I know this sounds like the title of one of my books… but it’s not (and I’m not even going to mention that book’s name, so it’s not a sales pitch). No, this post is about something else altogether.
This weekend was unusually social, for me at least. Karen comes from a large family and is accustomed to being in crowds of talkative people. I, on the other hand, prefer the solitary pleasures of sitting alone all day with a book or a laptop. But, this weekend, we went to not just one gallery opening… but three of ‘em! In one 24-hour stretch.
In order, they were:
All my life I have somehow managed to attach myself to people who accomplish something interesting, generally something of a creative nature. Writers, painters, photographers, sculptors, craftspeople, musicians—even, most unlikely, a dancer. I have no idea how this has happened (considering my normal aversion to meeting anyone) but it has happened with striking frequency.
What’s odder, I met most of them long before any of them did anything interesting. Apparently, birds of a feather flock together, even before they’re fully fledged.
Anyway—because these creative people are constantly creating—openings, and performances, and publication parties keep happening. This obliges me, from time to time, to step away from my normal isolationist tendencies and socialize. What I noticed, this weekend (which should have been obvious, all along), was that these events are attended, for the most part, by other people who create stuff. Artistic people tend to have friends who are artistic or—at least—are interested in things of an aesthetic nature.
Attendees at these events definitely do not represent a random selection of the general public. As proof, little red stickers indicated that artworks had been sold at all three exhibits. The general public has less-than-zero interest in seeing, let alone buying, art.
While I generally avoid—like the plague, even before there was a plague—speaking with strangers (or, most of the time, even friends and relatives), I found myself chatting with a number of fascinating people, people I had never met before, at all three of the openings; even after seventy-odd years of being a staunch inhabitant of this pretty-much-asocial persona, it still gobsmacks me to catching myself in the midst of doing something so seemingly out-of-character.
Then—well after the fact—discovering just how damned long a run-on sentence can get when I haven’t been paying attention.
Paid subscribers to these substack pages get access to complete editions of two of my novellas. Noirvella is a modern story of revenge, told in the style of film noir. Unbelievable is a kind of rom-com that forms around a pompous guy who is conceited, misinformed, and undeservedly successful. Both books are sold by Amazon, but paid subscribers get them for free!
Also, substack pages (older than eight months) automatically slip behind a paywall—so only paid subscribers can read them. If you’re interested in reading any of them, you can subscribe, or wait until they are re-released in book form (something I’m in the process of considering).
Meanwhile, it is easy to become a paying subscriber (just like supporting your favorite NPR station). It’s entirely optional, and—even if you choose not to do so—you’ll still get my regular substack posts—and I’ll still be happy to have you as a reader.
I on the other (panicked in public) hand.. seriously enjoyed more than 62% of the opening in High Falls.
☀️