In which I totally slander Meg Cabot

I was thinking, this morning in the shower, about human response to artistic endeavors. Specifically, artist response to artistic endeavors.

For example--I fancy myself a writer. Let's narrow this definition to exclude talent and include personal identification only. It is not important if you think I am a writer; if I think I'm a writer (or if I don't), it will affect the way I react to writing.

I am fairly certain crafters categorize their craft into four distinct boxes:

1. I like it, and I could have done it (possibly better).

2. I like it, and I could never have done it.

3. I could have done it, but I don't like it.

4. I couldn't (wouldn't?) have done it, and I don't like it.

TRUE LIFE (PERSONAL) EXAMPLES:

1. Encyclopedia of an Ordinary Life: Brilliant! I love the choppy style, the lists, and the cross-referencing. I would like to try this style with my own life. The author reminds me of all the things I like about ME! I want to buy her a Starbucks latte and take her roller skating. I feel self-affirmed by this book, but I'm kicking myself that I didn't try it first. See also: Elizabeth Bishop; Love That Dog; Stiff; most memoirs.

2. The People of Paper: Holy crap! Just read the book jacket. I couldn't have dreamed this whack story up in a million years. Against all odds, I identify with it and love it. (And you will, too.) I admire the author and I would like to engage in a torrid love affair with him, but I'd probably be too shy to get out more than "will you please sign my book?"--if that. See also: the Blind Assassin, Maus, Life of Pi, Alain De Botton's On Love; most fiction.

3. Every Boy's Got One: Sure, I could write this. I could also watch American Idol and dine at Denny's, but I wouldn't feel much satisfaction from that, either. The author reminds me of one of those girls from my high school who wrote rhyming poems back when. What? Don't feel sorry for her. She got to have tea with Julie Andrews. This type of writing makes me feel CATTY. See also: poems by Jewel, books available via Microsoft reader only, most Houston Press articles.

4. (This is the only category where books don't come immediately to mind. Maybe because I subconsciously avoid them in the first place. I could say Ulysses, but that feels like cheating because it's the only non-contemporary book on the list; that and I don't like it but I definitely admire it. Ok, I like parts.) Recently published: Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. Yes, ok, you win Mr. Safron Foer (if that IS your real name)--no I couldn't have thought of all those crazy chapters or played volleyball with the English language the way you have in your novel. But that doesn't mean I have to LIKE it. See also: technical books, non-creative non-fiction.

But Mary, you say. This is just personal preference. There's nothing new or original about that.

Ok, let's apply it to art:

1.

2.

3.

4.

Ok, maybe this idea is overly simplistic and definitely not as rewarding as it felt in the shower this morning. (Speaking of drains...) And there's plenty of art that falls into category 3 that works as art simply because someone thought to do it, whereas my book category 3s don't work because everyone has done them already--and better than you, JEWEL.

Requires future thought: personal perceptions of to what extent natural talent + training = ability. (Do we all truly believe that with enough practice, training, time, and reaching for the stars we can actually GET to the stars; or are we accepting of natural barriers/talents separating ourselves from "the greats"?)