When I Die, Put My Cremains in a Snow Globe

Coupla things. First of all, the title doesn't have much to do with this post, but I thought one or two people might enjoy it. Secondly, all the responses I've received from my state representatives so far are form letters (democracy in reflexive, pre-programmed action!) despite the fact that I specifically asked them not to do this. On one hand, I sympathize: probably they get enough cranky mail that crafting personal responses would eat up much of their working day. On the other hand, I want to say: you're a freaking state representative, not Bono. Don't big-time me.

Secondly, here's a piece from Time Magazine (I know, I didn't know they were still around, either) about the past and possible future of publishing.

"We think of the novel as a transcendent, timeless thing, but it was shaped by the forces of money and technology just as much as by creative genius. Passing over a few classical and Far Eastern entries, the novel in its modern form really got rolling only in the early 18th century. This wasn't an accident, and it didn't happen because a bunch of writers like Defoe and Richardson and Fielding suddenly decided we should be reading long books about imaginary people. It happened as a result of an unprecedented configuration of financial and technological circumstances. New industrial printing techniques meant you could print lots of books cheaply; a modern capitalist marketplace had evolved in which you could sell them; and for the first time there was a large, increasingly literate, relatively well-off urban middle class to buy and read them. Once those conditions were in place, writers like Defoe and Richardson showed up to take advantage of them."

From there, the writer fast-forwards to the 21st century to make some predictions about the future of publishing, which include . . . .well, you should probably read it for yourself. Just thinking about her "future" makes me want to lay my head down on my desk. "It isn't bad or good," she writes about her projection. "It just is." If that's true, then why is my stomach cramping with despair?

Open Letter to my State Representatives

Okay, as I mentioned yesterday, here's the note I sent to my state representatives last night concerning the proposed FIFTY PERCENT CUT to the state arts budget. If you haven't sent your response to your reps yet, read the post below this one and get cracking. Or, you know, watch our state turn into West Virginia. Your choice. Anyway, onto the letter:



Hi Representative! Bryan Furuness here, constituent, writing to you about the proposal to cut the budget of the Indiana Arts Commission by 50%.


I know these are tough times, and that tough times call for tough decisions. But you know what I like most about the way you all have been running Indiana for the past few years? The decisions you've made have been marked by ingenuity and imagination. Looking at recent innovations around here, I can say with confidence and pride that Indiana has become the Idea State. And this fiscal crisis calls for fresh ideas-- not old-school budget slashing.




Slashing the arts budget might solve one short-term problem (the fiscal shortfall) but it creates a larger, longer-lasting problem (lowering the quality of life). You already know the arguments and statistics to back up this point; I won't rehash them. I'm pretty sure we can agree that this is not a great solution. I'm also pretty sure that you're not exactly rubbing your hands in glee about slashing the arts budget, either.


So, why don't we look beyond the binary decision of slash or not-slash? What if there's some other way around this issue? What if you employed the same ingenuity and inventiveness that has elevated Indiana in so many other ways recently?


What if, for example, you formed an ad-hoc committee of arts folks and government officials to propose some brilliant way to preserve or subsidize this piece of the budget? (Homeland Security routinely meets with screenwriters to brainstorm ways that terrorists might attack the country; this idea is MUCH less ridiculous than that).


I hereby volunteer, if you take me up on my offer.


Please think about this. Please, for the love of God, do not send me a patronizing form letter thanking me for my concern. That is actually more disheartening than being ignored. Most of all, please use your imaginations, not your X-acto knives, when it comes to finalizing the arts budget.


With love and hope,


Bryan

Sure, But We're Still Ahead of Mississippi

"Governor Mitch Daniels’s proposed budget, submitted to the State Legislature in early January, cuts the budget of the Indiana Arts Commission (IAC) by fifty percent, or $2 million per year, for the next two years.

This 50% cut would drop per state capita spending on the arts to approximately 32¢ per citizen (the national average is $1.18). Already ranked 37th nationally, this cut would put Indiana in a dismal 48th place out of 50.

Yes, Indiana is facing a serious revenue shortfall. However -- the average cut for state agencies in the Governor’s budget is only eight percent."

The alert goes on from there, but it only gets more depressing. Take five minutes and let your representatives know how you feel about this proposed cut. My response will be posted as an open letter tomorrow (don't worry, Mom. I'll be on my best behavior).

How Come You Never See Malcolm Gladwell and Sideshow Bob in the Same Place at the Same Time? Or, The Ten-Year MFA

A few years ago, when I noticed that sales figures for fiction books were dropping while nonfiction numbers were rising, I made the rash decision to read only read fiction. Someone needed to make a stand for fiction, even if it was just on principal, I thought, and why not me? I would be the finger in the dyke!

Um, so to speak. Anyway, that was a pretty dumb decision because I walled myself off from a lot of interesting work by good writers. Like Malcolm Gladwell, and his newest book: Outliers: The Story of Success

Five years ago, if you had told me I would not only be reading a non-fiction book, but a non-fiction book about success, I would have laughed bitterly, then sputtered something like, "Not me. Not the finger!"

The thing I love about Gladwell is that you can't read more than ten pages without coming upon an idea that splits your head open like a walnut. Like this one, distilled in an interview in Goodreads:

GR: Is it possible for adults to change course and strive for success in a new field? Or is it best to start young?

MG: The thing that all these successful people share is dedication and obsessiveness for what they do. The chapter about 10,000 hours [Chapter 2] says that you will only reach a level of mastery if you are willing to devote essentially 10 years to a particular discipline. There's nothing special about when you devote those 10 years. Those 10 years can be between the ages of 40 and 50, or 60 and 70. It just so happens that many of us who achieve great things put in those 10 years early in life, but there's nothing special about youth. Youth is not necessary for the process; what's necessary is time and honest effort, which is heartening.

Heartening indeed, especially for writers. Forget about intangible stuff like talent and vision. Worrying about stuff like that isn't going to give you any more of it, anyway. But if you have enough will and perserverance and love-of-the-game to apply your butt to a chair for 10,000 hours, you should turn out good stuff.

I love it. By my unofficial tally, my writing clock is around 8300 hours. How about yours?

Andrew's Book Club

Indy writer and Bookchoy pal Andrew Scott has started a book club. But not just any book club – one that should hold a special appeal for writers of short fiction.

Andrew's premise is simple. Each month he selects two books of short fiction, one from a "big house" in New York, and one from an indie publisher. Read, enjoy, and discuss.

So what's the appeal vis-a-vis writers? Well, I could make my pitch, but wouldn't you rather listen to Julie Barer of the Barer Literary Agency?

"Can I get up on a little bit of a pedestal for a minute? This is something I say at every writers conference I attend. If you're a writer and you want to be published, go out and buy a hardcover debut novel and short-story collection tomorrow. And next month, do it again. Buy one every freaking month. Because if you want to be published and you want people to buy your books, and you are not out there supporting fiction and debut authors, you are the biggest hypocrite in the world and I don't know who you think you are. I mean, come on, people!"

Barer excerpt from agent roundtable at Poets & Writers here.