Art Mimics Life, Mimics Art : High Stakes, Do-Or-Die, and Cat Vids

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I just got home from my first writer’s conference, and I’m exhausted.

I’m sitting on the couch with a vicious roar of thunder coming from outside. Darkness descends; tree leaves flip upside down — a thriller scene in the making. There was plenty of talk at the conference about sci-fi, suspense, horror, and fantasy plotlines. I feel like I’m living one right now in my exhaustion amidst a stormy setting. I’m vulnerable. Ripe for the taking.

But mostly, my mind is swimming in ideas and information. At the end of each of the three days of the conference, I stopped at local spots on my way back to my hotel. There I was, just an hour earlier, taking notes on the high stakes of fiction characters, when I passed a homeless man sitting on the far curb of a parking lot in the heat, while later I cruised by cops guarding the federal military and intelligence contractors in the area.

Life imitating art? Vice versa?

I learned many things about writing and publishing a book. It boggled the mind for a newbie novel writer wannabe like me. There were two channels of learning: the business side of writing and its craft. The former is why I went, but, ugh. The latter was the fun stuff.

My real takeaway was how much art and life are a feedback loop.

Numero uno: publishers are like grocers, auto manufacturers, airlines, news stations, and spas. They need to make money. Sure, they have a mission statement. Sure, they believe in what they do. But they’re businesses first.

A publisher needs to sell their wares or they’re out of business. So does a lamp designer, a home builder, and a sock maker. None of these businesses wants to risk the output of money on something that won’t sell. But how do they know what will sell? I figure either the buyer tells the seller what they want, or the seller convinces the buyer of what to want.

And there are tried and true ways to manipulate that want.

The hot genres right now are fantasy, sci-fi, romantasy, horror. The hot news stations are just as adrenaline-sparking. But then, cat videos will always be popular because we need to wind down, too.

Speaking of winding down, the evening before my last day at the conference, I stopped at an aircraft observation park — a public park with a playground and picnic area situated just past the end of the departure runway at the Baltimore-Washington International Airport. The planes taking off were low and loud. It was an ear-blasting spectacle. I’ve been to these places before. Why do I assault my ears like this? No comment.

After a day of feverishly taking notes on writing, I changed into walking attire and drove to this park to take a short walk before retiring for the night.

I stepped from my car and, right away, was struck by the vibe of the place. On the grassy areas near the parking lot were circles of folding chairs populated with people having dinner together. There were blankets with young couples snuggling. Kids were skipping about, blowing bubbles, throwing frisbees to the best of their ability (to put it kindly), and parents skewing off to catch them in laughter. Within seconds, I felt joy.

I strolled towards the walking trail, passing the playground on the way. If suspense in a plot is supposed to stop the heart, this was a heart decelerator without suspense. I wasn’t breathless. I was touched. Here was peace and happiness, and I wanted more of it. I stopped walking and observed.

Everyone in that place had a facial expression of joy, love, or generosity. I didn’t see one parent scolding or a child crying. I didn’t see a snarky look or a downtrodden glance. I didn’t see people removed from each other. I saw them physically close and engaged. I’m not trying to exaggerate here for effect, but it was one of the most beautiful things I’ve seen in a long time.

There was every culture, race, and stage of life represented. People were friendly — when I said hi, they smiled and said hi back. Walkers moving along the trail in groups were laughing and talking expressively. I love seeing this in others. I peek at it surreptitiously, internalizing it, and log it into memory.

There was no suspense plot that I could detect. A horror story would have been horrified to be there — not its preferred setting. A crime trope could have shown up, but it would have been outnumbered. It was a community at ease. It was the story about humanity that doesn’t sell so readily— the one about human connection.

We need two types of stories in our lives: the kind that teaches us what to do when problems hit, and the kind that reminds us how imperative human connection is. In fiction, you’ll see these intermingled, but there must be continuous tension with high stakes, or it’ll come across as boring. But life isn’t only a horror-driven, fantastical, dystopian crime spree.

Our lives are rooted in the quieter, human-connected hours of simply sharing our humanity. This isn’t a Pollyanna dreamscape. It’s long been studied in endless ways, and we need it.

On the last day of the conference, I brought the view of that happy park with me as I scribbled out my last pages of notes. I drove home in deep thought. The fiction story I’m currently writing isn’t happy-go-lucky. There’s homelessness in it. I know I need to hook the reader in the first few paragraphs, and I’m not going to do that with something like, “Life had never been better.”

But it’s good to remember that when I put down whatever book I’m writing or reading, when I shut down my social media apps, and stop doom scrolling, I can walk over to a local park and watch the humanity roaming around. It’s the other side of life, and it’s a great antidote to nature’s inherent cycle of conflict. I might even see a wolf discussing Frank Lloyd Wright with a pig. Now, that would be a story to tell.

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Hope you have a little happy-go-lucky this week, friends. :-)