CREATIVE DRIVE
Lawrence Payne
Award-Winning Copywriter & Editor - Sync Composer - YouTube Creator
The newsletter for people who identify as human
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NUMBER 45
Let's have our feelings hurt a few times, and then we can move forward.
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I WILL BE HONEST with the following statement, which is not meant to intrigue or entertain: As a boy I suffered years of torment from my peers. I was taunted and excluded, and on one occasion I was hit repeatedly with concussion-inducing force during a fight on the blacktop. It was because I'd committed multiple sins. I was very small, bespectacled, brainy and blond, all of which were grave errors for a boy. None of those things could be changed.
One thing was definite, though: I wouldn't take guff from anybody. It was a rough place run by coldhearted nuns and a slobbering priest from across the pond, and there was no discipline against fighting. For a nice, reasonably quiet student like me, though, the playground was a prison yard. It was only a few years ago, in reflection on that particular brawl, that I realized I could have died.
Defensiveness was innate, but it was amplified by conditioning. Eventually I reached the point at which I'd counter most criticism with an argument or an excuse. I was the king of excuses, my mom said. If I missed one of my chores around the house or the yard, I had something to say in defense. I tried to explain that my pitiful excuses were "reasons," but the semantics were pointless.
Gradually Getting Better
Ninth grade was my first year out of Catholic elementary, and I went to a public junior high in my neighborhood. There was a girl at school, and I recognized her from one of my classes. She was upfront about her crush on a neighborhood kid I'd hang out with at the end of the day. She'd step right up with a good line, and I could see that she was upbeat and quick-witted. We became friends when were twenty or twenty-one, and we dated in a casual way. One evening I had a party at the house, and several of my musician friends came over for a big, loud jam session. She was there too. At one point, a few of us gathered around the kitchen table and handed around my acoustic guitar. I did a song by a British artist I admired, and I nailed every last detail of the tune. My friend Bill, who managed the nearby vintage-guitar shop, smiled and said, "Larry, you've got it!"
It was a compliment, wasn't it? Yes, it was sincere, and he made no attempt to downplay the joy he felt. Bill was proud of me, but I said nothing . . . not even "thanks." My friend the young lady said, "It's all right, Bill. Larry doesn't know how to take a compliment." I'll never forget it.
I'll never forget my friend Bill, either. He ran a popular guitar shop that was stocked with valuable gear from the 1950s and '60s; a place that was often visited after hours by touring rockers who had the cash to pay for valuable old Gibson Les Pauls and rarities like the Flying V. He played only a little bit, but he knew all about sound, stringed instruments and electronics. He knew which way was up, but I couldn't have made such a claim.
One day at home, as I practiced the guitar with my customary fervor, I sensed that it wasn't enough. So, I grabbed the keys to my Ford Fiesta and drove down to the guitar shop. When I stepped inside, a kid was trying out a guitar while his father sat and watched. Bill said, "Hey, Larry. Why don't you borrow that guitar for a minute so they can hear what it'll sound like?"
A Surprise Every Day
I loved playing the incredible guitars that hung on those pine-clad walls. This time, though, the experience was surprising. It was as if I was alien to an ability I'd worked hard to cultivate, and I could barely play that guitar. My playing was usually very fluid and fast, but not that time. Instead of rhapsodic melodies, there was choppy noise. I felt so lame! My self-esteem vanished like the wind, and I handed the guitar back to the kid.
The boy and his dad left the shop a few minutes later, and I lamented my embarrassment. "Man, that was terrible," I said. "I just . . . I just couldn't play. I don't get it." Bill simply smiled and said, "You've just been playing too much. Now it's time to sit for a while and listen."
Wham! Ka-POWWW! The power of that advice was inarguable! It was so beautifully direct and simple that it left me speechless! I went home and devoted myself to listening. I didn't play a note of guitar till sometime the next day.
I felt so free! It was the first time I'd ever been told that mistakes were for learning! It was the first time anyone close to me had said it was okay for me to be myself!
What Is It, Really?
We now have the question of feedback and what it really is. Should we always perceive feedback as something negative, and should we cover our heads in anticipation of falling rafters? Why is feedback something we dread, and why is it necessary to precede it with the word "positive"?
Let's break it down in terms of something creative such as writing, music or acting:
1. You offer or convey a piece or a performance that you feel represents an honest effort.
2. You wait (willingly or otherwise) for some word of impression from the spectator, instructor or friend.
3. The spectator, instructor or friend puts that impression into words.
4. You respond with feelings of elation, surprise, disappointment or anger.
5. You wonder why the person's impression, whether good or poor, matters to you.
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Through the Back of the Mirror
?Consider the five stages I've outlined. Is any of them objective in nature? None of them is objective. In fact, they're very obviously subjective, as we can see:
1. The effort you made might not represent the best that your instructor or friend thinks you can do.
2. You "expect" a response even if you don't want one, and that makes you feel tense.
3. The instructor or friend might withhold his or her honest feelings, especially if they're emotional in nature.
4. You react to your spectator's impression in a way that shields your sense of an adversarial dynamic.
5. You question your artistry, skill and validity, doing so in a way that's critical of you and the spectator.
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We can see feedback for what it is: subjective opinion. In music, for instance, myths are heavily promoted. Popularity equals greatness, and posture equals talent. I can see through that stuff, but even with shiny new eyeglasses I'd still have a subjective view. If it thrills you to see some bloke struggle with outdated blues licks on a guitar slung down to his knees, who am I to say you're wrong? That's kid stuff. Opinions are for kids, who of course need to find their place in the world. Who are you to say your favorite novel is the ultimate in fiction? A good friend might respect your assessment but get less out of the book. It's enough to simply offer the book as a gift.
The Gift of Forgetting
I've helped many people hone their writing skills, and it's been a privilege to do so. Strangely, though, I found that I could approach things more constructively as opposed to being hypercritical. I'll give you a few examples:
"Your review is interesting, and I can sense your enthusiasm. Wouldn't it be even better if you structured the piece to match the flow of the entire album?"
"We use a comma at the end of this verb clause because it's followed by another verb clause that has an article or a pronoun. There, can you see the difference?"
"Your writing isn't yet at the level it could be, so I want you to give it more effort. Think of what you want to say, and then you'll see it on the page."
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It isn't a good idea to get personal:
"Your review isn't good enough because you failed to follow the course of the album. You simply picked out the points you liked or disliked. You should be better at this by now."
"You're not supposed to adjoin two verb clauses without a comma or a semicolon. So, I can't understand a word of this. Stop wasting my time."
"Whoever said you could write was fooling. It's totally obvious that you can't."
Any offer of feedback in return for good-faith effort should be made in good faith too. Feedback isn't for the purpose of criticism but for constructive improvement. Disparage a student, and there might not be another effort. He or she might not create anything for at least a while, and the absence could deprive the world of a meaningful contribution. So, the unenlightened or otherwise arrogant opinion should be kept private. Replace the harsh feedback with something more suitable for the moment, such as a second example or a different exercise.
Life Is the Practice
Practice is the equalizer. Anyone can get better through effort and guidance. I've had several guitar instructors, and a few of them were superb technicians. One, in particular, is a world-class flamenco player who travels the globe as part of a duo. My favorite teacher, though, was one of my four older brothers. When he got a new guitar he immediately gave me his old one. We sat down together right then, and he knew exactly what to show me. He was calm and friendly. The next day he showed me how to fingerpick with the traditional Travis pattern, and within a couple more days we played complete songs together. Each song was an object lesson; a way to voice chords and use them in ways that were new to me. It felt natural to me, but any pupil should have calm, careful guidance.
The time for hurt is always past. Every moment brings an opportunity to experience something good, and each new second waits with tomorrow in its embrace. So, if you've had pain–if people have said things to you that were mean and untrue–I understand completely. Let's put it aside. I've done my crying, and I'll bet you have to. Let's move forward and get better at everything.
THANK YOU for reading this issue of Creative Drive. I'll see you next time.
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? Copyright 2024 by Lawrence Payne. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated or distributed without permission from the author.
Award Winning Voice Actor @ Deb DeVries Voice Over | BFA Theatre Arts
5 个月Love your perspective on this Lawrence!