Why It Is Important To Be Creative.

I'm back with a post as part of my writers' group August blog chain challenge and, this month, the topic put to us was a question - Why is it important to be creative?

At first glance, the question appears fairly easy to answer doesn't it. 

However, I struggled to come up with an adequate answer and, for the longest time, I couldn't figure out why. It eventually struck me that I was trying to answer the question by looking outward - as though trying to impart reasons why anyone should be creative. But, that's the wrong way to tackle it. Creativity is a very personal thing and it can take so many different forms. The relationship one has with creativity is unique. It goes then, that any consideration of its importance requires that one look inward, rather than outward. So why is creativity important to me?

My love of writing began at an early age. I've often said my Grade 3 primary school teacher, Mrs. Furnell, was the individual who unlocked my creative streak during the creative writing sessions she used to run in class. Ever since then, my desire to create, to tell stories has been insatiable. It has become as much a part of me as breathing or walking.
  

As a Registered Nurse, having practiced for over 20 years in many clinical areas, I have been witness to the extremes of the human condition. A lot of these experiences have been positive - like Nursing newborns who need just a little bit of help at the beginning of their lives or Nursing various bumps and scrapes children have sustained on the sporting field or in the back yard. Things that can be fixed relatively easily. Through the tears and the worry of the patient and their family, there are often smiles and laughter and comradeship. Plenty can be fixed with a Zooper Dooper icy pole.

There have been a lot of other experiences though - like being present at traumatic presentations in the ED, like motor vehicle accidents, violent assaults - sometimes involving weapons, drug overdoses. Or in the ICU - Nursing complex disease processes, the extension of those ED presentations, children who have acquired virulent illnesses like meningococcal sespsis or have been diagnosed with cancer. Many of these cases survive and recover. Many of them do not. There have been catastrophic outcomes. There has been death. 

These experiences imprint on you and they do affect you.

Creativity in the form of writing has been a means to decompress, to escape the accumulated muck of that side of my life and engage with an art that is completely separate. Sometimes, I have written down vestiges of those clinical experiences simply as a means of trying to make sense of them, to remove their subjective effects from my mind and see them as objective experiences, which I can address, deconstruct and move on from. Sometimes, those experiences have found their way into my writing, which has been therapeutic in itself.

It's ironic isn't it. I've credited my Nursing as being an influence on my writing for this reason, but also because of the structure Nursing requires to practice effectively. Nursing involves an adherence to inquiry, to diagnosing, problem solving and crafting solutions. These tools are invaluable to me as writer as I sculpt stories using them in much the same way. So, while I write and create as a way to separate myself from my Nursing, my Nursing inevitably creeps across the fence.

Creativity is an antidote for a restless mind. I have a mind that is constantly working. I find it difficult to switch off. The world around me is such a vivid place and I often take in everything. I work it over, consider objects, smells, tastes, experiences. I ask myself questions, analyze, ponder. The noise in my head can, sometimes be deafening and it can be distressing. 

Writing is a means for me to unpack my mind and get things out so that I can become an observer of ideas, rather than a participant in them - does that make sense? Having a creative process, a method if you will, that is structured and coherent allows me to work ideas into a pre-existing project or catalog them for a future one. I've come to regard even the most disparate ideas as valuable. They are as tangible to me as a flower or a leaf, a Star Wars figurine or a piece of fruit.

Creativity, for me, is a means of maintaining mental well being as much as it is a satisfying pursuit of story telling. 

I'm sure I could explore other reasons why it is important, for me, to be creative but I think these two top the list. They represent the two greatest influences on me as a writer and also as a person. 

So, what about you? Why is it important for you to be creative? Let me know in the comments.

DFA. 

Empty.

Some days, I'll sit before the keyboard and nothing will come. Nothing will happen. 

I'll look at what I have before me, so far and I'll think to myself - "what on earth is this bullshit I have written?"

I'm sitting here now, trapped in this dilemma. 

I hate it. 

I hate feeling like I can't move forward. I've done everything to avoid it recently. Filled my life with the demands of family, health - or lack thereof.

Today the house is empty and I have all the space I need to create. But I can't do it.

I've ironed the clothes. I've washed the dishes. I've made all the beds. I go back to the keyboard and sit there and look at it and just think - 

"Bullshit!" 

I am a fraud. 

I am empty. 

DFA. 

Tapping An Idea (On It's Sweet Little Toosh).

I have a rather tempestuous relationship with social media.

I will freely admit to hating Twitter, even though I have frequented that portal way too much over the past few years (Christ - has it really been that long?!). As a marketing tool, I find it a rather desolate yet noisy wasteland where the majority of people desperately shout over one another and (figuratively) shove things in your face in an effort to be noticed. I've done it myself and I'm not proud of my behavior.

On the other hand, I have met some wonderful people through it and have engaged in a few meaningful conversations that I've really enjoyed (so I'm allowed out of the naughty corner right?). And, I have to credit Twitter with facilitating the first meeting with my literary agent and publisher and thus kick starting my career as an author. In itself, that was a pretty significant milestone.  So I can't completely condemn it as a tool.

To be honest though, I really have no fricken idea about what it is I am supposed to do with it as a portal. I've started referring to it as #hashtag vomit.

Facebook presents rather a similar proposition. On the advice of people "in the know" I set up my author fan page as a means to promote myself and my literary works and I did a few things with it in order to garner more interest (aka "Likes"). But people (usually other authors) don't really want to interact with me there either. They "Like" merely in the hope that I'll return the favor and though I take the the time to personally reach out, thank them and open a dialogue that doesn't involve schilling my wares, rarely do I get any response. If I do, it's usually a smiley face or a BUY MY BOOK link.

Considering the metrics of effect, the posts I...post...on Facebook that "perform" better in terms of audience engagement are the ones that don't promote me or my links. They are usually the ones that are just me, dicking around with a momentary flash of comedic insight.

After all, I do believe that I am funny.

G+...

Meh.

LinkedIn...???

Let's not go there okay.

Last week, I chronicled (at ridiculous o'clock in the morning) a period of funk which was basically a bad dose of writer's block. Some of the feedback I received on that post were well meaning, if a little self defeating. Distracting myself with YouTube videos is probably not going to solve my dilemmas or...shopping...(actually, I don't believe that last one was mentioned but shopping is a diversion right...Right??!)

It was in that post, post period of contemplation that I realized, I do have a small yet oft-forgotten part of my social platform that does have the potential to help conquer my ceative sink holes.

I'd given little regard to Pinterest in the past because I felt that it was yet another one of those time wasting things that serves only to...well...waste time.

But it seems I may have underestimated it's value from a creative perspective. I won't go into a deep explanation of what Pinterest is - if you don't know what it is then what are you doing on the internet?

Some months ago, I created a folder there simply titled "The Recipient" and into it, I began uploading all sorts of random pictures and images that satisfied certain creative criteria that were beginning to foment in my mind.

As those criteria began to evolve into ideas and I wrote those ideas down in my journal, the images I began searching for became much more specific and, before long, I found that I was beginning to take this little Pinterest folder somewhat seriously.

In Thomas Harris' novel "Hannibal", sequel to "Silence of the Lambs", he wrote about the concept of memory palace when describing his protagonist's mental profile. I don't have the novel in front of presently so I am recalling this from memory (hah hah), but the idea went that we each have a memory palace - a place where our collective experiences and memories reside and we can access this place again and again in our lifetime. Hannibal Lecter's memory palace was a pretty fucked up place if I remember rightly but it certainly was an interesting one.

I have come to regard Pinterest in a similar fashion and am beginning to see its importance as a tool in my creative journey.

By adding pictures and images to it and cataloging notes about those images, I have been able to retain a lot of ideas that I might have easily forgotten about. it was to that Pinterest folder I returned last week and I have to say...it really has helped.

I am a visual person and, arguably, a visual writer. I respond well to what I see in the world around me and can draw ideas really effectively. I dream vividly too and often times, I'll seek out imagery that represents those dreams as well. My memory palace, as a result, is quite a place. My Pinterest folder "The Recipient" is proving to be quite a place too - not as vivid or as risky as my memory palace, but I intend to be a little more courageous with what I post there. I have a hunch that the project I'm working on will benefit from it.

So, what am I trying to say? Twitter sucks? Facebook shits me? The whole notion of social networking leaves me cold?

None of these really? I can't imagine I'll ever truly give those up even if they do drive me nuts. But Pinterest is something entirely different and, I have to say, a tool for creativity that I am quickly coming around to.

I'd be screwed if I was blind...

DFA.

The Creative Slump.

I've talked about this before, I think.

There is a period between projects that I go through where I feel creatively drained to the point of emptiness. Though there is a project I am working on, I am mired in a soup of doubt about it and I'm finding it difficult to pull myself out of the quick sand. Thus, the project is moving along at a snail's pace and that fact only feeds into my frustration.

I look around me and see other authors producing works at what I consider to be an astonishing rate. Two, maybe three books in a matter of months. And they are fine works. They are juggling the same life pressures as I am. Jobs, family, school runs, weekend sports. Yet, I can barely crawl while they streak ahead, earning their most deserved plaudits and basking in the satisfaction of having added to their catalogue.

Here I sit. 5 in the morning. A cold cup of tea and a clock on the wall above a gurney in a treatment room where I lay. The clock tick tocks, reminding me that my break is nearly over. I have to get back to my patient in the ICU. My notebook lays on the gurney beside me - open to a page that is fairly filled with scribbles of notes. Random thoughts that I've yet to organize into some semblance of order, for a story that is highly developed in some corner of mind. I just haven't yet found the key to unlock the door.

Fuck.

FUCK.

The light fades on my last great work - a work that has largely been ignored. A shitty ranking on Amazon and barely a sale or two in the past couple months does not a best seller make. I wonder whether this endeavor is even worth it anymore.

I am (figuratively) menstruating.

But I fear I am creatively spent.

And, for a restless mind such as mine, that is a dangerous thing.

DFA.

Letters From The Black Dog.

I hate the feeling of being sucked into the vortex that is depression.


I had this very experience just yesterday after I received a letter in the mail that, admittedly, I had been expecting and thus, dreading receiving. I didn't even have to open it and the bloody floor dropped out from under me. With the click of the fingers, I found myself falling into a familiar pall of darkness, where self doubt, self loathing and overriding guilt are free to run rampant. These are all feelings that still cling to me right now as I write this. They are undoubtedly debilitating. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Any thoughts of writing right now have stopped with the impact of a train wreck. These are all familiar symptoms. I've wrestled with them before - have tried to stop them from clinging.


But in all of this, I have begun to consider that maybe I am clinging to them.


I’ve actually begun asking myself the question of whether I have formed the habit of taking absurd comfort in my depression, whether by succumbing to it, I can avoid the outside world and people in particular. Right now, it feels as though there are people out there who are determined to destroy me and because of that, I start to regard everyone with suspicion - even those closest to me. I withdraw. I don't answer the phone. I becone very quiet. And for a time, I'm okay with that - with shutting myself out. There is a sense if safety in that.


But then the darker thoughts come and I revile myself. How could I be so destructive? So selfish and inconsiderate of my loved ones? The guilt returns in a new way. The revulsion and guilt feed off one another and eventually I know it is a place where I don’t want to be.


I read elsewhere this morning about one hearing one's inner voice and finding their way to it in order to climb out of the darkness. The trouble for me is that I've never been good at finding my inner voice. Rational thought in the midst of blind panic that lasts for 12 hours or more is bound to get lost in the maelstrom.


Yet here and now, writing this, I do feel a sort of calm. The maelstrom is still here, but it has moved to the back ground - a sort of big black ball of chaotic energy, spinning.


Maybe it is in writing where my inner voice resides. For it is here where I can take refuge from everything that is dark and threatening. I can regain a sense of rationality and calm and begin to think without the vestiges of panic.


I do sense that I’ll prevail, eventually. I'll deal with the letter in time and move forward.


These feelings really do suck the big one.


DFA.

Dave Grohl Saved My Life.

Rarely, if ever, have I considered people of celebrity to have anything useful to say. Other than promoting their product - their film, T.V. show or their album - I usually find anything they utter beyond that is just hot air, filler, bullshit. Unless of course they've put in an appearance on the now defunct British T.V. institution 'Parkinson' then I kinda think 'Well, yeah...if they're intelligent enough to submit to an hour being quizzed by, arguably, the finest interviewer in the world then I'll take notice. 


Otherwise their only requirement as an entertainer is to entertain me, not give me a running commentary on the geopolitical ramifications of climate change, or the morality of government commitments to foreign aid or whether I should eat meat or not. Go make an album, let the appropriate people handle those other issues.

There are few people who I admire in this world because I'm not really into the kind of vacuous hero worship of celebrity, movie stars, performers or sports people. I think it stems from a couple of instances where I was disappointed as a kid. Like, I met some character from a kid's show from the 1980's - I think it was the kangaroo from Shirl's Neighbourhood' - who, none of you outside of Australia will have any idea of what I'm talking about. But anyway, he turned out to be a complete arse and I do remember being brought to tears - I was 6 years old remember.


And most sports people then, as they are now, are just plain dumb - unable to converse much beyond delivering stupid cliche's during interviews - and that's when they're not busy putting their foot in it.


But I do and have made particular exceptions.

Early in 2005 I was going through a pretty awful time. My marriage had fallen apart after seven years, of which most of the years - I thought - were happy. In the months leading up to the separation, I had been diagnosed with severe depression and I was being treated for it.  Up until that point, I had placed a supreme amount of importance on marriage and I valued it greatly - even though I will admit, that there were times where I totally sucked at it. There was a weight of expectation that I'd place upon myself to succeed and when it all fell apart - my castle, the structure that I had built to house all those expectations collapsed spectacularly. My life, in the first few days and weeks after my wife ended our marriage, spun out of control in a predictable fashion. 


The tranquil life that I had known for the past seven years was suddenly gone, I became withdrawn. I locked myself away from everybody. I indulged in far more red wine than I ever did before and then I discovered brandy so I hit that pretty hard too. I live in a different state to my family so I apart from the phone, there was no one I could talk to face to face which was really isolating. I was essentially alone in the beginning. 


During the very worst of it all I seriously considered suicide numerous times - even got to the point of actually preparing to go through with it. I had a plan - a way out and I had come to a strange kind of peace with it. When your entire world crumbles around you and you feel as though you're left with nothing at all, not being here anymore becomes an attractive option.

So there I was, sitting in the lounge room of the home I was about to lose, half wiped out after a dozen or so brandy and drys, a bottle of pills on the table before me and then Andrew Denton comes on. 


Andrew Denton is Australia's equivalent to Michael Parkinson. For an hour or so on a Monday night Andrew Denton would conduct one on one interviews with anybody of note in a style that really does pull back the layers of the onion and delves into the person before him in a really satisfying way. Denton's list of interviewees over the years have included the likes of Bill Clinton, Helen Mirren, Sir David Attenborough, Jerry Seinfeld and Rudy Giuliani.

He has also interviewed Dave Grohl.

I've always liked The Foo Fighters though my love from them...(their music I mean)... really solidified around the album 'There Is Nothing Left To Lose'. Personally, I don't think the Foo Fighters have ever released a bad album. And I think that they have only improved with age. Aside from being one of the most disciplined outfits going around, the band also has a sense of humor about them; they've never taken themselves too seriously in the way alot of bands do. It comes through in the many interviews they have done - including their most recent documentary "Back & Forth" - as well as a handful of their music videos, which are basically huge piss takes on the notion of rock stardom. It's totally refreshing.

So yeah, there I was, sitting on the couch in my three day old boxer shot, clutching a bottle of brandy, my mind as black as the night outside and I was kinda half listening to the interview. And the the interview turned a sudden and unexpected corner. Andrew and Dave started talking about Kurt Cobain, the circumstances surrounding his suicide and the impact that it had on Dave Grohl. Through the fog of my grief there was a sudden clarity as my mind switched to the conversation on screen. I knew that Dave had avoided talking a lot about Cobain's suicide in the past, so it was significant that he would begin opening up about it here. 

Dave Grohl at one point said to Andrew Denton "OK, life is so delicate, so short that you really have to take advantage of every day...I am lucky enough to wake up this morning, even if it's the worst day of my life, I still get to be..."

For some reason - those words cut through to my very core. They weren't especially ground breaking words, I mean you hear stuff like that all the time. But, I guess, at that moment it was what I needed to hear.

Grohl went further, "It has a lot to do with why I started this band, because I wasn't done yet. I might die tomorrow, but as long as I spend every day like it's a gift, then I will be fine". I was struck by the quiet intelligence behind those words and the sincerity of the emotion that betrayed Dave's eyes at that moment. For me, he had moved beyond being a fun kinda guy, a cool muso with a sense of humor and had become one of those rare people who a in touch with their own psyche, are aware of their own human condition and have tried to understand it. It is a quality that is common to many creative people and one that resonated with me. For years, I had struggled with trying to become a writer and during those months in 2005 I had all but abandoned it.

There is a moment, a point in the cycle of a negative seismic event like the one I went through where you can either go one way or you can go another. Upon hearing those words from Dave, I decided to choose a path that would be long and hard, filled with set backs and pauses. But, somehow, I knew I had to try and rediscover the best of myself because I sensed, even then that it would ultimately be rewarding.


I began to clean myself up, gradually and I abandoned any notions of leaving this mortal coil. My creative love took a little while to recapture but I did begin to contemplate it again, some I hadn't done for several years.

Depression, deep depression is an affliction that can take years to come out of. I don't know why that is. I'm not sure anybody does. Even now, some six years after I was first diagnosed I still suffer from bouts of deep depression. I don't know where it comes from, it is overwhelming and can often take weeks to come out of. 


But there are certain words that stick in my mind that help me to overcome the dark times that threaten my well being. Dave Grohl's chat with Andrew Denton back in May 2005 was a critical moment in the journey that enabled me to go forward. 


And though I will probably never get the opportunity, I want to say here and now that in a small way Dave Grohl saved my life. And for that I guess I’ll always be thankful...


DFA.