Practicality and Creativty
A couple of years ago, my mother gave me the book WALKING IN THIS WORLD: THE PRACTICAL ART OF CREATIVITY by Julia Cameron, the author of the very famous THE ARTIST'S WAY (which I have not read). The book is a series of meditations, exercises, and advice on the artistic process and nurturing the "artist within." Obviously, I was skeptical at best when I received the book. I'm not one to believe that art is something you can read a book about and suddenly be better at, and have this built-in aversion to anything prescriptive. But as graduate school grew closer, I found myself in need of focus and with a desire to revisit how I approach creativity. I found the book on my book shelf and, while doing more than a fair share of traveling, gave it a read.
While the book certainly has a few cliches or self-helpisms built in, I couldn't help but take many of its practical suggestions and their underlying message to heart. Among the most central of its recommended activities is the writing of "morning pages," a practice the author introduced in her first book. The book recommends writing for at least twenty minutes every morning in order to "clear the way" for more creative thoughts later in the day, to get the artistic blood running, etc. For me, this was a way for me to get back to my forgotten discipline of journal writing: a place to reflect on the simple and mundane or serious and important moments in equal measure, and without the pressure of making them philosophical for my own satisfaction or particularly well-written for the purpose of publishing on this blog. Anyway, it became a way to get myself to write more, to focus my thoughts, and to work structure into my new creative life. I've been writing morning pages on and off again for the past couple weeks, and I plan on working some of those musings into the blog. Thus far it's been more of a way for me to keep track of everything that has been happening in my life, but I can already see the effect they're having. I'm becoming more open with my thoughts and, sometimes, even thinking in a more clear way.
I've become curious about other artists and their creative process. I've said in many of my conversations that what I look forward to most about graduate school is the opportunity to focus singularly on filmmaking. My hope is that by taking these small steps, I can make the most of my time spent doing so. I've heard of writers who sit down and write 50 pages every day. Others who write in mad bursts with long rests in between. Some choose every word carefully before proceeding to the next, and others who write quickly and then spend hours editing what they have. I am content to believe and even admire the fact that there is no single correct way or process, but I do wonder if there is a common thread among the processes of great writers. What is your process for writing or creating? How do you keep your mind on the task at hand, how do you prepare yourself? Or do you have any process at all? Part of me balks at the idea of a prescribed approach, but I also know that I succeed the most when given structure (it's almost surely tied to my swimming background, where every hour of the day is assigned a particular task). Some of these new methods are good ways for me to impart structure on myself now that nobody else is around to do it for me, a way to force me to be productive even without strict deadlines.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008 at 5:34PM | Filed under:
Brian's Book Shelf,
Filmmaking 


Reader Comments (1)
I also work well when there's something or someone I'm informally competing against, or when I have a real or imagined 'critic' I need to impress/show up.
A lot of times, if I'm trying to write one thing, then it's the easiest time for me to write another (I wrote my feature-length first draft because I was thinking about it the entire time I was slogging my way through another idea that wasn't going Anywhere).
Camp is not a good place to write - too socially and workfully engaging...Though it does create a lifestyle that can give me a few months (at least) a year of primo writing environs.