Your Book Is not Your Khakis

As Tyler Durden so eloquently pointed out, few of us will ever achieve movie star, rock god, or millionaire status, despite TV's claims to the contrary. Not only did Fight Club acquaint us with this paradox of contemporary society, it did so for the right reasons. Instead of preaching a defeatist apathy, Durden and the other members of Project Mayhem celebrated the intrinsic value of human talent, though admittedly to an extreme degree.

The point remains that purely utilitarian, materialistic ends shouldn't motivate the pursuit of one's passion. That kind of value system is what's gotten Hollywood mired in the stagnant depths of sequel and reboot obsession.

Not that an artist doesn't deserve just compensation for the years of effort it can take to create a finished work. The simple fact is that it's pretty amazing when anyone produces a sculpture, writes a poem, or scripts a play, whether or not the achievement gets major recognition.

Some of the best advice I've heard on the use of talent was given by Bill Flanagan to Sinead O'Connor when her career was on the rocks. When she lamented that she still had a lot of songs left in her, he told her to write them anyway, even if she just left them unrecorded in a shoebox.

I've often heard professional authors caution amateurs to curb their dreams of the elusive six-figure advance and the highly competitive bestseller list. Art is not a field one enters for the money.

Everyone has a skill in which heredity and environment have predisposed them to excel. Allowing that gift to atrophy is a monumental waste. Plus, I hold to Tolkien's concept of sub-creation: that human beings are privileged above any other animal to be made collaborators in the ongoing beautification and perfection of nature. Engaging our powers as authors; be it as painters, writers, filmmakers, or parents, is the way in which we most closely approach the activity of the Author.