Wednesday, July 24, 2024
Writing a book is one of the most difficult things I’ve ever undertaken; but it’s not for lack of ideas. It’s in how one frames them.
To me, this blog is like scrap paper. It’s an ongoing platform – a wastepaper basket, really. It’s like a stream, a journal of process rather than product. When I finish one essay, I am always aware that more are coming, and what I wrote yesterday is garbage. In other words, I treat this like an ongoing fluidity, not “a book,” which seems so final.
In the psychology of the creative process, you can come to believe that what you create is concrete. But it isn’t. The frame of concretion is delusional. A book is a snapshot of what you were thinking at that moment. A musical performance is a snapshot of how you were flowing in that moment. The other difficulty comes in forgetting who you’re writing for, who you’re singing for or playing for.
As I began writing my first book, I started thinking that nobody will understand it; there is no “market” for it; or that I could never get others interested in it. When you as the creator try to get into the heads and hearts of the audience, the creative flow dries up. I did this for years. I wanted nothing more than to please my teachers. Everything I seemed to do was for them, until I realized I was working in vain.
I write for myself. It’s ongoing and each piece is trash. Sustainability and sustenance is not in what I produce but in that I am productive. My first book will not be my last. I write, I play, I flow. It’s for me, and if you like it, that adds to my joy, but if you don’t like it, it does not subtract. Creation is for the creator.