That Impending Feeling..... Change is in the AIr

Tomorrow I'm moving to a new place: in more ways than one. I came to Cancun last October and made several trips to Playa del Carmen, Tulum, and Puerto Morelos, trying each one on, to see if it would fit, if it could be a place where I could live and write. Cancun is too much concrete and plastic; Puerto Morelos is too dinky; Tulum has beautiful beaches and oceanfront but it's isolated and has a dinky, cheesy nightlife scene. PDC is super gentrified and commercial in the main tourist area, and beyond that, in the Mexican neighborhoods, it's not much to look at. Nothing like the beautiful Spanish architecture and balconies in San Miguel de Allende.

But I came to the Yucatan for the ocean, and to write.

The Caribbean Ocean is probably the most beautiful I've seen, with those warm turquoise and electric blue waters that you can see through to the sugary-white sands. And I suppose I've always had this sort of tropical fantasy, this dream in my mind for as long as I can remember. Like "Gilligan's Isle" only with electricity, cold beer and restaurants not far off. So I'm going to try it.

I have trepidations, and there is this uneasy anticipation and dread that is filling me; the fear of the unexpected, the excitement of a new place, new people, fresh salty air. Before I moved to San Miguel I was even more worried, since I sent off money and didn't have anything in writing and I was moving my life there. It worked out great! Beautiful mountain views, new friends, good restaurants, bars, parties. But the main thing was that I did what I planned when I moved there: I finished my novel.

I'm hoping these new Caribbean views are inspiring and relaxing and my new place will be a good place, and most of all, a good place to write. It doesn't makes economic sense to move here during the high season. But all I know is I cannot live if I cannot write.

What Passes for Writing These Days

The large, traditional publishing houses have literally ruined literature in the past 50 years. They force-feed the pubic these uninspired, formula "thriller" books, which read like a TV show, or a movie. I think often a movie is better than the original book, these days.

I watched Dan Brown parading around with Tom Hanks on TV to kick off "Angels and Demons," and he must be raking in tens of millions. But I happened to pick up a used Dan Brown book on the shelf of a local restaurant. "Digital Fortress" is a "techno-thriller" Brown wrote 10 years ago. I read the first 10 pages and was astounded at the jaw-dropping poor writing. Yes, there was suspense and intrigue, but it was done in the most amateurish way. And then the writing itself: horribly clumsy sentences, no innovation in language, no lyrical sentences that delight the senses, no light rhythm, just plain crappy writing -- or rather, typing.

I read the glowing reviews at the beginning of the book and I couldn't believe they were talking about the same book. I wondered how consumers could possibly discern when a book is any good, since they are fed such bullshit.

Many people, millions of people, are reading this type of literary garbage, and they think, they believe they are "a reader" but really, they are just viewing a preview of a movie. There's no thinking involved, no profound thoughts. And the writer believes they are a writer, but really they are typists.

Also, last week NPR interviewed had James Patterson who has churned out dozens of novels, and is working on 29 right now. Many times he co-writes -- he provides an outline and someone else writes the book. I cannot understand how these non-books have come to dominate the marketplace. Have you ever read a few chapters? Pure formula junk.

I picked up one other book, and the author had written 28 books and 30 screenplays, and even co-wrote an Academy Award-winning movie. He's published a lot, but I'd never heard of him.

The literature world has no Hemingways, no Fitzgeralds or Tennessee Williams' anymore.

It seems that the strain in the book business is causing a sea change, and new technology is allowing authors to get their books published and made available directly to consumers. This will democratize the book business, and it will again become a meritocracy, rather than this force-fed formula-driven mass market garbage. It serves the publishers right: they've forgotten that they used to discover great writers, and they used to provide real literature to the public. Now they are just uninspired publicity machines looking to maximize short-term profits.

Art Forms

I was in Havana last week at the national art museum, and I was reminded about the various characteristics and advantages of different art forms. Musicians and singers have it the best: some great songs have been written in five minutes, and they last lifetimes. With modern recording techniques preservation is assured. Also, music is portable, and so when I hear Louie Armstrong playing in various countries all over the world, it still amazes me. I liked a local band in Havana playing at the Hotel Inglaterra a few nights a week, so I bought a CD and brought it with me back to Mexico and I can see the artists and I am there at the outdoor Havana cafe when I listen to it.

Painters and visual artists have it pretty rough: they may work for years on a piece and the very nature of art limits it's portability. The only thing that can be done is to make copies in poster or print form, but still, distribution is limited. Today most art is preserved, but in centuries past we have lost many art pieces.

Writing books allows people around the world to enjoy them, but there are translation issues that may slightly transform the interpretation and it also stifles distribution.

I pondered which art form was the most important, which has the most impact on the world. Music helps shape the world, and can provide a common experience for listeners, but I don't think it changes the world much in real terms, although it is possible to change the music world with a breakthrough sound. I love music. Especially live performances.

Visual art is heralded, coveted, even stolen, and it also shapes and reflects our experience, but it's importance as a historical record faded when modern photography became popular. That said, I love visual art too. I know what I like and just enjoy taking it in and trying to understand what the artist was trying to convey.

Words. Words can change the world. Writers can be heralded but also they can be jailed or killed for their words.

I enjoy trying to be artistic with words. Sometimes that means simply using them in a way they have never been used, such as turning a noun into a verb, sometimes it means creating a sequence of words that have never been put in that order, and sometimes it means trying to invent a new word. A good writer can create "music" with their words, and it can be presented on the page in an artful way, so yes, writing, I believe is the most important of all art forms in my world, although I enjoy and embrace music, art, dance, even a well-presented meal, and all other art forms, with the possible exception of opera.

Can you imagine a world without art?

The Greatest Kind of Writing

More about my new writer/filmmaker friend Roman: about 15 years ago he was the most prominent journalist in Croatia, so much so that the cafes and bars would bubble with discussion about his bold and controversial columns.

Then he wrote "the one" that made him "Public Enemy No. 1" of the totalitarian regime. He called for the political overthrow of the government, a peaceful, legal overthrow -- not a military coup (I read the translated column online). He pointed out their greedy, criminal, murderous ways to the public. And unlike previous columns he'd written, there was dead silence. No letters, phone calls, no discussion or opinions from his readers.

The government stated that his dissent must be stopped, and then they killed his wife with a car bomb. Then Roman had to scurry at night from friendly house to house, hiding while they tried to track him down. When war broke out, he saw his friends killed and wild pigs let loose in the streets to eat the flesh of the freshly dead, while Serbian snipers waited at the ready on rooftops. So the dead could not be retrieved without risking additional deaths. Ten of his friends decided they'd make a go for it, calling him a coward for not wanting to. They ran out, and seven of them were shot dead within seconds.

Some more of his friends were crucified, actually nailed to trees alive, with a booby-trap grenade rigged so they couldn't be moved, or anyone within 100 meters would be killed from the blast. "Can you imagine watching your best friends nailed up there, dying slowly in agony, and there is nothing you can do?" he asked me.

It was not until the Americans came, with advanced technology and tactics, and they were able to drill delicately through the back of the trees to defuse the grenades and let some men down. Even baby Croat boys were killed, or the breasts of the mother were carved off so the baby would starve and die.

Can you imagine what hate would propagate such acts?

He was eventually able to slip out of the country to the United States. To gain US political asylum, you must "prove" that you would be killed if you returned to your native country. So, the CIA agents and immigration officials questioned him at length, and then a CIA agent asked the final question, "How can you prove you'd be killed if you return?"

Roman pulled out an internal CIA report stamped, "Top Secret." It stated, quite simply, that he, Roman "XXXX", the dissident journalist, would be killed by the Croatian government if he were found. The agent asked, "How did you get this document?"

"What? You guys think you are the only spies? It's a war! Everyone is a spy."

His political asylum was granted.

I have the deepest respect for Roman. He had the courage to write the truth, and ultimately, when the totalitarian Croatian government came down, his writing helped change the world.

That is the greatest kind of writing.