Mastering the cycle of inspiration

August 29, 2010


Yesterday, my inspiration level was at zero. Today, I have five blog posts to write.

Such is the process that goes on in our minds: creative momentum, fueled by the peaks, stalled by the valleys.

It isn’t enough to wait it out. Waiting out creative momentum as it’s floundering at the bottom of a hill is to do it a disservice; to assume that things will pick up again, that all you need to do is wait.

It still takes work. But it also takes patience.

As I move from project to project, I believe more in the idea that mastery of creative momentum is one of the most important things a creative-minded person can learn.

Whether you’re designing Web sites or writing novels or cooking or reading or whatever, if you can give your mind the push that gets it going back up the peak toward maximum inspiration, and if you can recognize the moment when you’re at your best and take advantage of your brain’s open channel ways, you will be both more productive and better at ease.

It’s a cycle. And while controlling the cycle is impossible, recognizing its benefits is crucial.

Tags: On..., Writing |

2 Comments

A walk to the library

July 16, 2010


From where I work, it’s only a quick two block walk to the library.

So today, with my head swimming in tests, my mind frozen from the air conditioning, I got up and walked there.

No premeditation. No purpose. With just a hunch, I stepped into the heat, turned right, and kept walking.

For the past year or so, I’ve completely fallen away from reading books; the stack beside my bed grew, stagnated, and is in danger of being killed off. I barely read at all, actually – outside of the Sunday New York Times, a handful of work-related books, a blog article or two, there’s nothing. My mind has been consumed with learning new skills and adapting to a second child and spending time with my family.

Reading has taken a back seat.

So, this walk? It quickly became a big deal.

Our library is cool and new and stocked with great books and at once I was reminded of why I was always attracted to it. You see, this is where I was supposed to be. On these shelves. Writing books and stories, looking to make it big; my words sheltering others from boredom, my thoughts absorbed by strangers. I started this blog to practice becoming a better writer. I volunteered for magazines – writing about reading, no less! – and weaseled my way into a writing job at an ad agency. I read fiction and non-fiction and short stories and massive tomes like it was a religion – both because I enjoyed it and because, as they say, better readers make better writers.

And then, I kind of stopped.

I still write. But I no longer read.

Instead, I found two things I enjoyed a lot more, and I’ve jumped into them with full abandon: being a dad, and working in Web.

But they don’t have to be exclusive.

The potential made me dizzy. Or maybe it was the heat. Whatever. All I know is that I walked into the library, wandered around for a few minutes, grabbed Syncopated: An Anthology of Nonfiction Picto-Essays and Steinbeck’s The Red Pony and made a promise to myself.

To stop making excuses. And to head back to my roots. Because while my path veered from becoming a writer, there’s no reason it ever should have stopped me from becoming a reader.

Tags: Books, Career, Family, Literature, What I've Been Reading, Writing |

5 Comments

Killing hyperbole: or, a lesson learned from the “Lebacle” overreaction

May 12, 2010


Last night, Lebron James had a bad game.

One bad game. Against a very good team. In a pressure-filled playoff atmosphere.

And, from the sound of it, the world is coming to an end.

Henry Abbott expertly covers the “sky is falling” aspect of this one bad game in a recent post on his blog, TrueHoop:

The “LeBacle” may soon prove to have been one of the darkest moments in Cleveland’s miserable sports history.

But please, spare us the assertion that after one bad night we know James has always had a permanent flaw. It’s just absurd, and amazingly some of it’s coming from the faithful in Cleveland. Twitter, Internet comments, my e-mail inbox, Facebook, all are loaded to the gills with talk that he’s doomed to mediocrity, psychologically deficient or was intentionally tanking.

As if those 69 playoff contests and 548 regular-season games were the aberration, and this one horrible night was the truth. As if the guy who scored 25 straight against the Pistons in a similar situation needs a lecture, from Twitter, on embracing the challenge.

Somebody should make a big list of all those people who think they now know James is a doomed player, and we’ll revisit in a decade.

He’s talking about basketball writers. But there’s a tone to this that reaches across all subjects, one that draws a sharp line showing the difference between writing WITH passion and writing FROM passion.

The first is all about embracing what you do and attacking it with gusto: cherishing each word, taking your shoes off and splashing around in the subject matter, laughing and waving your arms, delirious with happiness because – damn it – you love this.

The second is allowing the moment to cloud your judgment, letting hyperbole set in, overreacting and ACTING THE FOOL, as the more street-worthy performers might say.

The first leads to emotional prose. The second leads to 24-hour news channel hype.

We’re all guilty of the second.

Admitting we’re guilty helps us focus on the first, by identifying our own overreaction and acting accordingly. With grace. With all sides measured. Without filtering common sense in search of a sensational stance.

Tags: Basketball, Boston Celtics, Soccer, Words, Writing |

1 Comment

I’ve (almost) arrived

May 11, 2010


So let’s just say this is probably a decade or more in the making.

It started with a bunch of crappy basic HTML sites for hardcore bands and fake wrestling leagues and it turned into a blog before blogs became “blogs” and, now, after I had convinced myself that I was supposed to be a teacher, and after I spent a few years managing a call center, and after I finally understood that I should be either writing or working on the Web (and the writing opportunity came first) here I am.

Here I am.

(More specifically, here I will be in four weeks.)

I’ve spent four years writing ads and marketing. And I wouldn’t trade a minute of it. I’ve learned a lot. I’ve learned how to talk to clients. I’ve learned how to break out of my shell. I’ve learned how to embrace the knowledge that people can offer. I’ve learned to be humble.

And, to be honest, I wouldn’t be surprised if I still had something to learn in the next three weeks, as I graciously make my exit: about humility and closure and saying goodbye to something I might never had said goodbye to if things had worked out a little differently.

But I move. From one industry to another. To learn new languages. To sermonize about content and architecture. To serve the role I’m probably already hardwired to serve.

More than that, I move to a culture I’ve always admired. One that can develop a project like 48 Hour Magazine. That can still get excited about progress, understanding that everything changes, always, constantly. That continues to mix sardonic wit with soul-bearing clarity.

I’d call it a testament to positive thinking if I believed in all of that zen crap, but, really, it’s a testament to persistence, my ego unwilling to allow progress to move forward without grasping a part of it. I’ve always wanted to be a part of the Web, and, success willing, I’m now in a position where I can help a bunch of Web people make a bunch of awesome Web things.

It’s in my blood, I guess.

Granted, there are a lot of people that I respect that have had it in their blood for even longer, and (justifiably) view me as a punk who doesn’t know what he’s in for. I’m okay with that. More than anything, I hope I can prove myself.

I guess what I’m trying to say is this:

“Hey, Internet. I’ve been pretending for a while. And I’ve been a big fan for a long time.

But I’m one of you, now.

Be gentle.”

Tags: Career, Content Strategy, Technology, Vilhauer, Writing |

3 Comments

Haters. They gonna hate.

April 27, 2010


If I was in a different place, I’d probably apologize for myself. For everything I’ve ever said. And everything I’ll ever say.

At times, I’m kind of negative. I’m sorry for that. Don’t take it personally. Don’t allow your publication to take it personally. Don’t allow your candidate, or your beliefs, or whatever it is I’ve somehow slighted to take it personally.

See, we’re all part of a vast network of communication. Me. You. All of us. We connect through words and sometimes those words aren’t what you want to hear but I’ve gotten to a point in my life where I feel voicing my opinions and airing my quirks outweigh the silence I once mistook for politeness.

With that freedom, I may have become a little negative.

But that’s only a perception.

Because it’s allowed me to be positive, too. And it’s given that positivity a more genuine stature.

There’s a fragile ecosystem of delicate egos in the creative world – an ecosystem that I freely claim a part of – that frantically searches for reassurance and kudos and can’t live without constant adoration. You guys, I get it. I’m there. Everyone who’s ever put out a small slice of creativity has been there. Unless we’re wasted on old man whiskey, we create both for the reaction and for the art.

In fact, that reaction is the central driving force of art.

If I criticize your work, I’m not criticizing you as a person. If I don’t follow you back on Twitter, or ignore your Facebook friend requests, it’s not because I hate you. If I don’t say anything at all, it’s not because I wasn’t paying attention. We’re all adults here. We’re all having a conversation, even when we’re not saying a thing.

It just feels like, sometimes, if the conversation begins with critique, it will certainly end with the offended party cowering; hiding under the covers.

If something you do isn’t up to par, I’ll tell you. Don’t take it personally. Just know that I have high standards. Standards that I, myself, couldn’t probably even live up to.

And if something you do is mindblowingly awesome – like, tell all of my friends and yell it from the rooftops awesome – then know that whatever it is, it really caused a reaction with me.

For what that’s worth, I suppose.

Looking over this, I understand that I’m probably trying to convince myself of these things. But remember: we release our creativity so others can view and respond. And it’s that act of release that frees us complaint.

We’re opening ourselves for the world, you know. And haters? They always gonna hate.

It’s the ones that do nothing BUT that you’ve got to watch for.

Tags: Annoyances, Meta, On..., Writing |

2 Comments

On fanatics: or, cutting the long tail of company history and focusing on the customer

April 12, 2010


When you cross the line from general to specific, you also cross the line from tolerant to expectant.

In other words, you’ll be given a pass if you’re talking in generals and leave something out. The second you cross into expert territory, though, you’re running with the big wolves, except these big wolves have specialized nomenclature and a list of best practices and several generations of expert knowledge at their disposal, and they’d love nothing more than to regale you with the details.

It’s scary. You’re immediate inclination is to stand down and allow the experts to control the message.

I’m saying is you don’t have to. Not if you position things correctly.

A Personal Definition of “Work Fanaticism”

First, an aside.

Firefighters love fire trucks.

They adore them. Truck posters are given the same treatment as pin-up models. Long-winded discussions about truck detail and options develop the same intensity as those about politics or sports. Throw a new fire truck in the middle of a group of fire fighters, and you’ll have people snapping pictures.

Taking pictures? Of some random fire truck? Yeah.

This is the mindset of the work fanatic: someone who spends so much time with one subject that it becomes an extension of his or her personal life.

Photographers obsess about their equipment. Web developers constantly think about browsers and computers and code. Fire fighters have both a vested interest and a full-out crush on the newest and best in fire equipment.

The further you get into a more pointed skill, the closer you get to work fanaticism. Whether a product of increased knowledge or of a feeling of expertise, work fanatics do all they can to own a subject,

They’re more sensitive to misconceptions. They’re more critical of mistakes. And they’re watching you like a hawk.

Do you see where we’re going here?

Expert Witnesses

All of this adds up to one thing: there’s a fine line between providing clarity and falling into fanaticism.

Not every marketing manager is an expert on a specific skill. But the position dictates expertise on one specific concept: namely, the history, brand and bottom line of the company.

I’ve found, in general, there are two mindsets when it comes to communicating this expertise.
1. The company is here to serve the goals of our customers, so here’s how we do it.
2. The company IS the goal of the customer, so here’s why we rule.

You can read this another way:
1. Marketing the Way It’s Supposed To Be.
2. Work Fanaticism.

Every person who makes decisions about a company’s communications efforts falls somewhere between these two mindsets. As writers and content wranglers, it’s our goal to straddle this line.

Our foremost goal is one of simplicity: providing Mark Q. Customer information as to why this company is worth paying attention to. On the other hand, we often run smack into the wall of Company Legend, where the WHY is lost in the fog of OUR HISTORY.

And despite our pleas we still have to make allowances for these points.

Oh. Good. Another “Content Strategy” Post.

Well, we’re in luck. There’s one way to handle this: A STRATEGY. Simply tie each piece of information to an actual need.

We’re not talking a full content audit – we’re not talking Web content strategy at all, really. We’re saying simply that each part of a brochure or Web site or television script or whatever should be justified.

Remember the company’s goals for communication. Tie every story, every paragraph, every page, every feature and every archaic company culture term to those goals.

If the goal is to promote product lines and pricing, there’s little need to go in depth with the company’s history. If the goal is to raise funds, you’re excused from providing a detailed list of past board members. If the message doesn’t support the goal, why waste time with it?

Why go through the trouble? Easy. When you lay everything out on the table and show what’s pertinent and what’s unneeded in supporting the client’s goals, you leave little wiggle room for the client to come back and say, “Well, that’s just what we usually do.”

That’s the coolest thing about strategizing content: there is no “what we usually do” anymore.

It may be a fight. It may never happen. But one thing’s for sure: you’ll get people talking about the importance of a clear message, unencumbered by weighty history and aged party lines.

And then, just like that, you’ll have extinguished the first layer of work fanaticism.

Congrats. You’ve just made reaching your client’s goals a lot easier.

Tags: Advertising and Marketing, Content Strategy, Writing |

Comment

Cure for pain

April 11, 2010


If you consider what you do to be within the realm of the creative world and you DON’T find yourself crippled with mind-crushing insecurity, you’re probably not doing it right. That’s just how it is.

Art and writing and creativity – whatever that is – is subjective, which means it offers no good metric for success, and that means we rely on feedback, and when feedback doesn’t come it’s like the world has dropped from below us and we’re left scrambling to straighten our upturned confidence.

Today, I rediscovered a simple solution.

No phone. No e-mail. No Internet. No searching for confirmation. Nothing but sun. A cup of coffee. A walk. Some lunch. Maybe eggs Benedict. Some talking. Some friends. Some family.

Cut free from the grid and fire up the grill. Stand impressed, reminded; feedback doesn’t matter, life continues without it, and even an overcooked hamburger tastes better than whatever it was you were worried about in the morning.

Tags: On..., Outdoors, Photography, Writing |

Comment

Next Page →