What Works For Me
May 14th, 2007
I’ve been looking at the question I asked you last time. What is creativity to you? So it’s natural for me to ask the same question of myself.
Still no answer, but I can tell you some of the things I do. Okay. As far as this is concerned, one of the things is this: I make artificial and arbitrary deadlines. I tell you that I will write these and how often they’ll be written. I also say this is mostly about creativity and that is mostly about coaching. I have no schedule for my blogs, so they are more whimsical.
It’s interesting; I used to think it was all emotional. When I was a kid, I had to feel anguish or deep love or loss or something else. So it was always quixotic – I needed some windmills.
Then one day (and I wrote a poem about this – I’ll include it here) I said I would schedule my writing. It seemed to be entirely contradictory – to schedule something so apparently unplannable.
I’m trying to figure out how to package my drawings (there are some in some of my books.). I know that sometimes I just turned blots and bleed throughs into drawings – But that was only sometimes. Many of them came out of business meetings, but it makes no sense to credit boredom for creativity.
Let’s leave it there.
check out my blog: Blogging for the Reading on Wordpress.
The cure for boredom is curiosity. There is no cure for curiosity.
Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.
Probably the difference between man and the monkeys is that the monkeys are merely bored, while man has boredom plus imagination.
The life of the creative man is lead, directed and controlled by boredom. Avoiding boredom is one of our most important purposes.
I Did This Crazy Thing
I said I’d write a poem a week,
commit an act of written anarchy,
upon demand – absurd,
I’m not a pro.
And yet the sun is bright,
as if the light had warmth to heat the day –
Who can write on days like this -
it’s hard enough to work –
And yet the sun is bright
I said I’d write a poem today;
what had me say a thing like that,
a poem a day –
As well to bring the rain
and wash away the Mets
the words fall from my fingers
and litter the page in patterns.
and speak to the way the world works –
as we think what we think
and we do what we do
and delude ourselves that the two connect