I'm currently writing a magazine article on "turning the technology off," which is essentially about finding balance in a world that is more connected than ever (blogs, cell phones, email, text messages, Twitter, etc.), yet increasingly disconnected in a skin-and-bone, face-to-face sense.
If anyone knows of any experts or helpful books on the topic, or if anyone has a friend or family member who has a good story about trying to strike this "techno-balance," please send your stories or suggestions my way (post them here, or email me at cameronconant@gmail.com). I'd be very thankful if you did, as I'm looking for a few more people to interview for the story.
I hope everyone is doing well today.
Mushy cereal and cranberry juice for me.
And I still haven't showered.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Sunday, August 17, 2008
One of the Best Things That Can Happen to You: A Terrible Review
Last year Publishers Weekly absolutely thrashed my second book.
I mean thrashed it.
I won't dig up the review for you here, but if you're interested, and you're fairly savvy when it comes to surfing the "Internets" or using "the Google," you should be able to find it. I think it's posted on Amazon.com for goodness sake.
The day the review came out---almost exactly one year ago, in fact---a friend of mine who I rarely see these days (coincidence?) sent me a text message that said something like, "Ouch---sorry about the review."
I was instantly pissed off and horrified by that message, not only because I hadn't read the review yet, but also because I hate that sort of sympathy (and in the form of a text message, no less).
Sure enough, the review was bad. Actually it was worse than bad. I read it once at mach speed. And then I read it several more times, slower, looking for the bright side of things. Only there wasn't the bright side of things.
After making a maudlin, desperate call to my mom, I walked into the blistering hot day and trudged to the top of a hill near my house where you can see all of Nashville, and I sat there, thinking of the various ways I could kill myself. I wasn't entirely serious of course---the fact that I was even thinking such a thing was clearly an overreaction---but I felt humiliated. I had been humiliated plenty of times before, but this was different. My dream of becoming a writer seemed as if it had just been hijacked and stripped of its clothes and put before a firing squad.
And then before the body was even cold, before the smoke had cleared, I learned that I needed to drag my dream's corpse out of the street and begin making funeral arrangements---and my dream didn't even have life insurance.
All the costs were out of pocket.
Though it took me a long time to get over the PW review, that review might have been the best thing that could've happened to me. Of course, I'm only now coming to that realization (my confidence was shot for a good nine months, and my desire to write again is only now making a recovery). But with the help of hindsight and a little wisdom I found in a junk drawer, here are a few things I've learned from being publicly skewered:
1) It takes a lot of work to be a good writer.
Duh, right? Thanks Captain Obvious.
But I don't mean "a lot of work" like making a good Thanksgiving dinner takes a lot of work. I mean "a lot of work" like medical school takes a lot of work. I think one of the misconceptions about writing is that you just sit down and drink ten cups of coffee and wring your hands and act tortured and smoke clove cigarettes and crank something out. And you can certainly do that, but unless you're one of the "chosen ones"---maybe 1 in 500 writers---then what you've written in your caffeine-induced state probably sucks. Or large parts of it does.
Hence Anne Lamott's concept of "the shitty first draft."
But to use my medical school analogy---which is likely to break down at any moment---you don't just go and perform surgery after sitting through your first class. It takes time and knowledge and talent and loads and loads of work and dedication to become a surgeon, and I would suggest the same thing is true for writing. Becoming a good writer doesn't happen by accident. You have to study. You have to read. You have to practice. You have to fall on your face.
You have to open yourself up to the firing squad.
Yeah, the medical school analogy just broke down.
2) Not everything you will write will be interesting or mature or worth sharing.
Becoming a good writer means learning discernment. That's a tough thing in a culture that blogs endlessly and shares what they're eating for lunch via text and Twitter. In a Web 2.0 climate, there are fewer and fewer gatekeepers, meaning that there is more than ever to read---some of it great, much of it less than great. This is not an indictment of blogs---you're reading one, and it isn't exactly Shakespeare---but it does mean that our idea of what's worth sharing with the world is becoming broader and broader, yet the standard for published work is still above that which would be appropriate for a blog. For the record, I think everything is worth writing about, but not everything is worth sharing. It was a difficult lesson for me to learn.
"You mean not everything I say and do is interesting and worth broadcasting to the world?"
That's right Cam---you are not endlessly fascinating.
3) Obstacles are there for a reason.
I recently heard someone say that obstacles are there to keep other people out (for their own good, mind you)---people who don't belong in a particular job or profession. So in other words, if you want to be a writer---if I want to be a writer---we have to accept obstacles as necessary parts of the landscape, there to keep people who shouldn't be writers out of the business; there to make sure that we are really in this for the right reasons; there to make sure we really want it. I find that strangely comforting. And one of the biggest things I've learned this year is that I'm not writing because I want to be famous (wrong profession for that). I'm writing because I love to write.
I mean thrashed it.
I won't dig up the review for you here, but if you're interested, and you're fairly savvy when it comes to surfing the "Internets" or using "the Google," you should be able to find it. I think it's posted on Amazon.com for goodness sake.
The day the review came out---almost exactly one year ago, in fact---a friend of mine who I rarely see these days (coincidence?) sent me a text message that said something like, "Ouch---sorry about the review."
I was instantly pissed off and horrified by that message, not only because I hadn't read the review yet, but also because I hate that sort of sympathy (and in the form of a text message, no less).
Sure enough, the review was bad. Actually it was worse than bad. I read it once at mach speed. And then I read it several more times, slower, looking for the bright side of things. Only there wasn't the bright side of things.
After making a maudlin, desperate call to my mom, I walked into the blistering hot day and trudged to the top of a hill near my house where you can see all of Nashville, and I sat there, thinking of the various ways I could kill myself. I wasn't entirely serious of course---the fact that I was even thinking such a thing was clearly an overreaction---but I felt humiliated. I had been humiliated plenty of times before, but this was different. My dream of becoming a writer seemed as if it had just been hijacked and stripped of its clothes and put before a firing squad.
And then before the body was even cold, before the smoke had cleared, I learned that I needed to drag my dream's corpse out of the street and begin making funeral arrangements---and my dream didn't even have life insurance.
All the costs were out of pocket.
Though it took me a long time to get over the PW review, that review might have been the best thing that could've happened to me. Of course, I'm only now coming to that realization (my confidence was shot for a good nine months, and my desire to write again is only now making a recovery). But with the help of hindsight and a little wisdom I found in a junk drawer, here are a few things I've learned from being publicly skewered:
1) It takes a lot of work to be a good writer.
Duh, right? Thanks Captain Obvious.
But I don't mean "a lot of work" like making a good Thanksgiving dinner takes a lot of work. I mean "a lot of work" like medical school takes a lot of work. I think one of the misconceptions about writing is that you just sit down and drink ten cups of coffee and wring your hands and act tortured and smoke clove cigarettes and crank something out. And you can certainly do that, but unless you're one of the "chosen ones"---maybe 1 in 500 writers---then what you've written in your caffeine-induced state probably sucks. Or large parts of it does.
Hence Anne Lamott's concept of "the shitty first draft."
But to use my medical school analogy---which is likely to break down at any moment---you don't just go and perform surgery after sitting through your first class. It takes time and knowledge and talent and loads and loads of work and dedication to become a surgeon, and I would suggest the same thing is true for writing. Becoming a good writer doesn't happen by accident. You have to study. You have to read. You have to practice. You have to fall on your face.
You have to open yourself up to the firing squad.
Yeah, the medical school analogy just broke down.
2) Not everything you will write will be interesting or mature or worth sharing.
Becoming a good writer means learning discernment. That's a tough thing in a culture that blogs endlessly and shares what they're eating for lunch via text and Twitter. In a Web 2.0 climate, there are fewer and fewer gatekeepers, meaning that there is more than ever to read---some of it great, much of it less than great. This is not an indictment of blogs---you're reading one, and it isn't exactly Shakespeare---but it does mean that our idea of what's worth sharing with the world is becoming broader and broader, yet the standard for published work is still above that which would be appropriate for a blog. For the record, I think everything is worth writing about, but not everything is worth sharing. It was a difficult lesson for me to learn.
"You mean not everything I say and do is interesting and worth broadcasting to the world?"
That's right Cam---you are not endlessly fascinating.
3) Obstacles are there for a reason.
I recently heard someone say that obstacles are there to keep other people out (for their own good, mind you)---people who don't belong in a particular job or profession. So in other words, if you want to be a writer---if I want to be a writer---we have to accept obstacles as necessary parts of the landscape, there to keep people who shouldn't be writers out of the business; there to make sure that we are really in this for the right reasons; there to make sure we really want it. I find that strangely comforting. And one of the biggest things I've learned this year is that I'm not writing because I want to be famous (wrong profession for that). I'm writing because I love to write.
This American Life
Friday I went to a "black and white" party---think something P-Diddy would throw in the Hamptons (minus the Cristal)---with my friend Donny, who wore a black suit and striped fedora hat.
He looked great.
Very Justin Timberlake.
And then Saturday I met Allie Dearest for coffee and breakfast. While sipping coffee, a "fan" approached our table to ask if we had just been talking to---you know---him (insert music celebrity here).
"Was that really him?"
"Yes, it was really him," we said, and then continued on as if nothing had happened.
What a strange place Nashville is sometimes. It just kind of sweeps you up into its hyper-real atmosphere. What the tourism bureau doesn't tell you however is that the air is often quite thin. Shallow even.
He looked great.
Very Justin Timberlake.
And then Saturday I met Allie Dearest for coffee and breakfast. While sipping coffee, a "fan" approached our table to ask if we had just been talking to---you know---him (insert music celebrity here).
"Was that really him?"
"Yes, it was really him," we said, and then continued on as if nothing had happened.
What a strange place Nashville is sometimes. It just kind of sweeps you up into its hyper-real atmosphere. What the tourism bureau doesn't tell you however is that the air is often quite thin. Shallow even.
Thursday, August 14, 2008
The Cold War?
I don't pretend to fully understand the Russia-Georgia conflict and the history of the regions in dispute, but I do know that I'm very concerned about the situation, and particularly alarmed that Russia has yet to leave Georgia.
I'm an ardent supporter of Georgia and the Baltic region---Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania---and my concern, and the concern of many, is that Russia is reverting back to its Soviet days by looking to re-assemble (re-invade) the former Soviet block. The problem is that these are now autonomous countries with democratically elected governments and allowing Russia to invade them would be incredibly detrimental to not only that part of the world, but to all of us.
I realize that I'm getting ahead of myself in speculating on all of this, and I don't mean to demonize Russia or to pretend to know their true intentions, but I believe it is important that the world---not just the United States---stand up for freedom and democracy. I know that Poland and the Baltics have already rallied to Georgia's side, and the U.S. has sent Condoleezza Rice to the region, but it's important that America get tough here while not completely isolating Russia. A war must be avoided at all costs---as if the U.S. could afford a war on any level, let alone with a superpower like Russia---while also sending the clear message that Russia cannot simply do what it pleases when it comes to disrespecting the sovereignty of democratic countries like Georgia; a place filled with largely peace-loving people.
Georgia perhaps unnecessarily escalated tensions in the disputed regions of Georgia by firing on the Russians, but why did Russia have a military presence there (Russia is calling these soldiers "peacekeepers")? That would be akin to the U.S. having China on our Northern border, and China sending in militarized "peacekeepers" to Michigan. What would we do? Shrug it off, or assert that our national borders and territorial integrity had been violated?
Perfect love casts out all fear---but unfortunately, we live in a dangerous, imperfect world. Fear fuels conflicts like the one we're seeing on the Georgian border. Yet reality, and the past, suggest we should all be concerned.
I'm an ardent supporter of Georgia and the Baltic region---Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania---and my concern, and the concern of many, is that Russia is reverting back to its Soviet days by looking to re-assemble (re-invade) the former Soviet block. The problem is that these are now autonomous countries with democratically elected governments and allowing Russia to invade them would be incredibly detrimental to not only that part of the world, but to all of us.
I realize that I'm getting ahead of myself in speculating on all of this, and I don't mean to demonize Russia or to pretend to know their true intentions, but I believe it is important that the world---not just the United States---stand up for freedom and democracy. I know that Poland and the Baltics have already rallied to Georgia's side, and the U.S. has sent Condoleezza Rice to the region, but it's important that America get tough here while not completely isolating Russia. A war must be avoided at all costs---as if the U.S. could afford a war on any level, let alone with a superpower like Russia---while also sending the clear message that Russia cannot simply do what it pleases when it comes to disrespecting the sovereignty of democratic countries like Georgia; a place filled with largely peace-loving people.
Georgia perhaps unnecessarily escalated tensions in the disputed regions of Georgia by firing on the Russians, but why did Russia have a military presence there (Russia is calling these soldiers "peacekeepers")? That would be akin to the U.S. having China on our Northern border, and China sending in militarized "peacekeepers" to Michigan. What would we do? Shrug it off, or assert that our national borders and territorial integrity had been violated?
Perfect love casts out all fear---but unfortunately, we live in a dangerous, imperfect world. Fear fuels conflicts like the one we're seeing on the Georgian border. Yet reality, and the past, suggest we should all be concerned.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
China Prep / American Prep
For all of the ways that China is lapping America in education---most notably in their overwhelming commitment to it---there's an inherent problem with China's educational system in my opinion.
Creativity.
Or lack thereof.
China's educational system is almost 100 percent rote learning.
In 1850 that might have been great, but we live in a world where facts are readily available. Look at what's available: Google, free books on Amazon, libraries, free podcasts from some of the world's great universities, etc. I'm not saying that rote learning is irrelevant---it's important to know certain things without having to be a slave to your computer, and it goes without saying that there are certain facts that are almost a prerequisite to engaging in abstract thinking---but to place such inordinate emphasis on rote learning seems to me China's fatal flaw.
For all that's wrong with the American educational system, and we could spend a whole month of posts dedicated to that alone (in one of Jay Leno's "Man on the Street" interviews, some American 18-year-old once said, with all sincerity, that the capital of the United States was "Las Vegas"), there are a few things that are right. For one, our oft-critiqued emphasis on individualism has its upside.
"Think different" isn't just an Apple computer slogan, it's practically a national slogan.
In America "different" is celebrated. Just consider how American children are encouraged to "express themselves," "give opinions," "think for themselves," talk about how they're "feeling," and "argue" when wronged. American children are also given time to socialize, play sports, take music lessons, write, draw, and discover "who they are."
This has created some me-centered monsters, but it has also created an environment that fosters creative thinking. And I believe creative thinking is one of America's greatest strengths. After all, true intelligence lies not in being able to recall facts, but in knowing how to interpret facts and make logical (and sometimes counter-intuitive) connections.
Creativity.
Or lack thereof.
China's educational system is almost 100 percent rote learning.
In 1850 that might have been great, but we live in a world where facts are readily available. Look at what's available: Google, free books on Amazon, libraries, free podcasts from some of the world's great universities, etc. I'm not saying that rote learning is irrelevant---it's important to know certain things without having to be a slave to your computer, and it goes without saying that there are certain facts that are almost a prerequisite to engaging in abstract thinking---but to place such inordinate emphasis on rote learning seems to me China's fatal flaw.
For all that's wrong with the American educational system, and we could spend a whole month of posts dedicated to that alone (in one of Jay Leno's "Man on the Street" interviews, some American 18-year-old once said, with all sincerity, that the capital of the United States was "Las Vegas"), there are a few things that are right. For one, our oft-critiqued emphasis on individualism has its upside.
"Think different" isn't just an Apple computer slogan, it's practically a national slogan.
In America "different" is celebrated. Just consider how American children are encouraged to "express themselves," "give opinions," "think for themselves," talk about how they're "feeling," and "argue" when wronged. American children are also given time to socialize, play sports, take music lessons, write, draw, and discover "who they are."
This has created some me-centered monsters, but it has also created an environment that fosters creative thinking. And I believe creative thinking is one of America's greatest strengths. After all, true intelligence lies not in being able to recall facts, but in knowing how to interpret facts and make logical (and sometimes counter-intuitive) connections.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Quite a Production
On the right side of this page I've added a new link to my friend Cory Basil's site.
Check it out when you have a moment.
Cory is a great guy who has some really incredible stories; he's someone who already has my respect.
On another note, I hope your Tuesday morning is off to a great start.
I once heard that people are on average more productive on Tuesdays than on any other day of the week.
Here's hoping that's true for all of us today.
Check it out when you have a moment.
Cory is a great guy who has some really incredible stories; he's someone who already has my respect.
On another note, I hope your Tuesday morning is off to a great start.
I once heard that people are on average more productive on Tuesdays than on any other day of the week.
Here's hoping that's true for all of us today.
Monday, August 11, 2008
The Opening Ceremonies and The Great Wall
So who watched the Opening Ceremonies for the Olympic Games?
What did you think?
I watched the ceremonies twice this weekend---once on my small television at home, and a second time on my friend Cory's high-definition flat screen television---and I was blown away both times.
I honestly believe that Beijing's Opening Ceremonies will be studied for years to come by world theater historians for its stunning creativity and sheer magnitude. In fact, it might have been the most lavish, large-scale theater performance in human history. After all, something like 15,000 performers participated---none of whom repeated---and the Chinese government likely spent around $100 million, if not more, to pull it off.
But I had very different reactions to the show the two times I watched it. The first time I was wide-eyed and felt the performance was in keeping with the Olympic spirit of peace. But upon second viewing, the show at points struck me as vaguely menacing and militaristic---a show of China's history and promise, but also a subtle warning to those who might oppose the desires of a country of 1.3 billion people.
My favorite part of the show was when the performers (with help from an LED screen) created the Great Wall of China, and then moments later, brought the wall down, replacing it with flowers that are the Chinese symbol for openness.
What did you think?
I watched the ceremonies twice this weekend---once on my small television at home, and a second time on my friend Cory's high-definition flat screen television---and I was blown away both times.
I honestly believe that Beijing's Opening Ceremonies will be studied for years to come by world theater historians for its stunning creativity and sheer magnitude. In fact, it might have been the most lavish, large-scale theater performance in human history. After all, something like 15,000 performers participated---none of whom repeated---and the Chinese government likely spent around $100 million, if not more, to pull it off.
But I had very different reactions to the show the two times I watched it. The first time I was wide-eyed and felt the performance was in keeping with the Olympic spirit of peace. But upon second viewing, the show at points struck me as vaguely menacing and militaristic---a show of China's history and promise, but also a subtle warning to those who might oppose the desires of a country of 1.3 billion people.
My favorite part of the show was when the performers (with help from an LED screen) created the Great Wall of China, and then moments later, brought the wall down, replacing it with flowers that are the Chinese symbol for openness.
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Flight of Fantasy
One more thing related to my previous post from earlier this morning.
You might have noticed that within the past year or so I've become very interested in my family's history. I can't explain why fully, other than to say that I've started to realize that, while we rarely acknowledge it or understand it, we are inextricably connected to the past and unwittingly influenced by it. So until we learn our past, we will never make sense of our present. The way forward is backward.
Let me give you some examples that you might dismiss as coincidence or mere flights of fantasy, but examples that, if nothing else, make me eager to know more of my family's history. For one, I became Episcopalian/ Anglican without knowing that my great grandfather and great grandmother were also Anglicans, and that my grandfather was a lapsed Anglican who only returned to it in the last years of his life. In fact, I likely come from many generations of Anglicans, now that I know that my great grandmother was a British citizen.
Again, I knew none of this going in.
Also, I can't very well explain that some of the places I've felt most connected to in this world have turned out to be places where my ancestors came from. For some odd reason I've always loved Ottawa, Canada---where I now know that my great grandfather lived---and I loved Montreal years before ever being consciously aware that my mother's maiden name was French and then French-Canadian. I also can't explain that thing I felt in Scotland, or France (and still being a bit of a neo-con at the time, I really didn't want to like France, but fell in love with it anyway), or London. The rumbling of a thousand voices. People I knew or should've known.
People who perhaps knew me.
I now wonder how many other things I've done or said or felt that came from some deeper well that I once thought was merely of my own creation. Maya Angelou once said something along the lines of, "You might think I'm standing up here on this stage by myself, but I'll tell you what---it's so crowded up here, I can barely move."
I'm feeling that more and more as I grow older. The presence of all these people.
You might have noticed that within the past year or so I've become very interested in my family's history. I can't explain why fully, other than to say that I've started to realize that, while we rarely acknowledge it or understand it, we are inextricably connected to the past and unwittingly influenced by it. So until we learn our past, we will never make sense of our present. The way forward is backward.
Let me give you some examples that you might dismiss as coincidence or mere flights of fantasy, but examples that, if nothing else, make me eager to know more of my family's history. For one, I became Episcopalian/ Anglican without knowing that my great grandfather and great grandmother were also Anglicans, and that my grandfather was a lapsed Anglican who only returned to it in the last years of his life. In fact, I likely come from many generations of Anglicans, now that I know that my great grandmother was a British citizen.
Again, I knew none of this going in.
Also, I can't very well explain that some of the places I've felt most connected to in this world have turned out to be places where my ancestors came from. For some odd reason I've always loved Ottawa, Canada---where I now know that my great grandfather lived---and I loved Montreal years before ever being consciously aware that my mother's maiden name was French and then French-Canadian. I also can't explain that thing I felt in Scotland, or France (and still being a bit of a neo-con at the time, I really didn't want to like France, but fell in love with it anyway), or London. The rumbling of a thousand voices. People I knew or should've known.
People who perhaps knew me.
I now wonder how many other things I've done or said or felt that came from some deeper well that I once thought was merely of my own creation. Maya Angelou once said something along the lines of, "You might think I'm standing up here on this stage by myself, but I'll tell you what---it's so crowded up here, I can barely move."
I'm feeling that more and more as I grow older. The presence of all these people.
Thoughts on Family and Country
I recently learned that my great grandfather on my mother's side didn't fly an open-cockpit biplane in World War I for the United States, but for the Canadian Air Force. My great grandfather, who had a French-Canadian last name, was Canadian and lived in Ottawa. And I believe he met his wife, a British citizen with the surname "Dawkins," during World War I and married her. My great grandmother was British, and apparently I still have blood relatives there.
On my father's side, the ties to America extend back many generations, back to the 1700s, probably earlier. I know for sure there was a General Conant who fought in the Revolutionary War. The Conants were Scotch-Irish people who eventually made good, but my line of the family diverges from the upper-crust Massachusetts Conants who produced a president of Harvard, and is instead populated with mostly poor farmers who made their way across the wild Northwest Territory, which would eventually be divided up into states like Michigan.
In other words, with the exception of native peoples, we are all immigrants here, which makes this Olympic story about the U.S. flag bearer so poignant and, for me at least, something that conjures up warm feelings about equality and freedom, things America represents for so many. And though I'm all too aware of our shortcomings as a country, including the terrible ways Native Americans were treated by European settlers, stories like this one still make me proud to be an American, and simultaneously proud to come from French, British, Canadian, and Scotch-Irish stock.
We are all a part of where we live. We are all a part of our ancestors and the places from whence they came. We are all a part of each other. "There is no me without you." I think I finally understand that statement. This one too:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..."
On my father's side, the ties to America extend back many generations, back to the 1700s, probably earlier. I know for sure there was a General Conant who fought in the Revolutionary War. The Conants were Scotch-Irish people who eventually made good, but my line of the family diverges from the upper-crust Massachusetts Conants who produced a president of Harvard, and is instead populated with mostly poor farmers who made their way across the wild Northwest Territory, which would eventually be divided up into states like Michigan.
In other words, with the exception of native peoples, we are all immigrants here, which makes this Olympic story about the U.S. flag bearer so poignant and, for me at least, something that conjures up warm feelings about equality and freedom, things America represents for so many. And though I'm all too aware of our shortcomings as a country, including the terrible ways Native Americans were treated by European settlers, stories like this one still make me proud to be an American, and simultaneously proud to come from French, British, Canadian, and Scotch-Irish stock.
We are all a part of where we live. We are all a part of our ancestors and the places from whence they came. We are all a part of each other. "There is no me without you." I think I finally understand that statement. This one too:
"Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free..."
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