A Rallying Cry to Shake Off Artistic Entropy

Songs resonate differently when years have passed since your last listen. What’s inspiring me to write this is my sudden desire to listen to Death Cab for Cutie’s ‘Codes and Keys’ album, which I played on repeat when it was released in 2011 but haven’t revisited much since. 2011 was a great year for me — I was newly engaged to my husband and close to graduating from college. I was also making plans to move from Kelowna, British Columbia, to the province’s capital city, Victoria. It was a time of excitement but also uncertainty.

Perhaps I find myself drawn to this album once again because, after over a decade in Victoria and a decade of marriage, my husband and I have made another major change, relocating to the outskirts of Calgary, Alberta. For anyone familiar with these cities, you know that they couldn’t be more different, and that’s precisely what I’ve been craving. Some individuals have criticized me for this move, even making unwarranted assumptions about my political views (but my annoyances with west coast politics are a topic for another article). I don’t want to carry the baggage of BC to Alberta; I want the freshness, the thrill of the unknown, and the challenge of stepping out of my comfort zone.

So, it makes sense to be drawn to music that reminds me of a time when I last felt that exciting-yet-scary feeling of the unknown. However, I can’t help but feel slightly trapped by the nostalgia of it all. It feels inescapable. My art, my writing, even the aesthetics in my films, they all draw from the past. Everything I have ever shot embraces 80s new wave vibes, 90s fashion, or the cheesy humor of 2000s comedies. No matter how hard I try, I find myself drawing on inspiration from the past rather than what is around me. It’s not just me, though; our entire society feels trapped by the warm, weighted blanket of nostalgia. For example, fashion and music trends all seem to follow a five-year cycle of the 70s being trendy, followed by the 80s, the 90s, the early 2000s, and then back again. If you listen closely, most modern pop songs are heavily inspired by disco, and peasant tops are everywhere (and yet despite this, the organ hasn’t made a comeback ala pop music in the 60s).

Why is it such a struggle to create or listen to something genuinely new? I am happy and living what many would consider to be an enviable life, and yet I can’t imagine a future that is better than how we imagined the world would be pre-9/11. I don’t want to believe that society peaked thirty years ago — I want to believe that the world can be better, even if entertaining the idea of actively making the future brighter feels exhausting, like one more thing to add to our already full plates.

Even blind people can see that the Western world isn’t faring better now than it was in the ’90s or the early 2000s. It is clear that we’re in a state of entropy. But we must hold onto hope — we need to believe that things can improve, that society can re-energize, and that inspiration can once again come from the world around us, rather than solely relying on nostalgic media. I can’t speak for everyone (obviously), but too many people seem confined by the comforting embrace of nostalgia and are too apprehensive or exhausted to pursue something new. Sure, the world is grappling with… a lot. And I can think of at least three current conflicts that could lead to World War 3. However, it’s worth noting that the arts have often thrived during much more challenging times. The Renaissance, for example, happened after the Black Death, and movements like Dadaism and Surrealism emerged around the time of the first World War. World War 2 also led to a significant surge in consumerism, a factor I would argue contributed to the development of Pop Art (though comparing Pop Art to works from the Renaissance may seem audacious 😉). It feels like something happened in the 2010s that put a damper on the creative consciousness of the Western world, as if society collectively experienced a creative burnout around the same time.

Same, same.

Perhaps if we all openly discussed what we hope for (in life, and artistically), things could improve? What if we all embraced vulnerability and put our collective cards on the table and said exactly what we wanted to see change? Or we could all go balls to the wall and create the weirdest and most nonsensical things we can imagine! Could that kickstart a creative revolution? It’s worth a shot. Even if you’re not yet ready to create, reflecting on what draws us to our old favorites is a starting point. We don’t need to completely abandon the comforts of the warm blanket of nostalgia, but we do need to understand why we’re drawn to stay in that familiar bed. We should want joy and hope for the future, damn it! If Hollywood isn’t inspiring the masses, then it’s up to us as individual artists to take the initiative.

Sure, many things have changed socially since 2011, but that shouldn’t be a reason for our culture to lose its artistic soul. We ALL possess the capability to reshape the cultural storyline and to build a world that we are excited to participate in, if only we try. Entropy doesn’t need to be inevitable.

"Running Up That Hill" and into a Cold War?

Western pop culture died in the 2000s, and online streaming killed it. It was a slow mostly unacknowledged death, sort of like an unfortunate elderly person that had been sent to live out their days in a retirement home. Those of us who came of age in the 90s and 2000s are the last to have grown up with "can't miss TV" and top 100 songs that the majority of people could actually recognize. Once this generation dies, the idea of pop culture will too (unless everyone is forced to listen to the same music in the metaverse).

While it's possible that I just have trashy tastes, one could contend that Tiger King and WAP - and the not trashy Stranger Things - are a few of the only original pieces of media in the past three years that have elicited any sort of wide scale meme worthy acceptance, outside of Marvel movies. With the majority of music available instantaneously at our finger tips, the idea of a song gaining mainstream popularity feels like an antiquated idea, which is why I suppose it makes sense that one of the biggest songs right now is actually thirty-seven years old.

First released in 1985, Kate Bush's Running Up That Hill (A Deal With God)'s glassy vocals and confident yet restrained background rhythm feels perfectly reflective of 2022. Although it was featured in Netflix's Stranger Things, the show alone can't be credited for the explosion of this song. Stranger Things has also included classics by Metallica and KISS, but those bands haven't made a resurgence the way that Kate Bush has. This isn't a matter of a song being released before it's time either - I would argue that it is because of the similarities between 1985 and 2022. 1985 is now assumed to be when the Cold War entered its final stages final stages; it was a time of global uncertainty and unease.

Strauss–Howe generational theory is about the idea that there are recurring generational cycles in American and Western history. The theory is that humanity will never really learn from our mistakes and major social events will always repeat because of the way that each generation influences each other. While some say we are entering a new Cold War, to anyone that has been following politics and global trends, it feels more like we are approaching the end of something. It is as if all of the countries have put their cards on the table and we are waiting to see who wins.

With policymakers openly discussing threats of nuclear extinction, possible political upheaval in a certain behemoth country, and well, the way that every idiotic tweet that gets discussed in the walking-dead mainstream media, it is difficult to not be pessimistic. To me, that is why the beautiful yet fragile sound of Kate Bush's vocals sounds so of the moment. The world is on a prepuce of something major, just as it was in the late eighties, and yet we will all keep isolating ourselves in our bubbles of niche media, telling ourselves that every problem we face is because of the older or younger generation; we'll keep "running up that hill" all the while the world cycles through yet another upheaval. I just hope that one day in the future we are all happily humming along to a genuinely new song and not chanting along to Baby One More Time in caves.

Profitting Off Anna

When the production of INVENTING ANNA was announced, I was excited — finally, someone was going to compile all of the aspects of the Anna Delvey saga into one story. Anna Delvey, to those of you who live under a rock (or perhaps have more highbrow interests than me) is the pseudonym of Anna Sorokin, aka, The Soho Grifter: a young Russian-German woman who came from nothing yet managed to fake her way into Manhattan’s elite social circles and who came this close to securing a multi-million-dollar loan to open her dream arts centre. Some painted her as a Robin Hood for the underpaid and overworked side-hustle crowd, while others have interpreted her actions as nothing more than the desperate lies of a fame hungry millennial trying to take what they can from others more deserving (I’m sure many NYC socialites are decent people who spent lots of time taking care of their grandparents to earn their trust funds…).

From bestselling novels written by those in Anna’s circle, to the investigative journalism done by Jessica Pressler of New York Magazine, and even including first hard admissions and articles written by Anna Delvey herself, the Shonda Rhimes’ produced Netflix show had a wealth of interesting source material to draw from. And yet, the show falls flat. Rather than basing itself entirely in reality, the show is full of fake story lines and many needless additions about various social issues like sexism, ham fisted plots, and life details of characters like reporter Vivian Kent (a fictionalized version of the talented journalist Jessica Pressler), a formerly shamed writer who is determined to salvage her career before her baby is due (Vivian even crafts an ‘Anna crime web’ on her nursery wall — so quirky!).

For a show about Anna Delvey, the show actually focuses very little on, well, Anna Delvey. Rather than portraying her as an intelligent person with her own agency, the show portrays her in a passive light — as a muse for everyone else to project on to — instead of offering the audience a glimpse into her motives or letting us into her own thought process. This is similar to the way that Marilyn Monroe is depicted in every Hollywood film and book about her life. Inventing Anna is yet another example of how the mainstream media really doesn’t know how to handle complicated women.

Had the writers stuck to the true story, or as true of a story as can be presented when interviewing a con artist, they could have explored topics of wealth inequity, classism, and hell, even agism and sexism (all of the isms!) in a much more authentic light.

Full disclosure: I do not regularly review things. In fact, I hold some pretty unfavourable views about people that review others art for a living. I recognize the hypocrisy of me writing this piece. The reason that I am writing this though, is because like so many others, I find myself fascinated by the actual Anna Delvey saga. By what it says about western societies class divisions, how we value money above all else (but only if obtained the ‘right’ way — i.e., “old money” vs. “new money”), and honestly, her hustle. As an independent artist myself who did not come from money and who has zero powerful connections, there’s a part of Anna that I can’t help but respect.

By sheer moxie, this foreigner with absolutely no previous professional connections managed to find herself in the middle of one of the world’s most exclusive social circles, traveled the world, and managed to create experiences for herself that most of us could only dream of. No, I am not saying that lies should be commended and that society should reward scammers, but let’s take a step back and look at the actual fallout of Anna’s actions. With one exception, the people that experienced any sort of financial loss due to Anna’s actions were all insured businesses or incredibly rich individuals who had their funds either covered by insurance or banking loop holes (the grand total of her crimes was $275,000 USD, which has now been repaid). Unless I am missing something, the one working class individual who lost any money because of Anna was Rachel DeLoache Williams, a formerly struggling writer who now has a best-selling book and established career because of her time with Anna. Jessica Pressler’s article “Maybe She Had So Much Money She Just Lost Track of It” also lead to her selling the story to Shonda Rhimes. On a macro-level, it actually seems like everything actually worked out pretty well for everyone in Anna’s life, but Anna. Just as the upper classes always find ways to capitalise off of subcultures by commodifying literally everything that the “poors” deem cool or trendy first, a multitude of previously connected and established individuals have found themselves even richer because of the actions of Anna Delvey, while she sits in prison.

I would argue that the reason Anna was convicted for larceny wasn’t because of the actual monetary amount (there are a multitude of unprosecuted financial crimes by bigger fish than Anna that I could list here), but because she dared fool those at the top of the social and financial food chain. Her actions laid bare that all someone needed to do was to dress and sound the part in order to find a way into the Manhattan socialite’s cozy and exclusive world. That there really isn’t anything that different about those at the top and those at the bottom, except for imaginary social rules that were laid out by some old rich guys in a time long past. Anna’s real crime was that she showed that the ‘elites’ aren’t that special after all. 

It is disappointing that Inventing Anna didn’t stick to reality, but I know if Anna ever publishes her own memoir, it will be one hell of a read.

BookView with Ashley Good, Author of Just Add Water

Thank you to the team at The Indie View for speaking with me about my second book, JUST ADD WATER. Read the complete interview, here.

What is the book about?

Just Add Water follows thirteen-year-old Taylor, an awkward homeschooler from a small town who jumps at the chance to start high school in the city. While shopping for school clothes, Taylor not only meets her future best friend, Mischa, but ends up impulsively buying a Grow a Friend toy, which comes to life.

When did you start writing the book?

I began writing Just Add Water in September of 2020, shortly after publishing my first book, Mary & the Alien.

How long did it take you to write it?

Because of all of the stressors and weird events of the past year, my time spent on Just Add Water was fairly sporadic. I experienced bursts of motivation, followed by weeks of not writing anything. When all was said and done, Just Add Water took ten months to complete.

Where did you get the idea from?

The novel’s concept was inspired by a short film that I made. The novel is essentially a prequel to the short film, although I now consider the Just Add Water book to be “canon.”

Were there any parts of the book where you struggled?

To be completely honest, I struggled with keeping the story happy and upbeat. This past year has been quite hard on my mental health, which I know I am not alone in experiencing. After completing my last novel, which was fairly dark, I knew that I wanted to put something more optimistic into the world. Although it was a struggle at times to write something fun and light, every time I would sit down and work on Just Add Water, it would put me in a better mood!

What came easily?

Tapping into the nostalgia for the 1990s came easily to me. While I was pretty young during this book’s time period (1994), I still remember much about what made the decade so great. Writing this book during our current tumultuous time was a great form of escapism, which I think readers will also appreciate.

Are your characters entirely fictitious or have you borrowed from real world people you know?

The characters are entirely fictional, although most of their personalities are amalgamations of people that I love and care about. While the characters are fictious, all of the locations mentioned in the book are real and as historically accurate as I could make them.

Do you have a target reader for this book?

Teens roughly 12-16 years old, and their parents.

How was writing this book different from what you’d experienced writing previous books?

Writing Just Add Water was much different than my experience writing Mary & the Alien. For starters, Mary & the Alien was based off of a screenplay that I had written so I had an outline to refer to. Just Add Water was an entirely new creation, which meant that I was discovering new characters as I went along. One of the main characters, Mischa, was only meant to have a small role in the book. As I got further into the story though, Mischa started playing a bigger and bigger role. I feel like she is going to be everyone’s favourite.

What new things did you learn about writing, publishing, and/or yourself while writing and preparing this book for publication?

When I published my first novel, Mary & the Alien, I was just excited that anyone wanted to read it! I had never imagined that it would be a success and end up on multiple store shelves. Now that my second novel, Just Add Water, is about to be released, I need to prove that the success of Mary & the Alien wasn’t just a fluke. I am determined to reach as many readers as I can, all around the world. Thank you so much for featuring me on The Indie View and helping to make this goal possible.

Just Add Water Review - Indies Today

Thank you to Indies Today for giving JUST ADD WATER a five star review!

Originally posted at indiestoday.com:

Neon clothing, refreshing Orange Julius beverages, and teenage hormones are all the rage in Ashley Good’s glossy buddy book, Just Add Water. Taylor becomes a sort of emancipated thirteen-year-old as she boldly leaves the comfort and confines of her childhood home to live with her older sister in the big city. Well, the bigger city. Coming from a town of less than one hundred residents, any location boasting its own shopping mall is quite the upgrade. While shopping for school clothes, Taylor impulsively buys the season’s most anticipated new toy designed for lonely kids everywhere. Grow a Friend, a semi-sentient doll that needs only water to spring to life, turns out to be a very alive boy who believes himself to be a prince. How can Taylor possibly explain the spongy prince hiding out in her bedroom without freaking her sister out or alienating her new best friend? Having only ever been home-schooled before, Taylor deals with all the expected angst, embarrassments, and apprehensions as she experiences public school, true friendship, and a truly supportive family for the first time.

Just Add Water is the perfect upbeat early-teen dramedy to enjoy while listening to an old Spin Doctors CD and enjoying a handful of sour apple Jolly Ranchers. Ashley Good really captures the colorful and progressive vibe of the mid-nineties through rich descriptions, nostalgic pop culture references, and the changing attitudes highlighted in the novel. Mischa, Taylor’s first and best friend, vividly encapsulates so many young people at that time, so full of confidence and bravado with her dark makeup and brusque manner, yet quietly yearning for acceptance. And even though the conflict between Taylor’s conservative parents and her lesbian sister is a recurring theme, the book retains a lightness and jocularity, making for an relatable story for tweens and teens in all sorts of circumstances. A quirky coming-of-age tale with a fantastical edge, Just Add Water is as fun and familiar as flipping through your old high school yearbook, but possibly with a better ending.