Hi All, I’ve so enjoyed writing these weekly blogs about creativity, and hearing everyone’s heart-felt responses. Now I want to know more about what you think? Do you have questions about how creativity works? Do you have challenges in your own creative life that you would like some help with? (I can already see some Continue Reading
Americans have a funny relationship to money. We think that money will buy happiness, and unhappiness will bring us money.
From a young age, I knew I wanted to spend my life making art (poetry hadn’t yet entered my existence), but I also really, really wanted to have money. I worried that if I did something that made me happy, like futzing with poetry and making a mess with finger paints, I would have no money. So, I compromised and became an English teacher, which sometimes made me happy, sometimes made me very depressed, often made me tired, and absolutely did not make me rich.
There is a myth about writing – all art in fact – that it takes a special personality to do it. A special visionary with a special set of skills, handed down by God at birth, to distinguish the true artist from all other beasts of burden working in the field. The artist has a special sensitivity, a gift for seeing, an affinity for language that puts him or her in a category above other people, the way saints are elevated in the Catholic Church after curing the blind or allowing kings to pull their body apart on a rack.
I never have writer’s block, and my husband hates me for it.
If you ask him, or any of my friends or family really, they will affirm that expressing what I’m thinking is not my issue. There are no end of things to discuss and no end to my valuable opinions about them, and since most of my friends know this and avoid taking my calls as a result, I have nobody to tell about my opinions except the page. The page never talks back. It’s a great listener. When I write a first draft, I don’t care if it is good because I can always delete it before some analog human comes along with opinions that are different than mine (i.e. wrong).
I think a lot of folks suffer under the illusion that you have to be born with a special talent, or else you’re sunk. The truth is, like most things, writing can in fact be learned. Like heart-surgery, or using Excel, or making a good quiche Lorraine, writing is a skill. The question is not, “Am I good at this?” but, “Do I like doing it?” Do I like writing, or reading other good writers, or sitting at a desk, staring out a window, contemplating the sound of the rain? If so, then keep doing it, even if you’re not good.
Click on the triangle below to hear Allen Rubinstein read this blog entry! For those who suffer from “fear of success” I have a modest proposal: become a professional artist. In all those non-artist careers I’ve never had, people apparently learn how to be a spit-shined, double-breast-suited success, turning out successful memos from some top Continue Reading
To hear this blog post read by Allen Rubinstein, click the triangle below. In my creative writing workshops, there are students hell-bent on publishing their work and becoming famous writers. Others are there for their own enjoyment and personal growth as artists. They might come to class having never been published before, but bearing a Continue Reading
You should never use feeling uninspired as an excuse for not writing. That said, there are times you should do exactly that. As an artist, breaks are necessary for gaining new perspectives, new ideas, or the distance you need in order to have an insight on whatever is blocking you. A walk on the beach Continue Reading
One of the mistakes I sometimes make when I start working with new clients is to assume that they, like I, want to be famous. That they too have a deep dark hole in their hearts they are trying to fill with adoration from strangers. That they didn’t get enough love in their childhoods.
Making art is probably the most terrifying thing you will ever do. Truly. If I had a choice between walking straight into the mouth of a fire breathing dragon who had just eaten a village of garlic farmers or facing the blank page, I would put on my boots, kiss my husband goodbye, and walk Continue Reading