me. I lose sleep wondering about the great abyss that lies beyond the security of my daily writing rituals, and the uncertainty of what happens next makes my heart pound and my stomach churn. Because I’m also that kind of guy.

Having worked on this book off and on for a decade, I’ve had ample time to consider my fear, to examine it, to roll it around in my palm and squeeze it like a turd. I’m pretty intimate with my writing fear, but it’s only now, as the end of the second draft draws near, that I have begun to fully comprehend its meaning.

Writing isn’t a hobby for me, it’s a dream. And not a champagne hot tub Beverly Hills limo dream, but a third-grade no-pants school bus dream. Okay, not exactly that either. More like an MLK “I have a dream” dream, only less uplifting and lyrical, without all the concern for equality and brotherhood and the well-being of mankind.

You see, I love words. All kinds of words. I love how they fit together like jagged little puzzle pieces, conjuring nightmares and landscapes no one else ever imagined. I love how choosing the right words and assembling them in a meaningful order conveys a profound thought, a stunning image, or a devastating emotion. I love how words, when properly aligned, become art.

That's my dream - to make word art, the kind that makes you weep in a quiet corner or laugh out loud on a crowded train. To share ideas that make you shake your head in disapproval, or words that make you love someone more. To craft thoughtful collections of phrases and sentences and paragraphs, and carefully cull them into a collection of pages that rock you, crush you, or piss you off.

And therein lies my fear. I’m two weeks away from finishing the second draft of a novel, my best attempt at chasing the dream and making word art, which I daresay is a damn sight tougher than most of us know. I’ve invested so much. I spoke my dream aloud. I left jobs to pursue it. I sought peers and mentors and editors. I read blogs, and books, and books about books. I bought software. I meditated. I lived in a cabin in the woods. Thousands. Of. Hours.

Now I know, thanks to my trusty spreadsheet, I will soon reach a new milestone. In fourteen short days, give or take a day, I will cross another bridge on the way to my dream, with no way of knowing what awaits me at the far end of the span. Maybe my dream comes true or maybe there’s a nightmare end. More likely, the dream will just go on, and I'll be left to keep running after it.

I’m scared, but whatever happens next, I have the satisfaction of knowing I gave it my all. I pursued something in my life that mattered to me, something I cared about. I surfaced something honest and real from deep inside - the words. Because you know what? I’m that kind of guy, too.

Click here to view other Thursday's Children blog posts, or check out Rhiann's website for more info.

Wisdom For Creative Beginners From Ira Glass

Posted By: Jeff McKown

In a few weeks, I'll finish editing the second draft of a novel I've been writing off and on for years. As I read through my work, I stumble on a few flashes of writing competence, but just as often, I find frightful blunders that fill me with doubt and make me want to click and drag the entire novel into the trash bin.

But I won't throw it all away...

I'll see the novel through to its natural end, whatever that turns out to be, and I'll keep blogging. Partly because I understand faltering belief is part of the process, and partly because I couldn't stop writing even if I wanted to.

Ira Glass, creator and host of NPR's This American Life, shared this short piece of advice for beginning "artists" of any kind, and his words are helpful, heartfelt, and real. #HopeFightWrite

Ira Glass on Storytelling from David Shiyang Liu on Vimeo.

Turn Style: Best Book Jackets of 2012

Posted By: Jeff McKown

Flavorwire.com has polled a group of book jacket designers and published their picks for "best" book covers of 2012. My picks for best and worst from their list are below. I'd love to hear which ones you like or don't like, and any great book jackets from last year you think were left off the list.

Click here to see all the jackets the experts selected (but don't, of course, judge the books by their covers).

My favorite from the list: The Flame Alphabet by Ben Marcus
(concept flames, symmetry, color, three-dimensional)

And my least favorite from the list: NW by Zadie Smith
(surely more refined artistic eyes see something special, I see two letters)

As a bonus, here is one of my all-time favorite book jackets. The book is My War Gone By, I Miss It So, a poignant chronicle of the horrors of the war in Bosnia published in 1999 with stunning prose by British journalist and self-proclaimed war junkie Anthony Loyd.

Hunter Parrish's Stunning Performance of Beautiful City

Actor - Hunter Parrish

Sometimes a teen heartthrob is so much more than just a pretty face.

On my writing retreat in Arcata last month, I had no WiFi or cable TV. After long days of editing and writing, I rested my brain each night by escaping into an assortment of movies and television shows on DVD. There were several I enjoyed, but none more than the Showtime original series Weeds.

Weeds is a half-hour comedy-drama that stars Mary Louise Parker as an unlikely pot-dealing soccer mom, whose shady "business" deals and questionable parenting decisions constantly put her family at risk.

But this post is not about Weeds, or for that matter, about my time in Arcata. This post is about Jesus. Kind of.

Weeds co-stars a young actor named Hunter Parrish. In the series, the twenty-five year-old Parrish plays Silas Botwin, the oldest son of Mary Louis Parker who joins the family marijuana business.

Silas is not a character with great depth, and he's seldom given the best lines of dialogue in the show. His character is not especially bright nor does he possess any particularly interesting talents, with the notable exception of having a pot grower's green thumb. Oh, and a well-built torso that the producers wisely find ways to showcase every few episodes.

I don't mean to imply that Hunter Parrish lacks talent or that he turns in an inadequate acting performance. Weeds is well-written and Parrish makes the most of the material he's given as he brings Silas to life. But truthfully, after watching four seasons of the show, I assumed he was mostly cast as Silas because his blonde hair and buff physique were a good match for a shallow SoCal pot-growing college drop-out.

All of this is to say - I was shocked when I recently discovered through Twitter that Hunter Parrish also played the role of Jesus in the 2011 Broadway revival of Godspell. Based on his portrayal of Silas, I would not have guessed that Parrish was mature enough for Godspell or Broadway, and I certainly had no idea he could sing.

Just before I drifted off to sleep last night, as I lay in bed taking a last gander at Twitter for the day, I stumbled on a few references to Parrish's Broadway work. Those tweets ultimately linked me to a YouTube video of his performance of the song Beautiful City from Godspell.

Hunter's performance was so profoundly moving that I wept as I listened to him sing. I watched the video a second time, and I wept again.

This morning I researched how the song fits into Godspell. After Jesus (Parrish) becomes angry and turns over the tables in the temple, he walks away from his disciples. When he is later reunited with them, Jesus sings Beautiful City to try and restore hope to his followers. I watched the video clip again, and with the added context of the song's meaning, found it even more impacting.

A performance like this is a remarkable unexpected gift from the songwriter and the singer, and I for one, am grateful. I hope you like it too.

Exorcist-Style Dancer Surprises and Moves Audience To Tears

SYTYCD contestant Hampton Williams

Last summer, I wrote about how surprised I was when dance performances on the Fox reality show So You Think You Can Dance (SYTYCD) made me cry.

Since then, I've reflected on the moments in the show that I found most emotionally charged, and I detected a fairly predictable pattern: a few weeks into the season, after I've begun to appreciate the contestants and their personal struggles, someone dances a beautifully choreographed contemporary piece that reenacts a devastating heartbreak (like the one linked here), and I get weepy.

None of those of conditions were present during the SYTYCD season 9 debut last week, which is why I was so completely surprised to find myself moved to tears when a man named Hampton Williams performed a routine in his original "exorcist" style of dance.

Hampton's unusual style of movement is difficult to describe, but if you imagine an over-caffeinated drug fiend dancing a ballet-inspired hiphop routine, then you're getting close. The total commitment of every inch of his body to this unique genre is partially what makes this performance work, and the element of surprise he brings adds something too. But more than any of that, I was touched by Hampton Williams' ability to convey something honest and devastatingly painful through his movement, his face, and his eyes.

As one Twitter fan of SYTYCD said of the performance, "I don't even know why, but I was crying at the end."

I won't spoil any more for you, but suffice it to say that after viewing this, you will owe a humble young man named Hampton Williams a debt of gratitude for his willingness to so beautifully put his private pain on public display.

To get the full effect, I recommend that you turn up the sound and click the title bar at the top to view this full screen.

Turn Style - Kinkade's Death Ruled an Overdose

Thomas Kinkade's "Candlelight Cottage"

Stone walkway? Check. Vibrant colorful flowers? Check. Murky lavender sky? Check. Candlelit window panes? Check. There you have it - the artistic formula that made millions of dollars for painter Thomas Kinkade.

Regardless of what you think about Kinkade's work, thousands of arguably not-so-refined art lovers related to his pastel pastorals (and, they paid for them). Unfortunately for Kinkade, the art world was less kind in its judgment of his seemingly manufactured images of bucolic serenity, and that criticism, said Patrick Kinkade, the artist's brother, contributed to the artist's ultimate demise.

According to an autopsy report from the Santa Clara County coroner, Kinkade's death last month resulted from an accidental overdose of valium and alcohol. Patrick Kinkade explained to the San Jose Mercury News that decades of mean-spirited artistic criticism, along with the heartbreak resulting from the 2010 dissolution of his nearly thirty-year marriage, took a heavy toll on the painter, leading to his ongoing struggle with alcoholism.

With a prior arrest for DUI and other instances of public embarrassment (like urinating on a Winnie the Pooh statue at the Disneyland hotel), Kinkade's trouble with alcohol abuse was nothing new. Nonetheless, Kinkade's death by overdose represents a dark ironic end for the artist known as the "Painter of Light." Once again, it really is strange, the way things turn.


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