Without grants from the National Endowment for the Arts to shelter them from reality, writers and artists might learn how to produce something of value.
All across America, dilettantes of every description warn of dire consequences if funding for the National Endowment for the Arts is reduced by even one dime. You've probably read their manic-depressive testimonials in your local newspaper. They wax poetic over the wonders that NEA grants make possible, and predict the end of all things beautiful and profound if the money dries up.
In a guest editorial in a major midwestern daily, a local community college professor offered an emotion-filled account of how the loss of a $5,000 NEA grant nearly led to the untimely death of the superb literary journal to which he contributes his own outstanding work. That $5,000 had paid for the printing of a reputedly much-acclaimed periodical that you probably never heard of. Without that grant, the professor recalled with horror, the periodical faced the prospect of suspending publication.
The professor displayed masterful use of pathos, but his logic was lacking. If this particular publication is so worthy of support, why can't its publishers raise the necessary funds from the private sector? If it's really all that good, why don't they finance its publication themselves, and recoup their investment with sales of the magazine? If insufficient demand exists to justify the number of copies that can be printed for $5,000, why not print fewer? If not a single copy can be sold, why bother at all?
If the professor fancies himself a budding author, well and good. Let him write to his heart's content. Who's stopping him? The costs of launching a career in writing are virtually nil. A piece of paper, a pencil or pen -- that's all he needs. If he wants to submit a manuscript to a publisher, he will require a typewriter, of course, but he can pick one up at a thrift store for five or ten dollars. Even second-hand computers nowadays cost next to nothing. Envelopes and postage are minor expenses, and e-mail is essentially free.
There's a living to be made in writing. And there's plenty of room for creativity, too. The concise, informative articles of skilled journalists; the witty, compelling advertisements of persuasive copywriters; the meticulous, insightful explications of deep-thinking scholars -- all these clearly conceived and carefully crafted evocations of precise themes are the very essence of creativity.
What if the professor cannot get his work published? Well, maybe writing isn't his line after all. Maybe there's something else he was meant to do. If he has to get a "day job" to support his literary ambitions, there's nothing wrong with that. It's all grist for the mill. No matter how frustrated he may become, however, he has no right to have his creative endeavors subsidized by the earnings of other Americans. Some of them are working day jobs too, and they'd like to use their hard-earned money to finance their own dreams.
