PostScript 1: On Whining
I posted the first essay on Facebook as a test. I wanted to make sure that this was something people wanted to read, then gauge whether or not this should be a project to continue with. Call me an old man, but unfortunately, Facebook is my social media of choice. Maybe someday I’ll make it big on TikTok. Or even better, Friendster!
The response was mostly positive. People enjoyed my perspective from the essay, which I hope you read as “secrets don’t matter if the performer doesn’t matter more.” The format was aimed towards non-magicians, but magicians I care about told me that these discussions are important. Hopefully, by having them, things can and will advance.
But the pushback I got was about what I expected. If I write essays about magic, storytelling, philosophy, and other massive controlling factors in our lives, I will inevitably shit in someone’s Froot Loops. Poop Loops. Follow your nose.
Someone called my essay whining. Or rather, they implied it was whining with the statement, “NEWSFLASH: one likes a whiner.”
You can call it many things, like “ the worst Anthony Bourdain impression you’ve ever read” or “ the thoughts of someone on incredibly high doses of antipsychotics.” Whining? That implies that my opinions about Magic aren’t valid after doing it for 20 years. Calling the essay whining dismisses experiences many magicians will never have but can learn something from. And to call it whining is infantilizing, which I’m frankly used to when I am regularly the youngest person trying to start necessary discussions about ethics, responsibility, and the future of magic.
And I get it. Magicians aren’t exactly known for being socially aware or emotionally intelligent. But I think that method of dismissal is lazy. The kind of lazy that’s like wallpaper in the Magic Castle, standard issue in every magic message board or Facebook group, and something people like me (brown, queer, disabled, not financially stable) have to bite our tongue to avoid speaking on so that we don’t get hurt.
Calling it whining is so fucking lazy because you don’t have to engage with any of the points. Because if you engage with anything you disagree with in good faith, listen with intention, asking questions to learn and understand more about the perspective you don’t have, you will have to be uncomfortable and admit that you don’t have the whole picture. And no one likes to be uncomfortable.
But it’s necessary. Learning and growth are rarely comfortable. We need to do it because we have an obligation to our guests, our colleagues, and ourselves to dream of a better tomorrow, then make it so.
I think you should know this about the articles I’m going to write for the series: While my writing style is full of expletives, Snark, and the demeanor of a cockatoo that smokes three packs of lucky strikes a day, my aggression is rarely aimed towards individual people. It’s aimed at systems, organizations, ideas, and intangibles. That first article didn’t have a single person in mind that I was trying to offend. If I wanted to offend someone, I wouldn’t do it in an essay. I would do it to their face. John Williams would start playing. It would be theatrical, and everyone would clap, then we all get free ice cream and anime waifus for the rest of our lives.
When people read my thoughts, consciously or not, I honestly believe that they can fall into the idea that I’m speaking about them—or people that they know or respect or love. And I’m really not. It is not worth my time to fight with individuals. I have to focus on the big picture, which is, and always will be, systemic. Because when we see a big problem as the fault of individuals instead of the path and ideology of that individual, we get a scapegoat instead of progress. And I’m not interested in anything other than progress.
You might read all of this and assume I’m making a bigger deal out of this than I really should. But my entire life is magic. It seeps into every aspect of my existence. And when I care about something and think it’s important, I live by Example. I try my best to be a lousy millennial and follow the advice that I give others.
When I critique magician costuming, I think about how my experience can assist another’s and what experts outside of my field have taught me about the subject. If I’m going to be working in an outfit, I need to consider character design theory, cosplay, DIY, historical context, religious context, cultural context, how things should fit, the benefits of certain fabrics over another, how to dress in ways that won’t overheat/keep you cold, color theory, silhouettes, texture, and price. I spend a lot of time thinking about how I look because people will see my disability first, and me second. Then, if I’m lucky, further down the line, they will see how painful an order that is.
When I have gripes against magic
scripting, I’m confronting the issue knowing that creative writing isn’t for everyone. I have an essay coming up on why I think personal scripting is better and more accessible than magicians claim it is, but I understand that I wasn’t always in this position. I wrote a lot of bad scripts. I performed some real dogshit for most of my life. And even now, they aren’t all winners. I’m going to fail way more than I succeed. But the only way I got halfway decent at this thing was by failing. And I want to make sure you learn from my mistakes so you don’t make them.
I can’t please everyone. I’m not Paul Rudd. And if Paul Rudd did something awful when you read this, that shows you that I’m not perfect. But the effort matters. And whining takes no effort. Everything this series will cover is not half-baked, random, or easy for me to make. Why would it be? I wouldn’t get anything out of it, you definitely wouldn’t enjoy it, and I’m not paid by the word here.
So I’m going to ask a favor I know will almost certainly not be reciprocated. I am going to put 1000% of myself into these essays and try and make them helpful for you. Whether it’s because you like learning about things you don’t know much about, you are a professional looking for something different, or you enjoy my other projects, when you read these essays, I hope you keep in the back of your mind that time, effort, and resources were best used to make these special.
And in return? If you read something you don’t like or agree with, you don’t dismiss it. I’m not asking you to like it; I’m asking you to see what I’ve written as the insight of a Magic professional, and see me as someone who genuinely cares about the subject.
If you’re upset about it, complain about it, or vaguepost about it, try and understand the essay on its own terms. Appreciate that some idiot with Doctor Strange hair is willing to spend precious moments of his existence putting one word in front of another for you to read for free. And if you don’t get something? You can ask. I don’t think I can answer every question I get, but if you ask nicely, I might be able to expand on something you weren’t a fan of. And if I can’t answer it? I’m sure someone more qualified than me can do it instead.
I wanted this to be the first postscript because I knew this would happen. Someone would see an essay, miss the point (intentionally or not), and imply that the words mean nothing.
But that couldn’t be further from the truth. Whether it’s me, you, someone you like, someone you hate, or someone you will never meet, when someone uses their experience to show others why something is precious, beautiful, and important, it is the most human magic there is.
Why would you throw that away?
Essay: How Every Magic Trick Works
Next? The Haunted Doll Deliemma