Archive for the ‘Process’ Category

The necessity of no


14 Jun

Posted in Creating, Process, Publishing, Work, inspiration | 3 Comments »

I’ve been hearing the word “no” or “no thanks” quite a bit lately. That’s all part of the process of trying to get published. You send out LOTS of letters (called “queries” in the biz) to lots of different literary agents and wait for at least one to say “I’m interested” or something similar. It’s very rare to hear that from someone. Very. Rare. One agent whose blog I follow (and who has said “no” to me already) indicated he alone receives between 15-20k letters each year and ends up only taking on 3-5 new clients out of that number. How ’bout them odds?

With all this in mind, I’m realizing (again) the necessity of no. If I really, REALLY believe in the work I am doing, then no should only be a “yes” deferred. In other words, “no” is (or can be) a great opportunity to dig deeper and to hopefully discover at least two truths: Do I believe, and is my work worth believing in? Rejection is never fun and no one wants to be rejected. I am learning, however, that anything I create can almost always be improved, and most of the time substantially. Rather than throwing up my hands in despair (which I would NEVER do ;-) ) I instead must sit back down in the chair and try looking through another person’s eyes to discover why they said “no.” I don’t like you, Mr. Rejection, but I understand why you are necessary. Mostly.

Cream of Wheat and onions


10 May

Posted in Creating, Muse, Practice, Process, Work, inspiration | 2 Comments »

Growing up, there were two things that some people believed to be food that I wanted nothing to do with: Cream of Wheat and onions. Cream of Wheat always gave me the shakes, and I did everything possible to avoid having to eat it, even if that meant skipping breakfast or (sorry mom!) throwing it in the trash when I thought no one was looking. Onions were just crunchy white slimy things that didn’t belong in someone’s mouth.

Even though I still feel feelings of unpleasantness towards these “edibles,” I’ve come to appreciate their value in my life and in the development of my creative capacity. This is because the creative person’s most important friend is often perceived to be his or her worst enemy, namely, obstacles. Problems and challenges along the way often become the germ of a far greater creative truth; a truth we would never had discovered if we hadn’t been “stopped” by a problem or struggle in the process. I have come to learn to welcome these times. Without exception they have been friends, even if at first I didn’t view them as such.

A great friend and adviser recently taught me that often the good book must be written in order to find the great book that lies beyond it. I believe this to be true, and I’m now discovering it in my own writing (not that what I’m doing is “great.” It does at least feel “better.”) Trusting in the truth that good work can be the beginning of something great, I am grateful for Cream of Wheat and onions, and hope I have learned or am learning the lessons they’ve provided.

The Slog


11 Apr

Posted in Creating, Excuses, Process, Work | 5 Comments »

The Slog is just what it sounds like. A dirty, unpleasant, hard, no-fun, grind. In other words, work. And work without any clearly defined reward. That’s where I find myself these days as I attempt, attempt, to complete a creative project that is more intense and demanding than any I’ve ever before attempted.

Some days I love it. Briefly. Most days I hate it. Intensely. But I’m slowly – make that sloooooowwwwwwwllllllllyyyyyyy – learning that The Slog is where most if not all of the important stuff happens. It’s certainly where I’m learning tons about tons. But not without cost. That too is an important gift from The Slog. If we got all of the glory without any of the work, the glory would be cheap and of little or no value to us.

So three cheers for The Slog. Okay, fine, one cheer. If it’s where you also find yourself, consider yourself lucky. Being stuck in The Slog means you paid a price to get there. It means “good things are still to come.” Love The Slog. Or at the least allow for the possibility of a fine working relationship. Hugs and kisses, Slog. (I hate you, Slog.)

What shape is your talent?


02 Apr

Posted in Creating, Practice, Process, inspiration | 3 Comments »

Another great post from Daniel Coyle about increasing your capacity to improve your talents. I think I’m a funnel. And you?

Creating white space


10 Jan

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Posted in Creating, Practice, Process, inspiration, priority | 4 Comments »

The two obvious prerequisites to any creative endeavor are first, making time to be creative and then second, making the most of our creative time. I learned a great deal from this article that was recently written up in the Harvard Business Review about how author Jim Collins creates regular “white space” for creative endeavors. It is important to note that Collins isn’t a painter, a novelist, or a musician. His creative work is to write books about business. This is important to note because it reaffirms the truth that all of us are creative, just in different ways. Creativity is in no way limited to the arts or to artistic endeavors. We can approach every aspect of life creatively, whether it’s our job, our work as a parent, or in any other endeavor in which we are involved.

If you don’t have time to read the entire article, (because you’re too busy being creative! Yeah!!) here is the most relevant excerpt:

“Jim took out a piece of paper and drew a picture of four blocks stacked atop each other. Pointing at the top block, he said, “I block out the morning from 8 am to noon to think, read and write. ” He unplugs everything electronic, including his Internet connection. Although he has a reputation for reclusiveness, when asked about this, he replies: “I’m not reclusive. But I need to be in the cave to work.”

After lunch, he spends his afternoon in the office with his researchers, or with clients. (His work looks different to an onlooker, who expects work time to be filled with meetings, phone calls and emails. Au contraire, he doesn’t want to “confuse activity with productivity.”) In the late afternoon he goes for a long run or rock climb, again to clear his mind. Then comes dinner, possibly more writing, and bed.

One of his favorite quotes comes from the famously disciplined French novelist Gustave Flaubert: “Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.” For Collins, high-quality work requires long stretches of high-quality thinking. “White space,” as he calls it, is the prerequisite for fresh, creative thought. It’s the time that he spends with nothing scheduled, so that he can empty his mind, like the proverbial teacup, and refill it with new thought.

He aims to spend 100 days next year in the white space. “As a great teacher, Rochelle Myers, taught me, you can’t make your own life a work of art if you’re not working with a clean canvas,” he says. (Another smart bit of Collins philosophy: “Speak less. Say more.”)

Clearly, Collins lives different life than the rest of us because, as a best-selling author, he can afford to. (But even when he couldn’t afford to — before he became famous — he spent his time thinking and working on his first book, Built to Last, turning down consulting offers from large companies that wanted him to travel to them. And he credits that “time in the cave” spent thinking for his success.)

So he challenges the rest of us to “afford” white space time. He questions whether that frenetic pace is actually getting companies anywhere (indeed, frenetic companies are usually those in decline, as he points out in his recent book, How the Mighty Fall). At the end of his keynote speech, he exhorted the gathered HR managers to create their own white spaces — even if for only a half hour a day. I could practically hear everyone thinking, “Great idea. Love it. But I haven’t got time!”

Here’s to making some personal “white space” in 2010. Excuses are so 2009. Let this be the year that you start small and “afford” some white space to work on creativity. “If you must, you will.”

Creativity = Connectivity


16 Dec

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Posted in Creating, Practice, Process, inspiration | No Comments »

Very meaningful post from The Talent Code’s Daniel Coyle about the idea of connectivity, which he suggests could replace the word creativity. Here is the section I found the most valuable:

“The deeper question is, how do we create more of these explosions?

To answer that, let’s look at what those connections really are. They are neural links — connected wires in our brain. Ideas don’t just float in the air — they exist, as electrical circuits… In fact, we could replace the word “creativity” with a new term: “connectivity.” And to maximize creative connectivity, you need to do two very different tasks:

1) gather ideas

2) connect them

For the gathering phase, we need lots of inputs, lots of filtering and categorizing. To be good at this is like being a human vacuum cleaner, hoovering up ideas and funneling them into various memory bins.

For the second phase, we need time and space to let the connections form and grow. It’s what management consultant and author Jim Collins refers to as “the white space” — the area of the day when real thinking happens.

Look closely at any creative person, and you’ll see that they have structured their lives to create acres of white space; Charles Dickens took endless walks through the city; Einstein played violin; Collins unplugs all electronics and goes “into the cave” from 8 a.m. until noon every day. All are good examples of Flaubert’s code: “Be regular and orderly in your life, so that you may be violent and original in your work.”

We’re living an interesting moment. For gathering ideas, it’s unquestionably richest time in history; we are standing in a torrent of stimulus and ideas. For finding that quiet place to connect those ideas, however, it’s exactly the opposite; white space is scarce and getting scarcer. Which makes it all the more valuable.”

Also be sure and click on the Jim Collins link. His thoughts on “white space” are priceless.

If you would be great


09 Nov

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Posted in Creating, Practice, Process, Work, self-editing | 3 Comments »

The longer I work at whatever this thing is that I’m working at, the more I am learning that it is truly in the work that something enduring comes into existence. There are no shortage of resources, gurus, and “experts” out there to tell you what you supposedly don’t know, but my experience tells me that your own heart and mind knows most if not all of what it needs to know.

A favorite blog I like to frequent is one called Zen Habits. A recent post spoke to this idea – that by doing the work, your work can only get better. The difference then becomes learning how to make the most of the work, i.e. working smarter, not harder. Or maybe both smarter and harder. Here is a great excerpt:

“There’s only one way to become good at something:

1. First, you must learn it by reading or listening to others who know how to do it, but most especially by doing.
2. Then do some more. At this point, you’ll start to understand it, but you’ll suck. This stage could take months.
3. Do some more. After a couple of years, you’ll get good at it.
4. Do some more. If you learn from mistakes, and aren’t afraid to make mistakes in the first place, you’ll go from good to great.

It takes anywhere from 6-10 years to get great at something, depending on how often and how much you do it. Some estimate that it takes 10,000 hours to master something, but I think it varies from person to person and depends on the skill and other factors.”

Creative work IS work


02 Nov

Posted in Creators, Fear, Process, Work | 1 Comment »

Great article about one of the storyboard artists for the new “Where the Wild Things Are” movie. He is also an art instructor at BYU. My key takeaway: Inviting criticism of your work by people whose vision you trust almost always leads to better work.

Anatomy of a poem


30 Oct

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Posted in Creating, Muse, Process, inspiration | 2 Comments »

treefort2

As a break from the grind of outlining and writing my current screenplay project, I’ve been working on some poetry. In my writing workshop the other night I had my group read a piece I’ve been working on, and I thought it might be minimally interesting to someone (or not) to see how a poem comes together. This of course is speaking only for myself. So here ’tis:

Beginning – most of my poetry starts with a visual of some kind. Or should I say, most of my poetry is inspired by some type of visual imagery. It could be a single thing or a combination of a lot of different ones. This particular idea came as I was sitting in a church parking lot, looking at a tree fort that someone had built in their backyard.

And then – for some reason, things generally seem to work better in my writing when they start with pencil and paper. Not sure why…maybe it frees the mind to roam without the fear of “permanence” of being typed out. With this particular poem, I wrote out the entire first draft in one sitting, but just as often I will scribble various words and images, then let it sit for awhile.

Inspiration – In addition to the visual that keys the poem, I try to be open to whatever else is floating around in my mind, with the hope that something might bubble up and connect itself to the current idea. For this poem, some of the word ideas that came included the wonder of childhood, the longing for the past, and the mystery of looking deep into the sky on a starry night, wondering how far the inky black extends…

Surprise – maybe the most important element in any creative work is the surprise. In this case, the poem began with a lighter tone, even playful. I sensed something more hiding in the fun, but it didn’t come until the work was actually being written. Beginning with “And then late, late into the dark…,” there is a definite shift in tone to from playful to melancholy. See if you agree. The trick seems to be to stay wide open to whatever from wherever. Positation!

Meaning – it was a lot of fun to hear other people read the poem and then come up with their own interpretation of what it meant. It gave me a little taste of what it might feel like for a painter to have an audience deconstruct a painting. I happily confess my “meaning” for it wasn’t nearly as profound as the meaning that an audience attributed to it. Which was lovely, actually.

I’m going to post two versions – the original and a revision that came after my workshop feedback. Would love to hear what you think as well. What works? What doesn’t? What would you change and why?

And remember, poems are best read aloud.

Here is a link to both versions. And thanks for taking a look, if you do.

Be Mused

every fire needs a spark