{"id":7881,"date":"2010-08-25T15:47:32","date_gmt":"2010-08-25T19:47:32","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=7881"},"modified":"2010-08-25T15:47:32","modified_gmt":"2010-08-25T19:47:32","slug":"the-object-of-my-affectation","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2010\/08\/the-object-of-my-affectation\/","title":{"rendered":"The Object of My Affectation"},"content":{"rendered":"

<\/object><\/p>\n

[Alfalfa, of the <\/em>Our Gang comedies, sings of his love for sweet little round-faced, soft-focus Darla. And yes, I know: the song title doesn’t have that extra syllable in it. :)]<\/em><\/p>\n

Whom, exactly, do you try to impress?<\/p>\n

Note that I’m not asking about classes<\/em> or groups<\/em> of people. Most of us would like to be regarded favorably by our families and friends, our co-workers, the critics and audiences, and maybe even — ha ha — total strangers on the bus and in, ahem, Genuine Joe’s coffee shop (little in-joke there). And I know we’re not all “on” all the time, even the most determined poseurs<\/em> among us: everyone has moments of utter un-self-consciousness, when our guard is down, we’re at our easiest and most natural, and we’re not actively evaluating what someone might think of us.<\/p>\n

No, I’m just wondering, well…<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Consider a favorite activity of yours: something you do well<\/em>, whether it’s gardening, writing, playing soccer or pinochle, developing software or Web pages, raising kids, photography, “doing music,” driving without a map… whatever.<\/p>\n

Got one? Good.<\/p>\n

Now consider: Even if you can’t consciously summon up the face of a specific individual at the time you’re doing whatever it is<\/em>, can you think of a specific person now that I’ve asked you about it?<\/p>\n

Lots of times, I’m conscious — although only in retrospect — that the one person whose face I wish I could see as she read something of mine would be a particular college professor; call her Mrs. R (although that’s no longer her name, as far as I know). One cool thing about the fact that she really, really liked my writing: she wasn’t a slavish fan. Thus when I wrote something well, and she praised it, it genuinely pleased me. As for her criticism, she often made comments which (however true) genuinely smarted. Or rather, they would have done if she hadn’t couched them in a joke.<\/p>\n

(One example: I take punctuation in my own writing very seriously — even its omission (which can accomplish all kinds of effects that the marks themselves cannot). I was always fussy about it. And that’s why Mrs. R’s sarcasm would’ve stung rather than made me laugh, had she just circled passages in red rather than awarded me a construction-paper gold star from “The Department of Hyphens, Parentheses, and Dashes.”)<\/p>\n

(Jeez, do I miss her. And I haven’t even seen<\/em> her in over 30 years.)<\/p>\n

At other times, when I’m talking or writing about music — especially old music — I see my Dad’s face. He’s either smiling, if I’ve done it right, or, if I haven’t, he’s got his brows all furrowed up like a satellite photo of an Iowa cornfield. (The latter was the look he offered when I tried to convince him that the rock band Blood, Sweat & Tears was a rock band he’d like to listen to. Because, y’know, they used horns and stuff. For some mysterious reason, he couldn’t or just wouldn’t connect the dots between Frank Sinatra and David Clayton-Thomas<\/a>.)<\/p>\n

In Seems to Fit<\/em>, one character hero-worships a couple of others. On one hand, this might be a problem. The experts say, and they are right, that conflict drives a story; this would seem to suggest a sagging story line whenever A looks to B or C for approval. But I think I’ve worked around this all right, with conflicts derived from<\/em> that superficial harmony:<\/p>\n