creativity

The Unsolid Self of Creative Works

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve’s Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

Please note this column includes very limited, basic discussion of some spiritual beliefs. I do not go into fine details as it would distract from my core exploration and involve various interpretations over the centuries.  More may be coming.

Serdar and I often inspire blog posts for each other and today is no different. He posted on how projects don’t always end up where you expect, and it got me thinking.

Serdar notes we often view our works as having a kind of “Core,” a tangible thing that defines the work. We often discover it in the early lightning-strike of inspiration, and it guides our work. But in time, it can limit us because as we develop a story, it changes. That fear of getting away from the seed of our work, the core driving idea, often limits us.

That got me thinking about spiritual doctrines about the non-existence of the self. In Buddhism, we’ll hear of anatta, the (oft-misquoted) idea of “no-self.”  Buddha seemed disinterested in the concept of permanence or impermanence, focused more on the results of action and clinging. Taoists refer to the interaction of Vitality, Energy, and (many-faceted) Spirit from which we emerge and can refine, altering ourselves to become wise or even divine. “There’s no there there” is not an uncommon sentiment among those pondering the nature of life – and if there is anything permanent, a lot of what we identify with is impermanent.

This isn’t a sentiment everyone embraces. We want to think there’s a solid “me” there that goes on and endures. We also watch ourselves grow, age, and catapult towards inevitable death and realize that what we think of as me is mostly, if not entirely, impermanent.

I think the fear of “no solid self” is no different than the fear there’s no solidity in our creative work. We want to believe we’re real and solid – we also want to believe there’s some inviolable core to our creative work. That book we make, that comic we draw comes from us, we want it permanent – maybe permanent in a way we’re not.

But as we edit and revise, replot and reconsider, we find the book or comic or whatever is a process. It’s going to change and evolve, and we can’t fully forsee the future. That core idea is just a spark to light the fire; we don’t know what will be illuminated or how long it will burn.

Neither we nor our creative works have much of solid self. They’re processes and will never be “any one thing.”  To be creative is to face impermanence twice as much, in ourselves and in what we make.

I could probably go on to intolerable length on how to face this, and it would still end in some book recommendations you might not reach out of boredom. Something more may be coming, but let me say this in compassionate simplicity.

Impermanence can be a comfort, for we see how much we cling to and how that causes pain. If I’m not much of a tangible thing, then I neither begin nor end; I’m a process, more or less. Realizing this, I can just get over myself and get on with my creative work because that’s coming from whatever I am, permanent or not. I might as well get over myself, because it doesn’t seem very solid.

So whatever. Go on, create, do the thing you do. It’s all processes and change, so let’s see where it goes.

Steven Savage

Horrible Enough, Done Enough, Enough to Learn

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com, Steve’s Tumblr, and Pillowfort.  Find out more at my newsletter, and all my social media at my linktr.ee)

We’ve all had a writing or other creative project we want to abandon. Now in some cases, it’s a good idea, but I wish to suggest you may want to finish that awful thing. There’s a value in finishing work because then you can learn from it.

When you finish something, as flawed as it may be, it is a complete product. That gives you enough information to evaluate what you did right, did wrong, and can do better. Yes, it may be terrible, but it’s a terrible that you can search for lessons.

So when you look at that crime against your art, ask how you can get it finished enough to learn from. Think of it as a Minimal Viable Product, just one where the word “Viable” is doing a lot of heavy lifting. Minimal Tolerable Product, perhaps.

Now you may find, once you complete this, it’s not as bad as you thought, then that’s great! Maybe it’s good enough to use, perhaps after a heavy edit. But what if it’s not? Well, then it’s filled with lessons to learn.

It’s hard to evaluate something unless you’ve gotten it to a complete-ish state. A completed work – flawed as it is – is at least consistent and coherent enough to tear apart. Within it, you see your mistakes, your choices, and perhaps your virtues in ways unfinished work won’t show. Sure it’s ghastly, but there’s got to be something to salvage.

In fact, by completing that creative atrocity, you might be able to break it down for parts. It can be redrawn, rewritten, or recoded. But once again, you might have to complete it to get it to that state.

So don’t throw out that crime against imagination quite yet. Ask if it’s worth completing, if only to be a warning to yourself. You might be surprised what you get out of it.

Steven Savage

Craft and Cash

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(This column is posted at www.StevenSavage.com and Steve’s Tumblr.  Find out more at my newsletter.)

I’m all for people doing what they like as a job.  It’s usually not what they think, and it is a job, but it’s nice to see.  I even write about do-what-you like, and every now and then, I note that it’s not for everyone.

This is one of those times thanks to Serdar and a discussion on how education for creatives assumes the goal is “make money at it” way too often.  I realized there’s a parallel – books and training that assumes your interest is absolute perfection of your craft, even if your thought is just “I want a job.”

We need to ask what fits our audience.

Being good at your creative path is about craft.  It’s knowing the right words, it’s learning how to do shading, it’s getting that stitch in a costume just right.  Your chosen creative path may be about being good at getting to a result that fits your creative goals.

The money may not matter.  Or, perhaps, it shouldn’t, and you’d be happier if you just did your craft.

Being good at making money at your creative path is about more than craft.  It’s marketing and advertising, job hunting and writing to market.  In some cases, the craft of “doing it as well as possible” is secondary to barely a concern.

Making money at something may not require the highest craft, and it may even be a barrier.  I can point you at many a greasy spoon that may not provide haute cuisine, but they’re delicious.

Think about crappy novels you’ve mocked, TV shows that made you wonder, “how did this go five seasons?” and so on.  How come these things sold?  How come they’re not good yet they make bank?  Couldn’t anyone churn out that bad light novel?

The answer is no because craft and making money at it aren’t the same thing.  Sure, they intersect, but not in ways that may immediately make sense.  A well-written novel may languish, but a simple potboiler with simple language can be a bestseller as the author’s craft was write what will sell before writing “well.”

This is where I’d like to see classes, advice books, etc. make distinctions – if only to be clearer who their market is.  Sometimes you want to be good at your craft, sometimes you want to make money, and sometimes you want to explore that borderland.  Those giving advice will be better at it if they consider the many motivations that lead people to their door.

This is where I’m glad for my Way With Worlds series.  There’s no focus on monetization or careers, just on asking world-building questions.  People are free to pick and choose what advice they need, and I’m not interested in “what worlds sell.”  Maybe that’s why they feel so liberating to write – they’re all about craft after I’ve done many career books.

Any of us sharing creative advice need to ask where our works stand on the craft and monetization scale.  The creative world would be a better place for it.

Steven Savage