Creative momentum

May 27, 2009


When things are going good, from a creative standpoint, they typically continue to go good. One thing leads to another, and before long you’ve spilled out several great things in a matter of days. It’s the nature of creativity – it feeds off of itself.

In all things creative, momentum drives us from average to heady.

When I encounter these peaks of momentum, I cherish them. Like anyone who considers themselves part of the creative industry – whether a freelance artist or a copy slinger – I understand the fragility of creative momentum. It’s easy to rest when you’re at that peak, to coast for a while as your mind continues to work. But you pay for it later.

Oh, man. Do you pay for it later.

Let’s quickly define something. By “creativity,” I’m talking about the act of creating something original. Not just thinking quirkily, but – in my case - actually writing something, or photographing something.

Thanks to our recent move and a lack of opportunity, the past month has seen my creative momentum hit a screeching halt. It’s hit the bottom, begun on the next hill in earnest, and rolled backward, resting finally in a valley of uninspired funk. Some call it a rut. I call it a chasm.

Some may find solace in this. It has certainly brought me back to earth. During those times when I have convinced myself that there is such a thing as creative talent, that it’s not simply a tweak of perspective and is an honest skill (and trust me, despite my sarcastic leanings otherwise, I rarely feel confident enough to claim a heightened creative talent) it’s humbling to find myself at the bottom again.

Struggling for ideas. As if creativity was something you had to work at.

And there’s the rub. Even the most creative people have to work at this. Even those to whom writing – or photography, design, music, acting – come naturally.

In fact, the people who work the hardest at being creative are the people who are the most successful at it.

They’re successful because they never stop trying. During their downtime, they stay creative. They continue thinking. They continue working. They are always working.

Charging up the same hill. Gaining speed to overcome the troughs. Continuously thinking harder to maintain the momentum of creativity, to gain speed, to leave the uninspired moments behind.

For me, it’s one blog post, a handful of pictures, and a few projects for work. Nothing amazing. But at least I can say I’m finally beginning the climb out of this chasm.

Again. And certainly not for the last time.

Tags: On..., Photography, Writing |

2 Comments

Print is dead, long live print

May 11, 2009


Sorry, everyone. I don’t meant to get all Old Man Vilhauer on you.

But can we stop the ongoing “Print is Dead” argument?

Print isn’t – and never will be – dead. It may not be in first place. It may not even be the social norm. But there will always be a part of us – most of us, that is; those of us who aren’t robots – that will long for something more durable, something tangible we can flip through, something we can dog-ear and drop hastily into our pocket, on the side of the bed.

I am positive that magazines and newspapers in their current state will continue to decline. We may be forced to pay more for these services. Quick information is too convenient and too easily accessed to wait for, so magazines will focus on features and other long-form writing.

But books aren’t in danger. Not yet. So let’s not try to raise warning flags because we’re looking for something to scream about.

Things will change, but print will still be around for a long time.

After all. We’ve all got electric heat. But who doesn’t love a campfire?

Tags: Books, Literature, Writing |

1 Comment

Mission: accomplished

April 21, 2009


It’s 11 o’clock. I’ve just worked late to meet two deadlines. Two projects – one a comprehensive plan, the other a recap of a series of focus groups.

I drank coffee. I isolated myself. I kept my distractions to a minimum.

I finished both projects. And now, here, at 11 o’clock at night on a Tuesday, I feel completely and utterly satisfied.

To me, there’s little that’s as exhilarating as finish a project I feel confident about. Not some small random job, but a late-nighter – something important, with an inflexible deadline. There’s a rush, my adrenaline confused as to why I’m not running scared, the night’s coffee still surging through my bloodstream and wreaking havoc on my sleep cycle.

In college, when I’d stay up late finishing some monstrous narrative on child psychology, I’d often find myself with a mild case of insomnia. Coffee was no excuse in those days – just the pure rush of completion. Of conquering 4,000 words. Of feeling pretty damned awesome about whatever it was I just did.

For me, it happened again a few months ago. I wrote a proposal for a non-fiction book based on Ween’s Chocolate and Cheese (through Continuum’s 33 1/3 series). When I was finished, I sat astounded. I couldn’t believe I had just done it. My first proposal. I knew at the time that I probably wouldn’t get it – after all, with no experience writing non-fiction or music, I was a long shot – and, let’s be honest, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to take the project on. I mean, writing on this blog is difficult at times – I can’t imagine tackling a book while still working full-time as a writer with two children under three. Seems like an impossible feat.

But that proposal was good. Damned good. And I knew that even if I didn’t get the chance to write the book, I still knocked that proposal out of the park.

Tomorrow, after five or so hours of sleep, I’ll hit the office and put the finishing touches on these two projects. I’ll present my plan to the rest of the staff. I’ll wait for feedback on the focus group summary. I’ll get a handful of jobs dumped on me and I’ll make revisions and I’ll fight to stay out of the copywriting rut. I’ll come home exhausted from doing what seems like simple work.

Right now, though, I think I’ll enjoy this feeling just a little longer.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Career, Writing |

Comment

A not-so-brief aside on the value of the humanities as seen by someone involved with the humanities

March 21, 2009


When I was young, I fell in love with books. It might have been Sterling North’s Rascal, or it might have been before that. I don’t know the exact point, but I know it started early.

Despite my love – despite the urge to read and collect and plan – I often let my reading lapse. I wanted it, but I didn’t pursue it. Whether it was a busyness or simple apathy, books were collected but weren’t read. My intentions were perfect, but my actions were failing.

It took a concerted effort for me to get my reading back up. I had to look at myself. Make time for reading. Reallocate the precious resource of time.

When I get together with the board of the South Dakota Humanities Council, I’m reminded of this lesson. Not because it’s about reading, but because it’s an example of humanities support as a larger picture.

Humanities, by definition, is the documentation of cultural memories – history, and literature, and archives. Fiction, non-fiction, anything that falls under archiving ideas. It’s an educated group of ideals, and it’s often offered up for free.

But the documentation – the writing and research and creativity – takes time.

It takes resources.

And that’s often the disconnect.

Like I did with my books, we as a society want to squirrel away the humanities. We want to collect and offer and create more and more. It strengthens the fabric of our communities and it adds to our quality of life. But it’s often difficult for us to reallocate resources to make it work. For my books it was time. For the humanities, it’s both time and funds.

Human nature is such that we can’t imagine life without words and history, but we don’t necessarily want to go forward in protecting it. It’s always there, naturally. It’s just something that we take for granted.

History never changes. But it disappears.

Literature is never forgotten. But it is neglected.

It’s why, when I get together with this group of people – the South Dakota Humanities Council, none of which are like me, none of which share an identical world view but share one common love for the documentation of ideas and history, in archiving old worlds and creating new ones – I swell with pride.

I realize that, though I can’t directly fund the humanities, I at least have an opportunity to protect them. And as a young male, I stand as my generation’s representative for the humanities – an idea that is wrongly perceived as an old dusty group of history books and boring tomes.

I can’t offer the funds, but I can offer my time. Hoping that those who can help on a financial level will. And hoping that those who have the love for the humanities and understand the value – hopefully every one of us – can at least give their time as well.

The pitch is as easy as making the reallocation on your own. Attend and support programs. Buy books and support authors. Give to your library, or volunteer. Throw a few bucks in the donation box at the museum.

And if you’re in love with words and history and books and all that the humanities encompasses as much as I am, do what your heart leads you to. No matter your age. No matter your gender.

Help me prove to the world that the humanities isn’t as negligible as we’re led to believe.

Tags: Books, On..., Writing |

Comment

10 Years Ago

February 13, 2009


There’s no significance to this day ten years ago.

I sat at St. Cloud State University, in the lobby of Hill-Case Hall, after transferring just a few months earlier from the barren, small town culture at Southwest State University in Marshall, MN. I might have been reading Thucydides’s History of the Peloponnesian War, a surprisingly interesting book prescribed in my History of the World: Antiquity to 1700’s class. I had probably just eaten at Atwood, the student commons; a Rice Krispy bar, maybe a bagel with cream cheese.

I was studying to be a teacher. A science teacher. That was the only thing I had mapped out for my future - I would teach science to middle school kids.

I had absolutely no idea that, in ten years, I’d be sitting at a desk with no kids around me. No classroom. No school. Just a desk at an advertising agency.

That I’d be a writer.

That, on this day, ten years from now, I’d be sitting down to write an ad.

About varicose veins.

Think about that. The future really is pretty hazy, isn’t it?

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Writing |

1 Comment

What I’ve Been Reading - January 2008

February 10, 2009


Books Acquired:
Unaccustomed Earth – Jhumpa Lahiri
Home – Marilynne Robinson
ABC3D – Marion Bataille
Watchmen – Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
Liar’s Poker – Michael Lewis

Books Read:
Watchmen – Alan Moore & Dave Gibbons
Alphabet Juice – Roy Blount Jr.

Etymology
From the Greek for “the true sense of the word.” That goes back to what roots showed through a lot more than they do today. But just as you appreciate a vegetable more if you know how it grows, you have a better hold on a word if you use it in acknowledgment of its roots, its background, some of the soil still attached.

I flagged this definition from Roy Blount Jr.’s Alphabet Juice because it summed up my thoughts about words themselves this month, both how they work in a literal sense and how they relate to the actions of our nation, to life, to all aspects of art – not simply literature, but graphic mediums as well.

Of course, I’m late in writing about these words. Again. To be honest, I haven’t finished Alphabet Juice – a book I began before 2008 was distant memory. There are excuses, which I’ll get into. Because that’s what I do. I get into my excuses.

My first excuse was a magazine. I received a subscription to The Atlantic for Christmas from my mother. A subscription that I asked for out of the blue, actually. It just kind of popped into my head, like Ralphie’s football in A Christmas Story. Yet, in my case, the instant thought was valuable.

I had always wanted a magazine like this – not simply Sports Illustrated or Time, but something with a little traction. Something I could look forward to reading every month, cover to cover, in an effort to become more knowledgeable about life.

I thought I had that magazine with The Believer. (I didn’t. In that case, I wanted a fiction magazine, but realized I couldn’t handle the weekly onslaught of New Yorkers.) Now, I see that I finally do with The Atlantic. It gives me a wider view of the world – one that isn’t digested into bite sized chunks.

I don’t trust magazines. I’ve written about that before. But here I am, reading The Atlantic, literally from cover to cover. “Is this it?” I thought. “Is this the death knell to my reading habits?” Given the opportunity to read a heavy, solid book or the flimsy magazine on my bedstand, I chose the magazine every night until it I had completed it.

I’m an adult. I enjoyed it. Every word. I learned. Like taking short catnaps all day long, my eyes were opened without the grogginess of eight hours of straight sleep.

What I found was, in this time of political rebirth, I’m more receptive to news – to the news cycle, to my place in its coverage and, even more, its effects. I’ve taken the words that crop up from each article - each in depth hearing and each critical analysis – and discovered that their strength comes from deep in the roots of democracy, that these words are important not just because they are information, sweet information, but also because they are the very foundation of what makes this country great. Communication. A free transfer of ideas about any aspect of life.

A lot to learn from some liberal pinko news rag.

So there’s one distraction. A week of magazine reading. The other, I’m afraid, was a comic book.

Watchmen, which many may recognize as a big-budget blockbuster on its way to theaters sometimes in the near future, is more than a comic book, to be honest, much in the way Chris Ware’s sprawling masterpieces are more than just circles and squares.

Drawn in what I consider to be typical superhero style (but, let’s be honest, what do I know – I snobbishly read these for the art), Watchmen didn’t impress me with its visual aspects. This is, no doubt, because I am unaware of the skill needed to render a comic book – especially one of this size.

Instead, it was the writing that moved me. It was superhero done with a realistic slant – realizing full well that superheroes don’t really exist, and that if they did it would occur with real life consequences. Think Fortress of Solitude without the magic ring – instead, these superheroes go all out with gadgets, a keen mind or genetic manipulation. They exist as society allows them to.

Society isn’t really crazy about them, though. “Who Watches the Watchmen?” they ask. Superheroes have been banned for years, and only a rash of violence on those who used to be masked brings them back together. For one goal.

Save themselves.

It’s a feat of writing to take a jaded anti-superhero mind like my own and convince it that superheroes can be a fascinating subject. I love that Watchmen reads like a philosophical and psychological assessment of what superheroes would be if, in fact, real. And, I love the suspense, the twists, the characters. I love the allusion of more famous superheroes. (Night Owl is most certainly Batman, by my estimation.)

Most of all, though: I may have simply enjoyed reading a comic book.

Of course, there was the book I actually read (am still reading): Alphabet Juice, Roy Blount Jr.’s amusing romp through the English language. It’s a look at why words matter; at why I love them so much, despite my utter hackery at times. It covers syntax in a way that seems so blatantly obvious, causing me to rethink everything I knew about how I write. It covers rare words that I’ve never heard, and will promptly forget, but feel all the more blessed to have knowledge of no matter how fleeting.

Above all, it covers the peculiarities of our language, and how those peculiarities are part of what makes it so wonderful. Words are sonicky; they are verbal interpretations of what we’re experiencing. And some songs just seem to have a sonic connection. Other times, the roots are weird, the roads they’ve traveled long and winding, until the word isn’t even aware of it’s original home, like a seventh generation immigrant who can no longer remember where his ancestors came from.

It’s a love letter to English, really. Blount Jr. takes his dry delivery and crafts it lovingly into a tribute, checking each pretension and putting forth an amazing display of honor at being associated with the language.

And all parts of language, too; what I love about this book is that the wit stretches across the landscape of language. ROFL, teh and other newfangled slang mixes with discussions about syntax and grammar and proper writing. It’s the entire span of English, good or not. Origins to usage to trends. Txt to Texan to Tennyson.

Which gives me hope for the future. I can butcher the language all I want, and I can put off the What I’ve Been Reading recaps to my heart’s desire, but English will always be there. Language and words – the roots of our verbal communication – will forge along, subtly changing, but always moving forward.

It gives visual masterpieces a unique voice. It gives us the basis of communication that helps build a free society. And, at times, it just stands on its own – a testament to its own strength and a tribute to every word that’s come before, either lost or passed from use.

Each word, I’ve learned, is sacred. And I should never consider letting one go unwritten.

Tags: Books, Journalism, Literature, What I've Been Reading, Words, Writers, Writing |

Comment

What I’ve Been Reading - December 2008

January 8, 2009


Books Acquired:
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #29 – Dave Eggers (editor)
Alphabet Juice – Roy Blount, Jr.
Obama – David Mendell

Books Read:
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern #29 – Dave Eggers (editor)
Paul’s Boutique – Dan LeRoy
Doolittle – Ben Sisario
Murmur – J. Niimi (not finished)

Well, Christmas has come and passed, and our New Year’s trip rode by quietly, at least in terms of Black Marks on Wood Pulp coverage, so I suppose it’s about time I tackled those books I read last month.

Our book collection grew thanks to a healthy helping of Christmas cheer. Kerrie’s parents added a biography of Obama by the Chicago Tribune’s David Mendell, who covered Obama from the beginning of his first Senate campaign. The book runs from that point until his announcement that he was running for President, and comes highly recommended.

On the other side of the family, my mother brought me Roy Blount, Jr.’s Alphabet Juice, which I have begun reading and absolutely love. More next month.

Of course, as I do quarterly, I received (and read) the newest edition of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern – Issue 29 this time around. I’m sure I’ve exhausted my word count on this series, so I won’t go into it aside to say that it was as good as always, though there were no stories that made me sit up and say “OMG THAT WAS AMAZING” like Stephen King’s story from Issue 26 or Dan Chaon’s “The Bees” from The Better of McSweeney’s.

There were disturbing stories (Laura Hendrix’s “A Record of Our Debts” hit me hard enough to wish I hadn’t read it) and cute stories (Blaze Ginsberg’s “My Crush on Hillary Duff”) but nothing that stuck with me.

(Yeah, I just said it. “Cute.” As in, “oh, that’s cute, why don’t you stop back when you’ve started writing like a big kid.”

Ugh. I hate it when people call my stuff “cute.”)

This stuff was all secondary, though. The bulk of my month, in terms of both reading and writing, was devoted to my very first book proposal, a 3,000 plea to allow me the freedom of writing about something I probably was ill-equipped to write about yet feel completely convinced that I can do regardless. (Though I’ll never get approval with sentences like that.)

The subject is Continuum’s 33 1/3 series, a fun collection of books written by very fancy musicians or music expert, all focused on one classic album. The catalyst was an open call for proposals. The brewing idea was my plan to write a collection of short stories based on the 16 songs on Ween’s Chocolate and Cheese. The revelation: why not combine the two?

I’ve kept this quiet from you, dear blog reader. I didn’t mention this beforehand for a few reasons; mainly that I’ve tried as hard as I can to stop writing about writing. Or blogging about blogging. Or going too meta on your ass in every sense of the word. It’s hard, though – I love writing about myself. I really enjoy it. I like talking about myself too, in case you’re ever in a room with me and don’t have anything to say.

So I sort of hid the proposal, though I tweeted about a billion or so times – enough that what was supposed to be a subtle plea for assistance turned into a handful of great examples. (Thanks, Deane!) I kept the proposal in my head. I held back on writing it. I wanted it to be good, done a bit at a time, developed and rewritten until it was perfect; not a frantic race to the finish like most of my projects end up becoming.

To prepare, I purchased four 33 1/3 books, thinking that buy the time I was finished with the fourth I’d be fully prepared to begin. The books are short – they took only a day or two to read – and would give me a little insight on what the crew at Continuum was looking for.

I breezed through Dan LeRoy’s Paul’s Boutique, enjoying the chance to get a behind-the-scenes look into a classic album. A classic album that almost wasn’t, I learned; it was a hit with those who wrote about music, but commercially panned because it wasn’t License to Ill. In other words, it was critically revered, but no “Paul Revere.”

(Ahem.)

Ben Sisario’s Doolittle struck a similar chord. Instead of a straight forward history, Sisario went driving with Pixies front man Frank “Black Francis” Black, a rambling remembrance of one of indie rock’s most famous groups and albums. I didn’t see behind the curtain as much as into the living room of a “dysfunctionally brilliant” family.

After finishing one of the books, I’d find myself obsessed for days with the namesake album. I listened to Paul’s Boutique more this month than I had my entire life, and Doolittle finally broke out of the “one song wonder” pile and into a full rotation.

I got ready for more of the same with R.E.M.’s Murmur.

Alas, something had to give. My attention wasn’t what it should have been, maybe. Or perhaps I had soaked in all of the research I could handle and needed a break. Whatever it was, I never finished Murmur. I will (after all, I only have 25 pages left). But I didn’t.

J. Niimi’s Murmur wasn’t horrible, it just wasn’t written for me. It was written for a music geek who thought too long and too deep about his album of choice. Paul’s Boutique and Doolittle didn’t try to make the albums more than they were in real life – they just honored them, told the story and let the reader understand the thought process behind it. Murmur, on the other hand, from the first pages, took its album topic to another level, placing it high above everything else, as the savior of alternative rock. It outlined every detail of the recording to a level that only the most seasoned audio geeks would understand, and waxed poetic about the often incomprehensible lyrics.

Murmur’s not a bad album. But I don’t think I like it that much. Which made this book hard to swallow and, unfortunately, boring.

Though when I think about it, I may have learned more from Murmur than I did the others. I understand the power of knowing my audience. It might so happen that the Murmur audience is into that stuff, that I got caught with the wrong author and the wrong album. Murmur isn’t the same as Automatic for the People – the two albums come from nearly completely different bands. I shouldn’t have expected something that connected with me, because Murmur as an album doesn’t connect with me.

If I’m lucky enough to have my proposal approved – lucky enough, that is, to write a 30,000 word book on Ween’s Chocolate and Cheese for a modest advance and little to no royalties, a project done for the sake of doing it, for the idea of having a book published with my own ISBN number – I’ll hopefully capture the right mood. My audience is Ween fans and those with a passing interest in goofy, yet brilliant albums. I can’t take the subject too seriously because, let’s face it, that’s not who I’m writing for.

In school, we all learn how not to write. In doing so, we’re really learning how to write for a select audience – teaching professionals, those who are defined by rules and structure. It’s not until later that we realize that we can write for other people. That every audience deserves a different voice.

For some of us, it takes a lot longer.

Tags: Books, Literature, Music, What I've Been Reading, Writers, Writing |

Comment

Next Page →