Requiem for a Chode

During lunch just now I heard myself explaining why it's okay to do bad work. Actually, not just okay: honorable.

The rationale, if I heard it right, was that there is no higher pursuit than keeping one's word, and that the paramount importance of this must never be forgotten. Therefore, if you're in a situation requiring you to create a product that is not as good as what you think you're capable of, you are obligated to do this, even if it frustrates you. You promised to get the job done when you took the job. Even if you didn't fully understand all that was entailed in the job, you still must do it. And doing it is the honorable thing.

Your creative conscience may berate you for selling out, but your conscience conscience should know you did the right thing. In fact, it's downright selfish to fail at the assignment because you refused to compromise your Creative Integrity. Your Integrity Integrity should prevent you from letting everyone down just so you could feel good about everything.

That's what I said, or something similar.

And I believe it, I think - a lot of people whom I respect immensely have adopted the 'pick your battles' approach to the creative profession, and now I think I can too. I think I finally get it. That lofty, masterpiece-every-time-or-don't-do-it-at-all stuff is like a lot of my other formerly deep-seated convictions - it *sounds* all noble and tortured, but really it's selfish and lazy.

Readers of this site, though: Not to worry. Here it will always be strictly gems of brilliance, nonstop. Not because I've sworn this to you before, but because I haven't - I don't owe you anything.

Embarassing footnote: When I titled this post before writing it (which I generally try to avoid) I misused the word requiem. I kind of assumed it meant 'song of celebration,' which it does, but requiems are actually played or sung only for things that have died recently. So it's kind of a 'lament,' if you will. When I found this out, I realized it changes the meaning of the title, and maybe makes it more accurate. I meant this initially as an explanation of how no-talent ass clowns, or 'hacks,' if you prefer, got to be that way, and a lyric declaration of my joining their ranks. Then I decided that the epiphany described above actually marks my transition from being an insufferable elitist to a useful member of society, and thus the title is accurate. And I chose the more gratifyingly phonetic - though technically wrong - spelling of the word choad because the idea of that word having a proper and official spelling is just hysterical to me.

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