Creative People Aren’t Good (Part 2)

Last week, I had a few things to disentangle about the commonly-held societal more that being able to make stuff means you’re holistically smart. This week, I need to continue that train of thought to explain the cycle of sabotage plaguing online fandom communities.

As before, I’m talking about English-speaking communities in cultures I can access. I truly don’t know if other communities and other language-speakers are doing the same toxic shit that we are. If you know the answer, please reach out! I’m very curious, and I love thinking and talking about the ways that our culture and language shape us and feed into themselves.

I’m also obsessed with trying to understand exactly how things got so fucked up, why they’re staying that way, and how we can fix it.

Cultural self-sabotage: a case study

Let’s talk about Neil Gaiman.

People who’ve followed my career for a long time, or who know me personally, are aware that I used to really admire Neil Gaiman. I described his prose as feeling like a friend telling a whispered secret story to you in a dark room. Loved the atmosphere of his writing, his mystery-shrouded worlds and complicated characters.

 I’ve reconsidered an awful lot about whether he’s actually as good as I thought he was, but I’m not ready to reread his work more critically yet. (If you’re interested in seeing some critical essays, let me know.)

Obviously, a number of potent allegations about his predatory behaviour have emerged. Some authors and people in the writing world have quietly mentioned that his name was a sour one among the whisper networks. Long before the viscerally upsetting details came out in courageous articles last year, at least some people in the BDSM scene in Australia and in fan convention and expensive professional writing class scenes knew that Gaiman wasn’t to be trusted.

But Tumblr didn’t, and for a while, he was the internet’s beloved English teacher. All of the affection for queer or queer-affirming teaching professionals who saved so many of us from peers’ rejection and cruelty was projected onto Gaiman. He didn’t deserve it, but we didn’t know that.

And how could we? After all, there’s a persistent, clanging notion that to be a creative person is to be a good person. That’s not true, but how did we get here?

Gifts from god

Hang on tight here, because I need to contextualise this shit with cultural Christianity. I don’t think North Americans, especially ex-believers and non-believers and pagans and whatnots, really grasp the power of the background radiation of Christianity. Little turns of phrase represent the way our thoughts and feelings are shaped by this background.

Now, the idea of sainthood is particularly linked to Catholicism, which also happens to be part of my background, but it’s certainly spread beyond that. Like mildew and algae blooming in one corner of a pond, the idea that creativity is a divine gift is casually accepted – and pernicious. (I’m not getting into the Roman roots and how all of that affected the way Christianity developed ideologically because frankly, I don’t know enough about it, and I’m also not sure that it’s really relevant to the discussion.)

“Talent” is considered a gift from god. A blessing. An arbitrary state of being bestowed by deities or fate. Even secular people tend to talk about artistic skills as though they just happened overnight, as though someone simply woke up with them one day, a divine act of reward or caprice.

Creativity is a blessing, so the corollary of that is: creative people are blessed, and blessed people are sanctified, and sanctified people are better than others.

This simple assumption manages to hold firm against every single disproof imaginable. Simply put, we expect famous creative people to be saints, and then we get pissed off, shocked, and disappointed when – surprise! They’re just people. Even the goddamn saints weren’t saints, as any hagiographer will tell you. (I’m not a biographer of the saints myself, but I have a few scraps of passing knowledge.) St Jerome was famously cranky. Don’t even get me started on the Apocrypha, the fig tree incident with Jesus, or any of that.

There was a time when we saw the imperfections of saints and gods as inspiring and relatable, but in the current era, all of those flaws have been sanded away. Some mistakes have a degree of acceptability, but others are too deep to bear. The measures for which sort is which tend to be painfully arbitrary. (Trust me, I have a lot more to say about our internet cultural standards and how fucked up they are, so stay tuned for that in the future.)

What is talent?

Here’s the goddamn problem. Because we see creative skill as a Thing, an inherent quality rather than a gradually developed one, our culture has a very toxic relationship with it. We don’t want to talk about the hours upon hours of skill grinding required to improve at something, and we certainly don’t want to admit that sometimes, people will just not get very good at something they practice. We don’t understand why some people are good at a thing and others aren’t. Some level of enjoyment or satisfaction, plus the willingness to spend time and outlast frustration plateaus, are the only concrete metrics we really have.

But those aren’t sexy and mysterious, unlike the concepts of talent and inspiration. Can anyone grind their way to looking talented? Can everyone do everything if they work hard enough at it? The first one is a maybe, and the second one is too expansive a claim to earn an honest “yes”. That whole Malcolm Gladwell “ten thousand hours” thing has been debunked by a bunch of people more patient and possibly more spiteful than I am. (As usual, misinterpreting and overapplying a scientific study was to blame. Who’s surprised?)

And anyway, repetitive work and practice means embracing failure. Failure is stigmatized here, in the English-speaking Western world, and is thought to indicate a moral weakness or faltering of some sort, so who the fuck wants to embrace failure? No, better to sigh wistfully over the idea that talent or inspiration simply passed us by. Never mind that creativity works the same way as other muscles, including the need for rest days.

Above: my own slow, patient, grinding efforts to improve my drawing skills. Drawing gems is really damn hard.

Who should we be?

The thing is, as I talked about last week, just making stuff well doesn’t indicate anything about the quality of a person.

Let that sink in. None of the artists or creative people you like are guaranteed or even likely to be good, kind, or otherwise lovely by mere dint of their creative skill.

However, that means something rather nice – anyone who’s kind, patient, or otherwise lovely got that way by choosing to be so. Anyone can develop patience and kindness for others. It’s not a god-given talent; it’s a skill that’s trained.

Artists are not better people than the rest of the world – and we ought to forgive them for it, and the rest of us artists need to forgive ourselves for being messy, complicated, mistake-making creatures. We don’t owe the world goodness because we happen to be skilled at something. Kindness and generosity are their own rewards, not the side effects of a skill. Learning to give yourself and others grace, benefit of the doubt, kindness, and help? We can all earn those skills, regardless of whether we can paint a good sunset or write a brilliant string of code.

If you believe in God, maybe this is God telling you to give yourself some damn credit. If you don’t, then hey! Take it from me and my multiple therapists; recognizing your own achievements is a requirement for survival. It’s very hard to be nice to others when you’re busy being shitty to yourself, and not having been “blessed” with a “talent” tends to make people beat themselves up. It’s not easy to stop hating yourself, but just fighting the ideas about what makes people good, important, or generally better than you is a vitally critical start.

***

A writer and artist, Michelle Browne lives in southern AB with xer family and their cats. Xe is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, knitting, jewelry-making, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Find xer all over the internet: *Website * Amazon * Substack * Patreon * Ko-fi * Instagram * Bluesky * Mastodon * Tumblr * Medium * OG Blog * Facebook

Sin and Virtue: The Internet's Secret Code

 Okay, so not long ago, I put out a post (written in November, actually...) about the internet getting meaner. Since then, I've been wracking my brain about why it's happening. 

Then I developed a theory that made it all snap into place. 

Art by Michelle Browne.

What makes someone end up as the main character on Twitter for a particular day? 

It might be a subculture issue - for example, tabletop roleplay game (TTRPG) Twitter is pretty mad at Critical Role right now because their opening credits feature arguably colonialist imagery/fantasies, and some have argued that its Marquet setting is supporting/pushing orientalism. (Orientalism is the term for the Western artistic fascination with "The East," conflating a whole mess of cultures that include everything from Anatolians and Turks to Egyptians and Iranians, all the way to to Chinese, Vietnamese, Japanese cultural elements, and more.) 

I can't really debate this argument because I'm not a SWANA (South-West Asian and/or North African) or SEA (South-East Asian) person, but I would say that there's only so much any particular work of media can do to unpack the entire legacy of colonialism. Change is always going to be incremental; even revolutions leave a lot of paperwork in their wake. 

However, there is something interesting about a good-faith effort being taken as cynical, false, and ill-willed. It's not the first time I've watched something like that happen, either - particularly on Twitter, which thrives on anger, because its algorithm says it has to.

So - just posting on Twitter to vent or be angry is kind of inherently dangerous on that basis alone - it's more likely that you might go viral just when you're vulnerable. Add in a mixture of people interacting in bad faith, and the recipe for conflict is already spicy. But what about people who see themselves as inherently just, or fighting for the right cause? Surely we've all been that person, who signal-boosted a conflict because it seemed important, or weighed in with their two cents. Sometimes, or frequently, the target of that ire may be a person or group with whom we usually would agree - except for this time, or a few other times, of course...

But why would we treat each other badly? 

To survive in a system hostile to our existence, many marginalized people have to learn the art of reading subtext. People with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder or Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and those who have survived trauma and/or abuse also tend to be members of marginalized groups - and reading the subtle tells of people acting abusively tends to train in hypersensitivity. Unfortunately, that hypersensitivity and the rampant lack of mental health care and resources means that many marginalised people are extremely jumpy, even around each other. The casual abuses of the world around us trains us to default to paranoid readings of the words and writing of mainstream culture. After all, being openly homophobic/queerphobic, openly racist, or openly discriminatory in other ways is punished socially, or at least awkward - but passive-aggression or more subtle jabs abound. Not noticing these things can be harmful to us, so unfortunately, we tend to default to paranoid readings of situations - even when creators, content makers, or other internet strangers are acting in good faith. 

Good intentions, bad chemistry

Speaking of abusive or discriminatory environments, it's also true that a lot of leftists in North America have come from culturally Christian backgrounds. Even if we've moved away from that lifestyle and religion, the logic and classification system remains in our minds - the moral hierarchy of goodness and badness, of evil and moral rightness. And unfortunately, that system is pretty lopsided and badly balanced. After all, we're talking about the system of beliefs wherein - particularly for evangelical Christianity - anal sex is about on par with sexual assault; robbery with being overly proud of yourself; and murder, on par with masturbation. 

"Wait, that's not right!" 

Well - that's a complex topic, but technically, they're all sins. Sure, some admit that not all sins are equally bad - but they're all considered sinful.  There's more to it than that, sure, but from a lay-Christian perspective, the sin thing is persistent. We are all sinners before God, and ultimately, only He can forgive us - so the rhetoric goes. 

Now substitute in "problematic" for the word "sinful." Suddenly, certain behavioural patterns make an uncomfortable amount of sense. There is also no God-figure or representational stand-in, such as a priest or pastor, to act as a forgiver or mediator of transgressions for those of us in the social justice sphere. There is the crowd - whose reactions are cherry-picked by the algorithm to show their worst side - and that's about it. Thus, we may turn to the crowd in hopes of forgiveness, but without leaders (or even a belief in leadership), that just results in a wall of diverse opinions. 

So what comes next? Do we need secular forgiveness-priests?

I'm not saying we need leaders or arbiters of forgiveness, because that's inherently a system of power that seems both ineffective and dangerous, but it's worth being conscious of our roots so that we can understand the flaws in our own rhetoric and belief structures. 

And hey, it's a lot easier to be less suspicious of others when we understand the flaws and dangers of our own perspectives - and the way our mental health issues and backgrounds colour our perspective. Slowing down and giving others the benefit of the doubt takes time, practice, and discipline - but once the habit is created, life becomes so much more relaxing. 

***

Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer and editor. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partners-in-crime and their cats. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and learning too much. She is currently working on other people’s manuscripts, the next books in her series, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible.

Find her all over the internet: * OG Blog * Mailing list * Magpie Editing * Amazon * Medium * Twitter * Instagram * Facebook * Tumblr * Paypal.me * Ko-fi

Short Story: The Last F$#% Given

Hello hello!

My mentor and friend, Zig Zag Claybourne, over at Rehumanize Yourself said, "I want a short story about the last phuque given." I couldn't help but oblige. A certain Asimov short played a roll in the genesis of this.

***

Tamika stared out at the endless void. The glowing chunks of what had once been Gaia, the blue-green jewel of home, drifted slowly towards the sun. The little grey moon, following like a faithful cat, was no more. It had been knocked away by the comet.

She watched for a long time as the scarlet fury of the sun slowly devoured the remaining shards of Earth. There had been life there, once. And on Mars as well, the russet neighbour. There was a time when humanity had filled the whole system orbiting Sol, had stretched beyond that—

Then came the war. Then another war, and another one. The factions didn’t matter. It had been xenos the first time, genetically engineered hybrids the second, robots, the third time. Tamika distantly remembered a time when it had been the other way around—robots, then humans, then the xeno invaders had waged war. The Shroedinger device had made history an even more confusing proposition than it once was.

She strode across the deck, platinum heels clacking. A captured Singularity glinted around her neck: the last moments of a dying star. She surveyed her ship. The crew were still in their places, polished bones and hardware gleaming. No-one could say she hadn’t taken care of them. Even now, with nothing but auto-protocols left, they were impeccably tidy. Of course, the time-scarabs had helped with that—picking all flesh from their bones.

Tamika’s metal fingers played over the console distractedly. She navigated away from Sol, and faster than a thought, her little ship arrived in the Orion cluster.

Cold and dead here, too, but a better sense of perspective. She looked back at the Solar system—nothing but a few distant glitters, now. Not her problem.

The universe would go dark any day now, she thought, firing up the engines. A few lights were still on, but the house was empty. Perhaps it was time to knock it down, to build something new.

The last living creature in the universe deliberated, staring at her console, and opened the hidden menu. A display glowed before her.

“Activate the Oroboros protocol,” she said, her dusty vocal chords clattering a little. She crossed two of her six legs and waited for the computer to respond.

It flickered for a moment. The computer, too, was breaking down. “Activate the Oroboros protocol? Are you sure? Y/N?”

“There’s nothing left,” said Tamika. “It’s time to start over. Yes.”

The Singularity around her neck burned brightly for a moment. There was nothing but light, pure light, as the Orion cluster, then the spiral arm, then the rest of the Milky Way Galaxy, then the universe collapsed in on itself—

—and then—

“This should be interesting,” said Tamika. “Computer, initiate protocol ‘Beginning’. I’m bored already of all this light. Let’s build something.”

*****

Thanks for dropping by the nest once again. Don't miss any of the phuquerie. Find Michelle on Twitter, Facebook, and on Tumblr, and find her work on Amazon. Check back on the blog to see when one of the irregular posts has careened onto your feed. This is the one and only SciFiMagpie, over and out!