I read a post today over on Literary Lab about a guy who quit his job and traveled the world, dancing badly in every country he went to while video taping it. Then he wrote a book about it. David Malasarn had this to say about the experience:

This video reminded me that, no matter what you choose to do, no matter how stupid it is, if you do it with passion, joy, and love, other people will be able to participate in that dream.

I encourage you to drop over to the site and check out the video. It was cheesy, but he’s right. What an experience that would be; I’d be willing to sacrifice quite a bit to trade places with Matt for a year.  Check out the first few pages of his book, too. I’m going to pick up a copy and read it; sounds like an intriguing adventure.

I read this passage today, taken from Bird by Bird, by Anne Lamott. Enjoy.

People tend to look at successful writers, writers who are getting their books published and maybe even doing well financially, and think that they sit down at their desks every morning feeling like a million dollars, feeling great about who they are and how much talent they have and what a great story they have to tell; that they take in a few deep breaths, push back their sleeves, roll their necks a few times to get all the cricks out, and dive in, typing fully formed passages as fast as a court reporter. But this is just the fantasy of the uninitiated. I know some very great writers, writers you love who write beautifully and have made a great deal of money, and not one of them sits down routinely feeling wildly enthusiastic and confident. Not one of them writes elegant first drafts. All right, one of them does, but we do not like her very much. We do not think that she has a rich inner life or that God likes her or can even stand her. (Although when I mentioned this to my priest friend Tom, he said you can safely assume you’ve created God it your own image when it turns out that God hates all the same people you do.)

Where does your inspiration come from? Do you write in the mornings or the evenings? How do you get the idea for a plot? How do you write such vivid characters?

All journeyman writers know these questions. If you have been to a reading or read an interview of a popular author, they abound. This question bubbles up within every student of the art at some point. What is often missing, and what even the talented author often cannot articulate to words, is the real question: Where, for you, do your inventions begin and how do you recognize them?

For each author, this is different. But essential to the process for every author is analysis. If you do not look, if you do not see, if you do not stop to polish an idea, then how can you recognize dusty gem from dusty rock? Thus, you must begin by finding a strategy that causes you to dig into everything you see, to be curious about every experience of your day.

I’m taking a course on creative writing, and ran across this passage about the importance of journals as an intimate, vital friend to the writer. Enjoy.

Keep the journal regularly, at least at first. It doesn’t matter what you write and it doesn’t matter very much how much, but it does matter that you make a steady habit of writing. A major advantage of keeping a journal regularly is that it will put you in the habit of observing in words. If you know at dawn that you are committed to writing so many words before dusk, you will half-consciously tell the story of your day to yourself as you live it, finding a phrase to catch whatever catches your eye. When that habit is established, you’ll begin to find that whatever invites your attention or sympathy, your anger or curiosity, may be the beginning of invention. Whoever catches your attention may be the beginning of a character.
Writing Fiction, by Janet Burroway

It’s been a while since I’ve been inpired to express creativity in any visual medium. I tried my hand at it today in photoshop, and what you see below is the product of that day.

Those deep, philosophical places in the back of my mind are awed by this–the infinite wellspring of the mind; the baffling power of creativity that draws on God-knows-what to enable us to create such amazing things from nothing; the creative skill that is like an unseen puppet master taking hold and leading every stroke of the brush.

Creativity is to the artist, like water to fish and air to birds: A constant mystery.

I’ve wanted to talk about this for a while now, but haven’t had anything to say that isn’t brooding. I think The Rejectionist did a fine job of capturing my mood, and without making me seem like the whiny source.

Later, I’ll post a more objective study on the topic. For now, feel free to lament with me on the pitfalls of being carbon based life forms who require food, clothing, and DSL.

It is not the critic who counts; Not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; Who strives valiantly;

Who errs, and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; But who does actually strive to do the deeds; Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions; Who spends himself in a worthy cause;

Who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worse, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt

Air is optional.

I hear so much about how people “need” this and “need” that. So what is it that we really need as a person?

You might argue that, to survive, a person needs food, clothing, shelter, water, and air. But who needs to survive?

At first, I’m sure that question sounds absurd. Let’s try it this way: What is more important to you than your own survival? An ideal? A country? Your family? If your answer is nothing, you’ve ranked yourself beside the guppy in nature’s equivalency test, who gives birth to young and never thinks on them again–unless particularly hungry.

So what do you need? And where am I headed? Obviously not advocating that anybody stop breathing–some sort of oxygen strike. Although I have to admit, to my shame, that I have on occasion wished certain people would do just that.

What I want to challenge are our self imposed limitations. Those things we tell ourselves we can’t live without, like our house, job, or love interest. See, while these things may define our situation, they do not define our heart and inner composition.

Those are defined by our conviction and beliefs, the core of which are truth, honor, and faith.

I submit to you that these are the true things we cannot live without. Everything of this world can be taken from us, even air. So be it. Come what may.

Truth, honor, and faith are the three facets we must cling to. These are the things that comprise our inner identity–not our possessions and successes, thank God, though the world crams that lie in our faces day after day. 

Air is nice, and I’d be sad if it were gone. But I cannot be unsettled by a world that threatens my material composition.  I leave you with the immortal words of two great men who explored this truth so much more intimately and eloquently than I…

Letter to Admiral Son Ko-i:

My life is simple, my food is plain, and my quarters are uncluttered. In all things, I have sought clarity. I face the troubles and problems of life and death willingly. Virtue, integrity and courage are my priorities. I can be approached, but never pushed; befriended but never coerced; killed but never shamed.
Admiral Yi Sun-shin

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
      Black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
      For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
      I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
       My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
      Looms but the horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
      Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
      How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate;
      I am the captain of my soul.
William Ernest Henley

What do you see?

I’ve decided to take a bit of my own advice. If I’m going to keep a blog, it might as well move the world a bit. I’ll be posting these howls frequently, at least monthly, hopefully weekly.

What do you see when you look at this tree? If you’re most people, you see a sapling sprouting from a dead stump.

If you’re an artist, be your vehicle paint, words, or movements of the body, then you must see far beyond this.

It’s a provoking picture is it not? A question. A journey. A death and a rebirth. There was a struggle, one that was lost. But from that loss a seed was planted. A new journey began. A sapling was born in the flowing waters of the river, with an uncertain future and a harsh past. It is a beautiful, perfectly chaotic, and yet orderly conflict with infinite permutations of possibility, all waiting for the artist to see beyond the skein of linear events.

It’s a story waiting to be told, but it’s also a metaphor of the artists’ life. We will suffer trials and defeats. We will look into the tapestry of our life and see deep undercurrents, failings, conflicts, and events beyond our control.

But they must not frighten us. Our defeats (as only the novice labels such opportunities) must not be our end.  Instead, we are reborn into something more spectacular and more beautiful. In each examination of the moment, we find deeper undercurrents and conflicts. And we perch serenely atop of them, riding the storm of life, and continue to grow. We feed our creative energy and plant strong roots by developing ourselves in every aspect of being. We ride the storm.

And in this, our lives become the ultimate masterpiece. The ultimate landscape from which the artists who follow us will model their early works and hone their talents.

And so I invoke you. Pick up your brush and set it to work on your canvas. Create your masterpiece. And remember, at each moment of your work, to see deeper into the beauty of conflict. Look deeper into the rejuvinating power of setbacks. Be thankful for the obstacles dropped in your path and see the wonderful paths they unlock for you.

Your Assignment (should you choose to accept it):

Sit down right now and write 200 words about turning a setback into an opportunity–fictional, historical, or memior are all fine. And, no, it can’t be about Thomas Edison and his thousand failures before he created a light bulb. Have fun exploring.

I’ve had an itch lately as I’ve read guides on publishing, advice on story telling, and how-tos on writing effectively, and so on… there’s something missing from the stock of advice available to authors these days, and it took me a long time to name it.

See, the great authors of history certainly wrote with clear and original voice, snapped with witty discourse, used active verbs, plot, and character development. Yes yes, these are critical things. But the message delivered by all these experts is clear: write to entertain.

The greats did something more than that. Every story I’ve loved, every great masterpiece of history that stands the test of time, moved me spiritually and mentally. They challenged my beliefs, ran rampant through my ideas, and made me want to go do something, build something, or become someone.

Consider some of these famous lines:

All men die; not all men really live –Randall Wallace, Braveheart

So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide…All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us –Tolkien, LOTR

Cowards die many times before their deaths, The valiant never taste of death but once. –Shakespeare, Julius Caesar

Take thy beak from out my heart and take thy form from off my door! –Edgar Allen Poe, The Raven

Did these authors write to entertain? Would these stories have captured the spirit without the powerful movements behind the text? Without ideology and depth? If everyone in the story was nothing more than a base and selfish turd seeking to get something?

Which brings me to the point: If you’re writing just to shock or entertain, what the hell are you doing?

You have in your hands a weapon, an ancient artifact of magnificent power, which can be used for great good, and great evil.

Don’t just tell stories, transform people. Don’t just aspire, inspire. Use the pen in your hand to change the world. The world is full of filth and normalcy and stories that sell shockingly droll and apathetic anti-heroes.

That’s not to say that they don’t have a place in your stories. But don’t write for the sake of those things. Use them to build something wonderful.

Move. Your. World.

Listen to me. Tomorrow, you’re going to wake up and be 85 years old. You’ll be dying of cancer, heart failure, or alzheimers. It’s not going to be pretty.

I want you to know this because you can’t wait until next week to do what matters. Today isn’t lost until you give it up; never give it up. It’s all you have and you don’t get many more.

Now, let’s pause a moment and get something straight.  There’s a big difference between idle time and renewal. Your family and your moments alone and your meditations and hikes in the mountains are every bit as important as your achievements and grimy gritty day work.

So get to it. Put the big things in your day first, then fit the clutter around them. Get your spouse, your writing, your martial arts training (or exercise regimen) at the top of the list. Get your self renewal and your restful time on there next.

Then add your friends and extended family. And, with what’s left, plan the day-to-day tasks, the television, and the catching up with acquaintances.

You can’t wait for tomorrow, so don’t.