My Not-So-Guilty Pleasure

The film editor of Crime Spree Magazine, Jeremy Lynch, asked me to contribute an essay to a series he’s running about guilty pleasures.

After I agreed to do it and began to think about it, I realized I don’t really have any. Guilt, like shame and fear and envy and hate, is a negative, mostly useless emotion. I experience remorse when I realize I’ve been wrong (which is often) and do my best to take responsibility for it, repent, and attempt to rectify the situation. But I associate guilt with feelings produced by cultural and parental programming, voices of shame inside us that don’t lead to change, but only to continual condemnation.

I’m in no way saying I never feel guilt. I do—even the negative, waste-of-time kind. But I do my best to identify it and eighty-six it as quickly as possible.

I live a very deliberate life—one, as much as possible, from my soul, by my design, based on my callings and convictions, not those of the culture around me. In this, I feel a deep kinship to Emerson, attempting to be and not conform, to, as he said, “Be, and not seem.”

Given this, and my conviction that, as Emerson said, “genuine action will explain itself,” I try neither to do anything because of how it looks or apologize for anything I do—and this includes movies. But, when thinking of guilty pleasures two genres come to mind—romance and horror.

I don’t feel guilty about the films I enjoy in either genre because I’m very selective, but both genres seem to have an inordinate amount of inanity and insipidity, movies deserving of the guilty pleasure moniker.

For my not-so-guilty “guilty pleasure,” I choose a new horror movie.

Last Thursday I drove over and took my soon to be twenty-one year old daughter to the midnight showing of “Scream 4.”

And you’re thinking, surely I should feel guilty about that, right? Well, I don’t. Not even a little. And here’s why: Not only is “Scream 4” a smart, funny, self-conscious, suspenseful meta-art masterpiece, but well-made suspense-based horror movies are something I’ve used to connect with my daughter since her early adolescence when I had to tell her what parts to close her eyes during.

In the fourth “Scream” installment, Sidney Prescott, now the author of a self-help book, returns home to Woodsboro on the last stop of her book tour. Unfortunately, Sidney’s appearance also brings about the return of Ghostface, putting Sidney, her old friends, Gale and Dewey, along with her teenage niece Jill and her friends, in danger.

I don’t care for horrific or shocking images, don’t like to be subjected to what has come to be known as the torture porn. But I do love suspense—the art of “Psycho,” the German Expressionism and relentless tension of the original “Halloween”—the Hitchcockian brand of anxiety that causes an audience to forget to breathe. And I appreciate smart, well-written scripts. “Scream 4” has a bit of both of these—along with humor and hipness to spare.

Like the original, and to a lesser extent the other two sequels, “Scream 4” works on a lot of levels, but is perhaps at its best when exploring genre. It not only looks at horror genre conventions in general, but at the micro sub-genre of “Scream” itself. At one point I thought, I’m sitting in a theater watching a movie in which kids inside a movie are watching a movie based on a movie based on a book based on a movie—and in the process the characters are not only talking about the other movies, but the one they’re in.

If you like smart, hip, fun, suspenseful horror with all of the pleasure and none of the guilt, treat yourself to “Scream 4.”

The Pursuit of Happiness

“All happiness is in the mind.”

I found this bit of wisdom in my fortune cookie as I was contemplating the elusiveness and evanescence of happiness—partially because of certain circumstances and situations in my own life and partly because of the thought-provoking second act of “Into the Woods,” which I had the privilege of seeing at Gulf Coast State College this weekend.

The production was masterfully directed by the Rosie O’Bourke , skillfully conducted by Rusty Garner, and performed by some incredibly well-trained students in the school’s extraordinary program.

The second act of Stephen Sondheim’s brilliant musical opens with every character, all of whom are taken from Grimm’s Fairy Tales, having gotten what they wanted, what they wished for—all of them in the midst of living happily ever after.

Of course, there’s a dissatisfaction beneath their seeming happiness as dissonant as the music accompanying them.

The entire production they’ve been in pursuit of happiness, of what they each thought would make them happy, and now they have it and they’re learning a lesson so true it’s a cliché among clichés—true happiness isn’t getting what you want, but wanting what you have.

The prince was far happier pursuing perfection than possessing it. Cinderella realizes there’s a world of difference in wanting a ball and wanting a prince.

Where does happiness come from? What is it?

Some seem to think it’s found in the comfort, freedom, and security money affords.

Some say it’s to be found in more spiritual pursuits.

Others, that it’s found in finding a mate—a soul mate to share everything with—including the oneness and nirvanaic oblivion of sex.

Some say it comes from non-attachment, from letting go of everything, of only being fully present in the present moment. But as two characters that break their vows and give themselves to each other discover, even living in the moment can be defensive and over-determined. As the peasant woman points out following her tryst with and abandonment by the prince, “But if life were only moments, then you'd never know you had one.”

There’s not much we can do about the pain involved in life, but much of how much we suffer over it is up to us. Suffering takes place when our minds demand for things to be different than they are. Acceptance is the key that unlocks peace. Peace is the doorway that leads to happiness. And, as my fortune so wisely pointed out, this all takes place inside of us. The serenity prayer says it all. We find true harmony and contentment when we truly let go of those things we have no control over.

At the moment I broke open my cookie and withdrew its timely message, the unhappiness of a few close friends was lodged in my solar plexuses like the broken tip of a blade. One definition of love is that the happiness of others is essential to your own. So even when we’re happy—or would be—the unhappiness of those we’ve invited into our hearts can bring great unhappiness crashing down on top of us.

When’s the last time you were truly happy? Probably wasn’t the result of having everything you wanted. Wasn’t because the world suddenly became a kind and loving place.

I’m reminded of the line from “The Two Jakes,” the underrated sequel to “Chinatown.” When Kahn asks Jake if he’s happy, Jake responds, “Who can answer that off the top of their head?” “Someone who’s happy,” Kahn replies.
Embrace the pursuit. Be grateful for the struggles and soul-deepening difficulties of life.

True happiness comes from meaning—having meaningful lives, from being connected and contributing, from having meaningful relationships and meaningful work. It’s hard to get much happier than having a purpose, feeling a sense of calling about what we do, and sharing it in profound ways with others. This is love. This is happiness—or at least its pursuit, and as the characters of “Into the Woods” all too soon and too late discovered, the pursuit of happiness is happiness itself.

This past weekend, I spoke at a writers’ conference in Fort Walton Beach with one of my publishers. Toward the end of our session, while taking questions from the audience, one of the attendees told us he had been writing for ten years and had only received rejections. He then asked us what was wrong with the publishing industry, why was it so broken it couldn’t see there was money to be made from his books, adding that he knew the only way to get published was to know somebody, to have an “in,” an unfair advantage.

At the conclusion of the session, I spent some time talking to the keynote speaker of the conference who had slipped in about half way through our presentation. He is truly a fantastic writer, a bestseller, and a great guy. He is also someone who not only teaches the craft of writing, but continually works to improve his own.

As we talked, he mentioned how, when he first started writing, he wrote four novels over ten years and couldn’t get any of them published. He shared with me how he didn’t give up, how he worked hard and learned his craft, and how it paid off with his fifth novel—the one that launched his brilliant career.

He didn’t give up, he worked hard, didn’t make excuses, and he broke through, got published, and has done very well. Unlike the angry young man that has yet to attract the attention of an agent, the successful writer didn’t blame his failure on a corrupt, nepotistic system.

I have a lot of writer friends (lots of friends working in all the arts) and not one, not a single one—was helped because they knew someone. They’ve worked hard, paid a price, and earned everything they’ve ever received.

Later in the weekend, I had the privilege of observing the work of and talking to a visual artist. She is a working artist, making a living and her way in the world by living the artists’ life. We spoke about the romantic notion some people have surrounding art and its creation. She, like the best and most productive artists I know, is living an unassuming life dedicated to creating, to improving, and to supporting her work the best way she knows how. She doesn’t have a huge studio or expensive equipment. She has a table—a dining room table. And on it, she makes amazing art. And she does this day after day, week after week, year after year.

Both artists—the bestselling writer and the successful visual artist—are living the artist’s life, one of continual creation, humility, evolution, overcoming self-doubt and drama and criticism with the dignity of discipline and dedication. They continue to produce good work because they work hard. They don’t merely strike the pose of an artist or talk about art. They work hard to create it.

Living an artistic life is like living any kind of life. There are no shortcuts. Hard work and humility are more important than appearances and connections. Imagination, creativity, and dedication are more important than talent and intelligence. And attitude and approach are more important than anything else.