A man I once loved (who happens to be a gifted writer) had an interesting take on the creative process: To put it indelicately, he said, creativity is like a bowel movement. It’s best to let it happen on its own, but if you have to, you can force it.
It was twelve years ago that he shared this pearl of wisdom with me, and at the time I agreed with him. But a lot has changed in those twelve years, and I know I can’t be alone when I say that I’m not just creatively constipated. I’m not, er, producing … anything.
Let’s leave the digestive metaphors behind for a moment. I’ve certainly had flashes of inspiration that have lent themselves easily to the written word. In recent years my accounts of assorted European adventures have garnered much attention and praise from friends and acquaintances. I’ve kept a private journal off and on for years – but it is the gutter press of my creative efforts, essentially verbal vomit (that’s the last one, I promise.) My early efforts at a food blog attracted some traffic – and I’m not giving up on it entirely – but I quickly came to the realization that no one was paying the slightest bit of attention to my recipes. And what’s the point of writing a food blog when your readers don’t care about your food?
For the record, people, the food was good.
But truth be told, these moments of prolific verbosity have been annoyingly fleeting. Most of the time, the demands of my adult twenty first century American life (the thrilling ones and the numbing ones alike) discourage me from putting fingers to keyboard for anything more expressive than an email. I am increasingly aware of my inability to sustain focus on a task, however meaningful it may be. (During the writing of this post I have checked Facebook, performed seven Google searches, and gotten up twice to get a piece of chocolate from the kitchen.) And I don’t want to be that kind of person.
Twelve years ago my life was contained within a five mile circumference. The internet was tethered to my desk, as was the telephone. I found it generally easy to sustain focus on any given task – and when I didn’t, I had a team of demanding professors to nudge me back on track. Today my life looks decidedly different, and after twelve years I have to disagree with that man I once loved. Creativity is not like a bowel movement. It’s more like exfoliation. It’s supposed to happen naturally, but for optimal, glowing new results, it needs to be practiced regularly.
So my goal is to sit down and write something every day this year. There will be some travel logs, some compelling personal confessions, and probably a few calluses and some occasional dull, dead skin.
I’m afraid that if I call it a new year’s resolution, I won’t actually do it.
Of course, by publishing my writing online, I am inviting the blogosphere to witness my exercise in self improvement. Because although a promise made to oneself ought to be sufficient motivation, most of us need external reinforcement from time to time. So I am making my commitment public in the hopes that someone out there will hold me to it.
