John B. Rosenman

Some folks don’t like Shakespeare.

Some folks hate Beethoven.

Some folks despise Rembrandt.

I’ve always felt that there was an absolute standard for art.  Do it right, take care, use your craft and knowledge and experience, and everyone should agree that what you did was mighty fine.   But a recent incident with a friend reminded me of what I already knew: that such a view is naive.  No matter how brilliant and flawless a work of art is, somebody somewhere won’t like it because tastes and perceptions and backgrounds differ.  Indeed, there will always be people—bright, intelligent, well-read, cultured people—who don’t like Shakespeare or think he’s greatly overrated.

The moral?  It’s simple: whether you’re a writer, painter, musician, composer or whatever, you should be prepared for bad reviews and negative critiques no matter how hard you strive to make it perfect. 

I recall one of my stories, “Only a Stone,” which two editors disagreed on.  One editor gave cogent reasons why the ending was too subtle.  Another editor gave cogent reasons why it was too obvious.  What do you do with that?  Well, what you do is weigh both their opinions and judge for yourself what to do.  My point is, that intelligent folks will often disagree and you alone must decide who is right.  Just remember that writing a flawless masterpiece does not always mean others will see it your way or give you rave reviews.  Or even one rave review, for that matter.

Be prepared to be slammed.

Recently I saw a 2007 science-fiction movie, MAN FROM EARTH, which is based on a Jerome Bixby short story.  I dug the guts out of the movie.  I loved it.  The Providential Journal said that the movie “Quietly Restores Dignity to Science Fiction Of The Mind.”  The movie won the Grand Prize for Best Screenplay and First Place for Best Feature at the Rhode Island International Film Festival.  It was also an Official Selection of the San Diego Comic-Con International Film Festival.  Okay, these aren’t Academy Awards, but the movie has received some critical acclaim. 

Having seen the movie three times, I decided that it was one of my four favorite movies of all time.  (The other three are the 1939 The Wizard of Oz, the 1953 The War of the Worlds, and the 1950 Cyrano de Bergerac.)   I realized that for those who like action and scenery, Man from Earth is static and probably won’t fly.  It involves “talking heads” – that is, people basically just talking to each other, and it takes place almost exclusively in the main character’s house.  There’s no eye candy; nothing blows up; there’s no X-rated bump and tickle.  But I loved it.  For perhaps the first time I could remember, there was a prolonged and intelligent exchange of ideas and concepts, which is what the best science fiction is often primarily about.  According to the DVD, Professor John Oldman informs his incredulous colleagues that he “has migrated through 140 centuries of evolution [which means he is 14,000 years old] and must move on.”  Is he Real or Memorex?  Sane or nuts?  The movie builds and rebuilds on its premise, discusses historical patterns and events intelligently, presents interesting, well-drawn characters, and builds “to a final” and shocking “revelation” and a satisfying conclusion.  Plus, it is so rich and dense, that you can watch it multiple times and continue to find something new.  What more could you want?

And all this in just 87 minutes.

I lent this movie to my good friend and fellow writer, Richard Rowand.  We don’t always agree on things creative, but often we do.  I thought he might be put off by the static, talking heads, dialogue-heavy quality of the movie, but to my mild surprise, he offered a more critical, all-encompassing critique, which he had posted online at www.recipedujour.com.  I offer it in toto, with his permission, for your consideration.

 Rich’s Note:   “Try it. You’ll Like It.”

Ever see or hear or experience something you liked so much that you urged everyone you know to see or hear or experience the same thing because you were just positive they would love it as much as you did? You raved, maybe?  Went on and on until you became a bit of a bore on the subject? Urged and cajoled until you finally wore them down and they just weren’t as impressed as you had been? It’s happened to me a million times. Sometimes we build something up so much it can’t possibly live up to the expectations we’ve planted. Sometimes others just have different tastes. Sometimes their minds just weren’t as ripe as yours was. No one quite likes the film The Legend Of 1900 as much as I do. It’s okay. I’ve come to accept that. Susan [Rich’s wife] doesn’t share my fascination with Cool Hand Luke or The Godfather. I’ve come to accept that too.

Tim kept a film recorded on his DVR for over a year, waiting for Walt and me to visit so he could share the movie with us. Walt and I didn’t like it at all.

Recently, my friend John leant me a DVD of the film Jerome Bixby’s Man From Earth. He explained that it was a thinking person’s film with very little action: just a bunch of characters sitting around having a discussion. Most people, he claimed, wouldn’t like the movie, would be bored. 

Now I have to tell you that Jerome Bixby wrote the most frightening story I have ever read, which was “It’s A Good Life.” There have been a couple of attempts to translate that story to television and they have not worked for me. It wasn’t the commercial interruptions so much as the fact that sometimes the printed word, and the way the words are used, can convey so much more than a director and actors can portray.

Such, I’m sad to say, is what I thought as I watched Jerome Bixby’s Man From Earth. I have to tell my friend John that the direction and acting ruined what might have been a pretty good story. . . had I read the story first. Though made in 2007, it seemed like they were presenting something as it would have been shown on television in the late 50′s or early 60′s. Even some of the characters were more caricature than fleshed out, almost as if they were lifted from a street corner in a frame from an old comic book, their clothes more props than costumes, their make-up more masks than reflections of their inner thoughts. For me, the director (with, I’m sure, others) just didn’t have the vision needed to captivate me.

I wanted to like this film. I wanted to share John’s enthusiasm, but I just couldn’t.

There you have it: two (supposedly intelligent) people sharply disagreeing.  It happens all the time.  In the end, whether as creators or consumers of art and literature, we have to be prepared for the reality that we are human beings who have different tastes and perceptions.  Also, we come to our experiences with different backgrounds, experiences, and histories.  Wouldn’t it be a boring world if we all agreed and felt the same way about things?  Yes, it would, and I tell my students that frequently.  Different strokes for different folks.  Vive la difference!  No matter how good you are, or think you are, somebody’s gonna disagree or cut you down.  Accept it.

So how do I feel after reading Rich’s intelligent review?  Well, I’m a little more disposed to accept the possibility that Man from Earth is flawed and imperfect and isn’t The Movie of the Century.

But I still like it . . . a lot!

by 

John B. Rosenman

Recently I gave my second radio interview in an attempt to promote my writing.  The program is “With Good Reason,” and it aired in Virginia, Maryland, and a few surrounding states from October 25-31.  If you missed it, you can check it out below in the Nov. 1 slot (link provided.) 

The first radio interview I gave occurred twenty-six years ago in Orangeburg, SC and focused on my first published novel, The Best Laugh Last, which came out both as a trade paperback and as a hardback.  This was long before such things as E Books, blogs, an active Internet, Virtual sex, etc., and the interview unfolded in a traditional manner.  That is, they wired me up and I sat facing an interviewer who asked me questions.  As I recall, the interview went superbly well.  The interviewer asked great, searching questions, and I responded with brilliant, perceptive replies.  Now it’s possible that I’m looking at this past event through glasses tinged by rose-colored vanity, but I don’t think so.  During the interview I felt completely comfortable and at ease and the words just flowed right out of me like fine, well-aged wine.  I tell you, folks, I was eloquent.  I have absolutely no evidence that my golden tongue sold a single damned copy of my book, but it sure didn’t hurt any. 

One of my previous posts addresses the subject of Promotion, which I’ve been told is crucial.  One of my publishers asks, “Are you a Writer or an Author?”  Apparently the writer is the one who just writes books, and the author is the pragmatic, enlightened one who takes steps to ensure that folks know about it.  An Author pimps and hustles, in other words, uses trailers, blogs, bookmarks, and nine thousand other techniques to ADVERTISE and SELL what he writes.   

With that in mind, I decided that after a quarter-century, it was time for me to go on the radio and promote my stuff again.  After all, I was competing with thousands of authors who were already doing that.  

Now, I don’t claim to be an expert on giving promotional radio interviews in this New Millennium.  My interview a few months ago lasted just twelve minutes and is only one, isolated experience, and perhaps it’s unusual and atypical, representative of nothing.  However, in the event that it’s not, I hereby offer a short summary of this epic event, along with a few comments and recommendations which I hope will be helpful. 

The Associate Producer of “With Good Reason” contacted me, and I had two fairly long, cordial conversations with him on the phone.  Since my subject was Science Fiction (not just my own fiction), he asked me for some topics and talking points, and I complied, supplying them both to him and the interviewer.  Then I did what I thought made sense: prepared, prepared, and prepared.  I studied and reviewed the genre I loved so much for esoteric information I knew I probably would never need, and in general, tried to make myself ready.

Came the day.  I drove to the radio station with a briefcase filled with goodies – copies of my novel covers, important books relating to science fiction, and so on.  I went to the desk, announced my arrival, and was met by a gentleman who escorted me to a small room. 

Where I was to sit alone and be interviewed. 

If I had researched the modern radio experience, perhaps I would have learned that they prefer to do it this way these days.  Perhaps they feel that face to face encounters are distracting to the one being interviewed.  More likely, with this particular program’s format, it’s more efficient to do it this way.  Whatever the case, the man plugged me in, wired me up, and I sat in a chair with headphones on, staring at a wall and waiting for Sarah McConnell’s voice to fill my ears. 

Now, Sarah has a lovely, sinuous, expressive voice, the kind that perhaps only one in five hundred or a thousand women have.  And she knows exactly how to use it and how to ask shimmering questions that on someone else’s lips might sound only interesting.  But still, folks, this was not something I had expected.  Thinking of my first interview a quarter century before, I longed for someone I could talk and relate to, someone I could have a genuine tete-a-tete with, a real, bona fide conversation and exchange of ideas and information.  Waiting to hear words in my headphones so I could respond into empty air seemed unnatural, not my cup of tea at all.  When you have nothing to focus on, no one to relate to, it must be exponentially more difficult, or at least it seemed that way to me as I waited in growing concern to hear Sarah’s voice. 

First, though, they had mechanical problems, and then they had more mechanical problems.  I squirmed, checked my briefcase, which I had placed open on the floor beside me, and waited some more.  Now and then, I trotted out a standard pep talk and tried it on for size.  You know the kind: “Nothing to worry about.  You the man.  You’ve taught college for ninety years and seduced whole rooms with your dazzling wit and mind.  You’re a thorough, consummate pro, and this thing’s gonna be a piece of chocolate cake.  You’ll scarf it down just fine.” 

Then Sarah came on the line, the interview began, and it all went to hell. 

Or so it seemed at the time.  It was a little bit like dancing with someone who isn’t very good to start with, and who is a half-step out of sync with the steps.  Only in this case, Sarah was the dancing master, and I was the one who couldn’t get the rhythm right.  Without someone there to play off and relate to, I was intensely conscious of the need to respond quickly and smoothly, even though I had been assured they would edit the interview afterward and make me look good.  But knowing that and feeling that were two different things.  I was aware of dead air and sputtering brain tissue, located directly between my ears. 

Even as the interview progressed, I told myself I wasn’t that bad, that I was my own worst critic.  But I faltered sometimes in discussing the science-fiction genre I loved so much.  Imagine doing that!  It was like not being able to explain what you like about a pretty girl or a well-cooked tenderloin.  Suddenly a subject I felt I was a near expert in seemed like an alien, unexplored planet – a truly strange and disconcerting experience, to say the least. 

At my feet, I had my books, magazines, and novel covers, science-fiction show-and-tell items that would enhance the interview considerably, make it more interesting.  But my interviewer was in a distant room, and this was radio, not television.  I could hardly hold up to the mike a 1950’s pulp magazine cover of gruesome, multi-tentacled Martians carrying off sexy, near-naked human females.   

Still another problem, one that only added to my discomfort: At one point, Sarah asked me to quote some of my favorite passages from my own novels.  Since this question came straight from the blue, I was unprepared.  How many of us can quote from our novels verbatim?  I sure couldn’t, and muttered something about not being told about this question in advance. 

Near the end of the interview, I became emboldened and introduced the subject of a really, really bizarre sex act in my novel Alien Dreams, suggesting that they’d probably “bleep” it out.  Sarah encouraged me to discuss it anyway, advising me to use a little discretion in my choice of words. I did so, but basically threw caution to the winds.  Shortly thereafter the interview concluded. 

Seeing no one, I left the station, feeling I had done poorly and that they might not even run the interview.  Later, I found out that they were very pleased.  When I heard the interview myself, I was almost stunned.  All the warts had been removed, and I actually sounded good, even loose, informative, and funny.  As for that bizarre, weird sex act?  Just put the kiddies to bed and click the link. 

Gentle reader, can we learn anything from my struggle?  The first thing I’d suggest, whether it’s a radio, TV, or any oral (as opposed to written) interview, is to think outside the box and be prepared for anything.  Ask yourself what can go wrong, what unexpected questions they might throw at you.  In addition, research not only the subject you’re going to talk about, but the manner in which you will be interviewed.  If I had asked some questions in advance, I would have been better prepared. 

At any rate, I don’t plan to wait another twenty-six years before facing the media again.  Oprah’s my next target, folks, and you can bet there’s going to be a full PowerPoint presentation.