Nora Roberts profile- the best bits (Artist Tips)
By alice on June 30, 2009
broccoli- ugh (see below)
Once of the most enjoyable articles I came across lately was a profile of romantic novelist Nora Roberts in the New Yorker (abstract here, 11 minute podcast here). Roberts is to literature as Michelle and Jim-Bob Duggar are to parenting, having produced a spectacular 182 books and counting, during her career; this edition of BBC Radio 4’s Front Row has a discussion with NR* and other authors about extremely prolific writing, for anyone seeking tips (it also has a lovely interview with Jose Carreras, who describes his last visit to Luciano Pavorotti, who insisted on making him a sandwich for the journey home).
I am not embarrassed to admit that I have never made it through a romance novel in my life, but I did purposefully go and purchase one of Nora’s in order to rectify this situation last week. The first chapter was somewhat linguistically heavy-going for this reader; I said something on twitter about a flower market in a rugby scrum. But I shall persevere! At my own pace (see below, on Proust).
So why the sudden interest in Nora Roberts?
1. Happy endings.
I want reading that enriches my life, not reading that makes me suicidal: happy endings are a jolly good thing. In real life there are happy endings all the time- it’s just a matter of how long you keep going. Then there are more sad endings too, of course, repeat and rinse etc. But who wants to focus on misery when they may only have another sixty or so years to live? Not me.
2. Popularity.
Admittedly, much writing, and other arts, are niche and always will be. Especially the stuff that can only really be understood by incredibly clever people with enormous vocabularies and a rich range of historical references at their fingertips including obscure quotes from Renaissance poetry, Jack Kerouac and operas by Benjamin Britten. Also admittedly, much popular art is not supposed to be great, as it is aimed at people whose idea of highbrow drama is Spongebob Squarepants or Dr Phil. But art that is simultaneously great (or even just really really good within its own remit, like NR) and loved by jillions is very amazing and interesting to me: Shakespeare, Abba, Van Gogh, you can name more. Even Spongebob Squarepants is much more clever and interesting than most people without kids would probably expect. Also, trashing stuff because it happens to be popular is a recurring blind-spot among the academentsia, and I think that’s a very bad thing. For instance, Sonic Youth are great and I love them, but Girls Aloud at their worst still don’t doodle around twiddling with funny sounds that basically go nowhere, and neither does Nora Roberts. (If you have ever listened to Sonic Youth, the opening paragraph of this New Yorker piece in the same issue as NR is very amusing).
3. Nora is cool.
Finally we have arrived at the title and point of this blog post: Nora’s best bits from the article! There are a few things here which correlate with other peoples’ ideas about how to be creative/ artistic, and others which correlate to me personally, as I happen to have a near-paranormal talent for identifying over-strongly with every new artist/ creator whose ideas/ work I come across and like, especially until the next one shows up. Next week’s hero could well be Proust, we will just have to see.
The best bits and Artist Tips:
a) Nora’s “one key commandment of writing- Ass in the chair.
Tip: Ass in the chair.
b) Nora’s early-parenting full-time-childcare Earth Mother period (her term); I baked bread, canned, sewed, macramed, embroidered, grew vegetables, [...] I was obviously looking for a creative outlet.
Tip: if your usual multiple creative activities are not enough, look for a new, more challenging field.
c) Her later, “ruthless parenting” period (my term): Don’t bother me unless it’s blood or fire. And, as they grew more responsible, arterial blood and active fire.
Tip: to get work done with kids around, increase boundaries as they become mature enough to occupy themselves safely.
d) Her junk fuel consumption as she, writes for six to eight hours” daily, “fuelling herself with Winston Filter 100s, Cheez-Its, and Diet Pepsi from a litre bottle.
Tip: having snacks and drinks for energy and alertness ready-prepared can help you work longer. (I go for fruit, tea and protein pretzels these days, but once upon a time it was Coca-cola, Camels and Marks and Spencers giant multipacks of crisps.)
e) Her misanthropic tendencies; she has no cook, assistant or research aide, because Why would you want people in your house? Then you have to talk to them.
Tip: being unsociable at home or work is fine if it suits you, and should not make you feel guilty. (See Hugh Macleod’s book).
f) Her attitude to reading worthy literature such as Proust: I don’t particularly want to, [...] I read to be entertained and to relax, and to go into another world, not because it’s good for me. [...] I don’t eat broccoli either.
Tip: know what you want and like, don’t waste time trying to do what impresses other people.
g) Her attitude to broccoli (see above).
Tip: if you don’t like broccoli, it’s fine to seek vitamins C, K, A and fibre in other foods instead. Although Cheez-Its and Winston 100s are probably not the best initial port of call.
h) That’s it.
* Nora Roberts is often called NR by her fans- and NFR among her friends, with the F embodying her formidableness, although technically standing for another word.
But is it really worth the sacrifices?
By alice on June 23, 2009
Van Gogh- as inward-looking as the rest of us.
As we all know, artists tend to have more fragile egos than your average burly coal-miner; they are notorious for destroying all their early work in a hissy fit, or for disappearing into depression and insanity, or just for sitting indoors feeling sorry about their lack of sales and/or peer-appreciation instead of going out and selling their ideas on street corners like the other poor homeless people.
But that’s enough about artists: you don’t need to make pictures for a living to experience days, weeks or more of feeling that whatever you do is not good enough, and whatever you most love and believe in and try to give your all is so far away that attempting it is certainly worthless and possibly even damaging, or that your deepest passions were really mere vanities, not worth attempting in the first place. And let’s face it, this is a terrible way to feel, and pretty much the definition of self-harm, so we should give it up right away and be more constructive instead. Easy!
Well, maybe not easy. I think the big reason people find it hard to “carry on regardless” on the “insanely impractical path”, as Hugh Macleod puts it, is social conditioning. We all want to fit in, make friends, impress people, become millionaires with enormous fan-bases and hundreds of close friends to invite to our hundredth birthday parties, and you can’t do that by following insane paths, because insane is another word for anti-social. Seriously, they used to lock people up for confounding everyone else’s social expectations, and things have not changed as much as the new social convention would have you believe. That’s the new social convention that says, “Everyone can be totally bonkers these days! You can even get tattoos and still have a job! There are just no boundaries left at all!” It’s a big lie. Tons of people don’t fit in these days, we just drug them and call them brain-damaged instead of locking them up, is all.
some important qualifications before I continue further:
1. I am not saying everyone being medicated for a mental condition is a victim of abuse, far from it, drugs help a lot of people this way and I am in favour of them,
2. On the other hand, we never used to drug schoolchildren to make them act more conventionally.
3. On the other other hand, we used to beat them instead, which was not very nice.
4. I have not met you or your children and you’re right, I have no idea what you have been through with them; but I would absolutely believe pretty much anything you want to say on the matter, which is absolutely none of my business.
Back to the point: oddness, weirdness, strangeness, unconventionality and not fitting into the crowd are all socially-defined concepts, and, on the whole, any new remarkable and brilliant idea may well come over as appallingly stupid and dangerous to various other people, because-
1. very new things are difficult to recognise and understand,
2. creativity is by definition about newness, or it would be called something like “repeativity” or “sameoldivity” instead of “CREATE-ivity” (please remove the E).
So yes, doing something wonderful and new may well come with a lot of mental and emotional stress if, for example, you like your old friends and family and feel upset about them totally rejecting you for being a nutcase. And it’s easy to say, “Get over it!” but I can’t do that without being both mean and hypocritical, because I have no idea how hard it is (or was) for you personally (depends on a lot of variably awful circumstances), besides being nowhere near over it myself. Especially lately, as I’ve been making a lot of art out of nails, bits of wood, old cardboard boxes, food wrappers and second-hand shoes etc, which is not exactly what you would call coal-mining, my own “doubting Thomas”, that evil voice of self-attack, the Inner-Fitter-Inner has been having a field-day.
“What on earth are you doing?” she says. “Cripes!” (because she is English, of course).
“It’s art,” I say, “thank you very much for asking.”
“This is Art? You have got to be kidding me.” I ignore her. “This isn’t art, art takes years of training and many many hours of effort, application and skill! This is… horrible. This is what they force kids to make, in underfunded after-school groups with no money. Nails? Food wrappers?!” She shakes her head, grimly. “This is… hippycrafting!”
Ouch. “Go away,” I say. “You don’t understand.” She laughs.
“Get a job stacking supermarket shelves,” she says. “You’re deluded.”
And it doesn’t matter how stupid it is to listen to that kind of thing: I still want to know the answer to The Question, the one that always finally comes in the end, which, on hearing it, enables you to turn round and stick up one or more fingers at whomsoever has been annoying you, saying “Ha! Take that, Annoying One!” The question that goes like this:
Question: Was it worth it?
Answer: Of course! The universe will be eternally grateful for your genius! Please accept this nice gold figurine on a stick now.
Except, that isn’t really how it goes. It really goes like this:
Question: Was it worth it?
Answer: Worth what, exactly?
Questioneer: You know, was my work worth the anguish and the pain, and giving up that big swimming pool and seventeen children etc. Was everything I did worth the sacrifices?
Answereer: Ahahaha! So, you think all you had to do for the big swimming pool and the seventeen children was give up the hippycrafting? Like, as a shelf-stacker, everything is easier? Hahahahaha! (and so on)
So in the end I am probably saying; there is not much point in worrying about whether your crazy stuff is any good or not. Give it a try just in case, if it means something to you personally. Maybe it will change the course of human evolution, maybe it will cheer a few people up, or maybe it will mostly cause annoyance. Let’s face it, the world is full of terrible art and other stuff already, we can handle a little bit more. People are tough, thank God.
things that are inspiring me lately
By alice on June 22, 2009
1. Nails
Not fingernails: the kind of nails that come in boxes in DIY stores, for banging into pieces of wood with a hammer. This is an immensely satisfying activity, and I don’t know why more people don’t try it. (Not as a computer game, the whole point is the real force required).
2. All-American Poem by Matthew Dickman
I’m not a great reader of poetry- too much of it is just way embarrassing (I’m very easily embarrassed, mostly on behalf of others- see 6 below)- but Matthew Dickman makes me smile, and reminds me of T.S. Elliot too. Here’s one that I like for its location (Austin, Texas): Self Portrait with a Balloon, Western Novel and Duel.
3. Pink string
Got some amazing neon pink string at Lowe’s. Haven’t found anything to do with it yet, but just looking at it makes me happy.
4. ¿Qué he hecho yo para merecer esto!! (What Have I Done to Deserve This?)
There is always something good to be found in an Almadovar movie, and this everyday tale of prostitution, psycho-kinetic powers, drug-dealing, murder and the ordinary working-class family is no exception. Granny’s glasses are a high spot, as is the pet Lizard named Money, and the son-being-sold-to-the-dentist-plot is an act of filmmaking hooliganism. Almadovar blasts through the history of cinema like Shakespeare blasted away all previous drama with his own now-underappreciated outrageousness. Blasting is where all great artists begin their careers.
5. Simon Doonan
I knew there was something not quite right about Beautiful People when my daughter made me watch a couple of episodes in England last year. It’s now about to be shown on the Logo channel over here, whereby I discovered that the original book was a memoir by Simon Doonan, set in the post-war years, not 1997; and surely this time difference has to make a huge difference to campness, gay-ness and family and other relationships in the story? Homosexuality was illegal when the real Simon Doonan was growing up, for a start. And even more glaringly obvious now, you can’t move from London to New York in your twenties to be a department store window-dresser: emigrating from the UK to the US is extremely difficult, unless you have family reasons or an extremely impressive and uniquely high-flying job. Otherwise New York would be even more heaving with Brits than it is. Looking forward to reading the proper book of this.
6. People on the Jonathan Ross show (now on BBC America).
I find talk shows generally quite excruciating, because the interviewer is acting all innocent and trying to get the interviewee actually to say something, and the interviewee is staring back with gritted teeth and squinty eyes trying to say as little as possible (without actually doing a Joaquin Phoenix) and the whole thing is really a duel not a conversation, with both sides going at it to the death. Hugh Laurie does the squinty eye thing to the hilt, in my view, giving nothing away whatsoever, and making me feel almost sorry for Mr Ross. Yet Hugh still comes over as a nice intelligent person, which is quite a feat when you’re not really saying anything. Eminem on the other hand has that haunted, “So this is what sobriety looks like! Help!” look about him, and his reserve seems genuine rather than strategic- that of a sincere, quiet, rather nerdy young man. I think. Plus he has that young/ageless look that artistic geniuses sometimes have. Also he puts a huge amount of energy into his musical performance, which is quite impressive.
How can I bake anything ever again after this? Wow. But the punk rock pastry idea, that I do identify with.
8. My new shoes.
So I finally caved in to the superhigh, somewhatcrazy trend of the modern shoe (at a massive multiple discount, mind you). Hopefully these will be worn more often than the $18 Badgley Mischka beaded Oscar gown that still hasn’t left the closet. It’s not always easy to live up to extraordinary attire.
9. Billy Bragg
Here he is on Craig Ferguson, who calls him “the best thing to come out of England since the road to Scotland”. I shall not attempt any political justifications here; Bragg is what he is and he takes no prisoners, and I respect that. Also, “the revolution’s just an ethical haircut away” is a nice line.
things I learned from Star Trek (the new movie)
By alice on June 15, 2009
Uhura was beginning to wonder what she’d gotten herself into…
(CONTAINS SPOILERS! for you non-trekkies who haven’t seen it already).
1. The unreconstructed male is now back. Three of them, in fact- a grumpy doctor (”House”- no need to eat your heart out just yet), a wild Celt and a bar-brawling victim of stepfather-abuse, but the greatest of these (the latter) is James T. Kirk. When Kirk is right about something very important and disagrees with whoever is standing in his way, he simply beats them up! Simple, powerful, effective… (except when it’s not)… why has no-one thought of this strategy before? Don’t say they did already when the first Star Trek was invented, because they didn’t. In those days, you just pretended to punch someone, waited for them to step aside, then waited for them to pretend to punch you. Not the same. Now even Vulcans punch people. Good for them. I, er, think.
2. Everyone important now is young. As we now know, the future is already being saved by a bunch of college kids taking over the power-structures of the world through a combination of inborn genius, hand-to-hand combat (beating people up), amazing techno skills and outstanding college grades. Amazingly, the youngest crewmember of the Enterprise is seventeen! And the only crew member over 35 is carted out on a wheelchair by the end of the film. And while “the original Leonard Nimoy” (TM: my son) does appear as Old Spock, he looks so completely fossilised you can hardly believe him capable of staying upright. And it’s obvious the original William Shatner was not invited due to his somewhat broader build of recent years; in the future, ie. now, everyone will/does go to the gym. For boxing lessons.
3. Superintellectual sexiness is in! Whereas Kirk’s boisterous boyishness earns him a single interrupted 3-second romp with a greenskinned college girl, apparently the older, emotionless Spock is involved in some sort of steamy passionate liason with Uhura! This seems to freak everyone else out, so clearly they are too young and not clever enough yet to undersand the new cultural trends. It is good for humans that we are learning that the pinnacle of human bedroom achievement may not simply boil down to enthusiasm, kool skillz & an endless stream of new partners, but I wonder how far they are going to take the whole stylised sexual sophistication theme in future intallments? Watching Spock kiss is traumatic enough, I do not want him to end up like Bruce and Mrs Willis in their latest photo shoot, which is just a little bit… yikes.
4. Relentless stress in action movies is still not over, how much longer do we have to stick this out? Star Trek is very heavy on plot, and there are barely two minutes in a row where you’re not worrying about thousands of people being horribly killed. Five minutes for going to the loo would have been nice! There is absolute zero risk of these filmmakers reminding us about the old pudgy Kirk and his slow unconvincing wrestling matches with gigantic pieces of polystyrene, but didn’t we old Star Trek fans partly enjoy the show because it wasn’t “Terminator”? Next time, please a little more relaxation, perhaps with Spock playing his lyre while Kirk admires ladies of rainbow skin hue with towering hairstyles? A few jewels on top of the hair too, that would be good. Star Trek was great, but when you find longing for Mall Cop halfway through, just for a break… that’s not so great.
5. Miniskirts are in again. OK, Star Trek women always did look utterly horrible in those shapeless Star Trek trousers, and as for the all-in-one jumpsuits, how those ladies visited the bathroom between takes I do not know. That’s real sexism, if you ask me- “OK men, pee all you like! Ladies, sorry, no more drinks till home-time!” And most young actresses seem to like baring their thighs as much as possible, so probably that increased the number of auditionees into the bargain, which is fair enough. What I’m not sure about is this: will important scientific jobs of the future really involve a bare-thigh enforcement clause for women under thirty-five (over thirty-fives obviously being banned from important scientific jobs at this time?). Or alternatively, if Star Trek is just a silly fairytale and not to be taken seriously, can we have more pink ladies in rainbow chiffon evening gowns with bejewelled beehives please?
6. Men are in charge again now, OK? Hillary did not win, we’re reverting to the original crew, and there it is. Also I’m bored of trying to pretend all this is real now. As long as they behave decently to the women and let them go on missions sometimes, let the men be in charge. I never liked Captain Janeway anyway. She was just a very boring person. Maybe they made her like that on purpose? To set us up for Kirk’s later return? In a conspiracy theory??
7. That’s it.
my kids went to Scotland…
By alice on June 5, 2009
… and all they brought me back were these magnificent photos! (click on them to see larger)
If I could have travelled by Tardis all the way to the camping site (too busy for a 5000-mile journey across 6 time-zones right now, not to mention the 8 hour car drive along British roads and motorways- nowhere near as fun as the big open roads over here which I learned to enjoy road-tripping on) and then had food and cooking services provided by miracle, it would have been nice to join them: as it was, hearing their tales of mountain-climbing (”Ben Nevis is two thousand three hundred feet high, and we got halfway up, so we actually climbed one thousand one hundred and fifty feet!”), cooking on open fires while sticking their heads in said fires (as far as possible without burning) in order to avoid breathing in swarms of evening midges… was possibly even better than being there myself! And the pictures are beautiful even if you’ve never left the village where you were born.
Having said that, I have a feeling this could be a place whose outdoors I darken sometime before I die: I’ve criticised Scotland before for its abominable weather (which post includes a favourite quote from a car hire service lady in Shetland-When you open the car doors, hold on to them or the wind will rip them off at the hinges,), but of course my preternaturally fortunate offspring had fabulous weather (”It was hotter than London!”). Plus, the landscape is weather-beaten and rugged with the nature emphasis on survival mode, which rather reminds me of … Texas. The wild bits of Texas, like Big Bend, that not many people seem to know about or visit, unless they are Texan already. But I’m not sure we particularly want more people to visit anyway. So forget I said that.
You must click on the bottom one, at least, for the blue….
all photos by Mabel
separated at birth?
By alice on June 3, 2009
On the left- impoverished late C18th poet Thomas Chatterton depicted in suicide by Pre-Raphaelite painter Henry Wallis.
On the right- my cat, Rambow, sleeping in a suicidally unsafe position that reveals his lack of experience at surviving in the wild. Or possibly his hero-worship of slightly effete Romantic poets who live in pathetically inadequate hovels depending on just a couple of patrons for survival (which would be a fairly typical attitude for a cat, I think).
fermenting
By alice on June 2, 2009
I hate saying so, due to fear-of-jinxing, but you can practically smell the brewing of my new project/s round here right now! (And I mean that in a charming French winery kind of a way, not at all reminiscent of compost heaps.) To honour this, and to practice my newborn glasnost attitude, here is the beginning of a poem I wrote ages ago and buried in a long-lost notebook. Just for fun.
I don’t have to love you anymore
There was a time when we were new,
and all day long there was nothing else to do,
just loving and wanting and repeating the above,
thank God that’s over now or we would have starved to death.
The rest needs further attention…
footnote: yes, a poem. Still can’t believe I actually did that to you…
creative processing: upheaval
By alice on May 29, 2009
Dana Gordon by Alice Neel. Random picture that I love.
Warning: this post is about my artistic process. You have been warned.
Right now, I’m going through a mostly excruciating process of converting my dining room and back deck into a two-part studio space. The worst thing about this is losing previously sacred do-nothing areas where one could simply sit and do nothing (outside- which never happened, because doing nothing is boring) or sit at the table to eat and talk about philosophy (which also never happened- we talk all day, and watch TV/movies while eating- because you can’t talk while eating!). So the loss is basically loss of luxury space that made me feel safe. It’s nice having spaces that always look nice because nobody uses them, like an insulating layer against the world. (I think this is a psychological blanket attached to the female gene of some women). But in reality, the dining table was always covered in people’s latest art projects, and the back deck was always covered in leaves.
So, I’m turning both of these into much-needed studio spaces. The other reason why this is excruciating is, it means honestly admitting that I’m going to be making art all the time, instead of postponing that for another few decades due to “not having a studio”. I hate admitting that I want to make art all the time, and here’s why:
1. Morally, I feel obligated to share what I make and love with others, and this means getting a lot better at… OK, sharing with others. There, I said it.
2. All artists are self-indulgent pompous asses who think they are better than everyone else and have a hotline to God/Gaia which enables them to tell everyone else how to do everything from running the planet to saving the planet to wasting millions of dollars on their piles of frankly junk.
OK, not all artists are like that. There are quite a few artists whose work I love and adore, for instance, whom I would not describe this way. Really this generalisation is all about my own fear of becoming a clearly pompous ass myself. I know I like my art, so if it’s actually no good, that makes me a clearly pompous ass, you see. As there is no way round this, making art all the time unfortunately means advertising my own ridiculousness. And I hate that.
But as both these reasons for avoiding art are obviously total rubbish, clearly the only way forward is to convert the studios, do my best at making stuff, and see how it goes, admitting abject failure and pompous assery if and when the occasion requires. Then, having failed at my art career, I will have a whole new insight on what to do next, which will be a big relief.
(If you are one of those people who think that using the words “failed” and “career” in the same sentence is automatic bad ju-ju, I disagree. There is no such thing as failure in a self-employed career, there is only spending a very long time not really getting anywhere and staying poor. Many people then give up and become paramedics, which is great, as the world does not really need all these artists etc, it’s just something people think they will enjoy as cubicles are not involved.)
Meanwhile, turning the house upside down is giving me nightmares which are deeply buried in the psychology of having my domestically blissful roles as wife, mother and homemaker turned upside down by a whole new set of priorities and demands (my buried psychology is pretty overdramatic, most people’s are). But luckily this will all be over soon and I’ll be happily making drawings of the Reichstag and bashing nails into used lumps of wood again. Can’t wait.
We’re doomed!
By alice on May 26, 2009
Octo-Mel, back in the good old days.
Long article on the financial meltdown in one of the recent New Yorkers (they are starting to meld into one for me now, that’s what subscribing to a weekly will do to you), and here are a few money (or maybe that should be antimoney, which is what we will all apparently be running on before long) quotes:
trillions of dollars of excess debt, not enough money in the world to soak it up
Prices of all assets will decline, regardless of the stimulus
The financier said to me [...] that he expected the European Union to fall apart, and with it the Euro
We’re not only propping up our own mediocrity [...] we’re doing it with the whole world.
“Mad Max time, baby,” the financier said, before double-checking that the mute button was indeed on.
There ensued talk of riots in China and Greece, and the relative merits of gold and canned food.
(and something about 20% unemployment, which I can’t relocate)
So what I’m wondering is, do we need to go out and buy our motorcycles and one-armed leather jackets now, or is there time to breed the cows to slaughter and weave ourselves? Just wondering if anyone knows, or has consulted the spirit world, or anything.
“They’re just jealous…” or are they?
By alice on May 20, 2009
Janis has the last laugh…
I was explaining to Daughter the other day about how being wonderful sometimes has its downside- it’s all very well being amazing in every way, but anyone clearly distinguishable from the crowd (ever) needs to expect a little rough along with the smooth. The celebrity classes know this from their multiple stalkers and regular attacks-by-newspaper, and so should every school cheerleader, brainbox or stand-out talent, because frankly, heads which appear above parapets make the best targets for a sniper. (Excuse me if that metaphor is mixed). There is a kind of innocence which expects if not positive feedback from all quarters for one’s progress, then at least indifference. But sometimes progress attracts negativity instead. It’s normal.
On the other hand, as a parent one does not want to over-egg the pudding and produce one of those awful young people who sincerely believe that all forms of dissent are rightly discounted as mere envious delusion that demonstrate, nay confirm, one’s own superiority in the very order of things; one does not, in other words, want to produce a “Peaches”.
This biography of Janis Joplin by David Dalton is a rather bonkers book, which throws you right back into the hippy era, in all its excess and impenetrable colloquialisms, and contains the following immortal pronunciation on the subject of Why Strangers Attack (warning: contains F word):
David: Why do you think people want to fight with people who look weird?
Janis: I guess it’s that whole thing you hear about. Because they’re scared [...] Maybe their son is dropping acid, or maybe they think you’re trying to hold up the banks. Basically, it’s because you’re on a different trip from them.
David: I think they say, “I’m not allowed to look like that. How come they can get away with it?” Don’t you think?
Janis: Maybe so. Maybe they just don’t like your fuckin’ ass.
I generally have little idea whether strangers like me or not (as mentioned on my about page), but here’s a good way to interpret unexpected hostility: if people are horrible, maybe that MEANS they don’t like you. And maybe that means you don’t have to like them back.
Of course, you can still “love” them in the sense of valuing their potential as miraculous creations to change into wonderful beings who can bring great joy to the world. If they ever get sensible. There’s just no need to stick around holding your breath waiting for that to happen.
Here are my favourite religious laws- nothing about loving your neighbour in there, Baruch Hashem. (No offence to any of our neighbours, who are all really great. B”H again.)
