Creativity Defined

According to my blog log, I’ve waxed poetic about the subject nineteen times since I began CR – this is the twentieth post and it comes from a journal entry wherein I was tasked with defining creativity. Since it still felt relevant when I stumbled over it last week, I thought I’d share my perception of one of the most important ideals in my repertoire.

Creativity is the production of something from nothing, the extension of an idea, the hard copy result of a dream or a blueprint.

Creativity is remodelling: the production of something inspired by someone else’s creativity, the refurbishing or development of one’s own style based on the example of another’s.

Creativity is spirit: the sense of connection to something larger than oneself, to the cosmic energy that binds us to the earth and to each other.

Creativity is action in the service of spirit. There is nothing creative about “destroyed in seconds”; there is nothing creative in trash talk or gossip, in bullying or harassment. 

Creativity is love and sharing and encouragement. It’s more than art or writing or music. It’s something inexplicable that results in beauty, emotion, evolution, kindness, awareness and, occasionally, fame and fortune. It is always, however, successful. By its nature, creativity cannot lose.

Create something.

Create a smile.

Create a picture or a poem.

Create a bright spot in someone’s day.

Creativity is life.

With love,

Birthday Girl

Today is my birthday. I wasn’t going to blog about it, but I’m feeling particularly grateful so thought I’d post a “bonus” blog just to put it out there.

I’ve said before how birthdays act as my New Year’s Day, when I reflect on where I’ve been, where I am, and how far off track I may be from my original plan. Luckily, I don’t remember my original plan since I made it before I was born, but considering how happy I am today, I reckon I can’t have strayed too far off course.

Albert Einstein is quoted on the kitchen calendar today: “The ideals which have lighted my way, and time after time have given me new courage to face life cheerfully, have been Kindness, Beauty and Truth.”

If ever a statement was meant for me, this might be it. I almost burst into tears because that’s exactly how I feel about my life and the people in it – so many good folks have taught me about those three vital virtues, how to act on them, to appreciate them, and to use them as the lens through which I view my life. I am deeply, truly blessed. Not so long ago, I would have denied my worthiness, but nowadays I realize, heck, I deserve all the good (and probably the not so good) I’ve experienced and will experience during my time in this phase. But really, people have featured more prominently in my progression than circumstance. My wonderful parents, my fabulous siblings, and of course my magical Ter, have all inspired and supported me through the most important lessons life has to teach me, but there are secondary characters in my personal drama, too. Friends who have come and gone, co-workers of the same temporary nature, both delightful and painful (some at the same time—now that’s a rare talent!), even people I have not met in the flesh have influenced my development. What to write, how to write, how not to write ... sometimes the most valuable lesson is how not to do something. Another favourite quote is “A wise man once said nothing.” I laughed when I read it, but humour is often based on a nugget of truth and part of life is also learning when to be silent.

I’m working on that, too. I’m working on everything, in fact, but today, I’m giving myself break. Ter and I are meeting wee sis and Boy Sister for lunch, and though Saturday is typically laundry day, the undies can wait. Episode Seven of Versailles, however, cannot. That’s on tap for this evening, after dinner and prezzies and a day of being duly celebrated.

I have never felt so loved ... or so grateful. If I can give back a fraction of the marvels life has given me, my work here will be done. Happy birthday to Ru.

With love,

Give Peace a Chance

“Peace cannot be kept by force. It can only be achieved by understanding” – Albert Einstein

“We must live together as brothers or perish together as fools” – Martin Luther King Jr.

“The day the power of love overrules the love of power, the world will know peace” – Gandhi

“Our prime purpose in this life is to help others—and if you can’t help them, at least don’t hurt them” – the Dalai Lama

Something horrifying happened as a result of Charlottesville, last weekend. I agreed—to a point—with Donald Trump. Violence only escalates with participants on both sides.

Now that you’ve regained consciousness, my thought is actually more expansive than the single incident of protesters getting into it with white supremacists at that rally. People who bring weapons to a gathering for any reason may try to plead self defence, but that’s an extremely loose interpretation of America’s Second Amendment, “arms” being anything that will do more damage in a confrontation than bare hands. Neither is a street brawl inevitable, since violence—like peace—is a choice. The math is simple enough: weapons = intent to harm.

Were the protesters in Virginia there to perpetrate violence? Only the individuals know for sure. Did they expect to encounter resistance from the other side? Considering the collective nature of that side, you’d have to be a moron to expect otherwise.

The white supremacists, on the other hand ... I can’t begin to guess their group intention, but protesting the removal of a statue seems like an excuse to act out their fear-based self-loathing on anybody and everybody else. “We’re taking back our country,” one of them declared. Um, excuse me, sir, but the country was never yours to begin with. White men took it from the original inhabitants by trickery and force, so even the excuse that you’re reclaiming what you’ve lost is a piss-poor one.

I read a quote the other day: “We are all human. Why can’t we live together?”

Because we’re human, that’s why. We are biologically linked to the earth and all the elements; we are ruled by intellect and bullied by ego, subject to fear and driven by the emotion resulting from all of the above. Our spirit selves are a little lost amid the tumult. Rising above it takes more internal fortitude than many of us believe we have, so we resort to violence when we feel threatened. Those white supremacists in Charlottesville arrived feeling brave in their numbers, but every one of them is a fragile, fearful, wounded soul more pathetic than powerful.

And on the flipside, those standing against them  were similarly equipped, though they surely felt their cause more noble. It’s easy to hate those who behave hatefully. It’s equally easy to ape (and justify) that behaviour when we believe we’re in the right. Remember: the villain is the hero in his own story.

The events of the past week have left me somewhat discouraged and a little bit afraid of a future that seems to be unravelling like a roll of toilet paper in the mouth of a speeding squirrel. Terrorists continue to drive vehicles into crowds at festivals and public markets. Nazis, like overconfident cockroaches, are creeping out of the shadows in our own back yard. Mother Earth continues to rend her garments through weather events of Biblical proportion. We can’t live peacefully with our families, our neighbours, our co-workers, our environment, other drivers—or with ourselves.

Maybe this is the real problem. We are all victims of conditioning, of broken parents and bad relationships and the myth of a god who plays favourites. We justify our misery by blaming others and rely on outside agencies to solve our problems when in truth, we can only be responsible for ourselves. We choose our thoughts, therefore we choose our actions, and ultimately, we choose who we become.

Most of us are good people. Most of us do not appear in video clips of violence and mass hysteria. Most of us are simply doing the best we can, but the time may be coming when each of us must make a choice and stand by it. I’m not saying we each have to go it alone. Of course we don’t. There is strength in numbers, but the strength required to gain peace must not manifest in violence. It must come with kindness, with caring and generosity and understanding. It must also come from within. So start with yourself. Look inward, angel, and see where peace begins. Find it there, or find a way to bring it there. Nurture it. Practice it, and when you’re comfortable with it, let it spread outward, beyond yourself to the realm of others, and once the world alights, watch those cockroaches run for cover.

With love,

Nice Going, Einstein

How disappointing—and yet I don’t know if my disappointment is with the show or with myself, for not knowing better.

No, I knew better. Give a guy like David Lynch eighteen hours of airtime on premium cable and you’re a fool not to expect lengthy bouts of directorial self-indulgence ... but episode seven of the current Twin Peaks amounted to a solid hour of my life that I will never get back. Disturbing, art house imagery, discordant audio and no visible connection to the greater plot (which is pushing for coherence as it is) had Ter and me agreeing—reluctantly, on my part—to quit before we waste any more of our time. We are huge fans of the original series and anticipated the next one like a pair of little kids anticipating Christmas. I was prepared to allow for some alternate reality nonsense given the source, but last week’s offering was just-plain-stupid.

Truly disappointing.

On the other hand, the National Geographic channel’s showing of Genius—based on a book about the life of Albert Einstein—was, well, genius. I hoped it might be, as it starred Oscar winners and was produced by Imagine Entertainment (Ron Howard and Brian Grazer); a combo that rarely misses the mark. No disappointment here! Ten episodes of brilliantly written, expertly acted and perfectly produced television, most of which I could follow despite the science not being dumbed down for the casual observer. Geoffrey Rush was splendid as Einstein in his later years, as was Johnny Flynn as the physicist in his youth, but the character I felt most for was his first wife, Mileva, a scientist in her own right who was sacrificed by the time in which she lived. Bravely played by Samantha Colley, she was absolutely wrenching to watch.

The story alone is interesting enough, but could have been ruined in the wrong hands. The complexity of Einstein’s mind, his obsession with science and his inability to relate with his family, set against the rise of Nazi Germany and the US investigation into un-American activity, was laid out in gorgeous detail, right down to the spacey special effects used to aid us in seeing what he saw during his theoretical “a-ha” moments. The dialogue was intense (the physics jokes were actually funny) and the politics of war made a full colour backdrop for the drama of real life relationships. The science was integral, but not the star. Gads, the series surpassed my expectations by as much or more than Twin Peaks fell short.

Genius is in the eye of the beholder.

Friend or Foe?

I used to play a game with God. I’d try to make Him guess when I’d switch off my radio before I went to sleep. Would it be after this song, or the next, or would I wait until one came on that I didn’t care to hear? Figure that one out, Heavenly Father.

Trouble was, since God knew everything, He knew before I did when I’d hit the off switch. If I went “yes, no, yesnoyes—no!” He was already at “no!” while I was still toying.

I was actually playing the game with myself.

My concept of God has expanded significantly over the years. He is no longer a bearded father figure with a warm smile and forbidding frown, keeping track of my mistakes and saving any rewards for the outcome of my Judgment Day trial. It seems so narrow-minded now, but it was familiar to me then, and so I went with it. For the purpose of this post, the omniscient creator of all things is referred to as “God”.

Life can change your mind if you’re open to new ideas. I am much happier believing that God loves each of us equally and unconditionally, and what awaits at the end of the road is neither punishment nor condemnation, but a joyous welcome home. As I’ve said before, even the bad guys deserve praise for giving it their best shot. They make the good guys look even better, don’t they? Without the villains, the heroes have no cause to be heroic. Without cruelty, compassion is unnecessary. How can we experience the best in human nature without someone acting out the worst? Ironically, it takes a hero to be a villain.

I digress. Sort of.

Just like everyone else, I was born with a map in one hand and a copy of my agreement in the other. The agreement is a list of things I want to learn, to experience, and to share. I also have specific assignments that only I, with my unique blend of energy and talent, can perform. I have this much time and will be accompanied by these people, for the purpose of this outing in the guise of friends, family, co-workers, etc. God knows me well enough to trust that I will fulfill the bulk of my contractual obligations, and maybe even nail them all; but how I arrive at the end result is entirely up to me.

God’s part of the deal is to provide lane assist when I start to stray off course, to plant road markers that I may or may not recognize (again, that’s up to me), and to be there when I reach for Him. I’m pretty sure we agreed to some other things, but I lost both my map and my copy of the contract so I’m basically winging it on faith, trusting that someone somewhere has the originals.

Oh, and the bit about God knowing what we’ll do before we do it? He doesn’t worry about when the radio is shut off. He just loves the child playing the game.

DIY

“Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile” – Albert Einstein

After twenty years in the same suite, our dear friend Treena has bought herself a condominium. Before she moves in, however, she’s renovating. And she’s doing it herself.

Ter and I were called to assist with collecting supplies last week—namely transporting a thousand pounds of laminate flooring and seven gallons of paint from the shop to the condo. Tiggy is a little Stormtrooper, but he also has a maximum load capacity of 1110 pounds so, after some frantic mental math during which our combined weight was added to the load, we estimated that the flooring alone would take three trips. Picture this: one Tiguan, two babes in their mid-fifties, and one waif hauling 34 boxes weighing approximately 20 lbs apiece from the curb to the second floor suite.

Bwahahahahahaha!

The first load was tricky since, having committed and therefore unable to reverse, we had no idea how we were going to accomplish this feat without killing ourselves. We bumbled through 5 return trips, during which I predicted we’d be professionals by the time we were finished.

Load #2—half the remaining flooring and 5 rolls of underlay were picked up at the shop and sat in the Tiguan while his girls took a union lunchbreak. Appropriately fuelled up, the “curb to condo” routine went somewhat more smoothly. (Curiously, Ter was energized by the carbs she’d consumed while Treena and I could have used a nap.)

Load #3—the last 160 lbs of floor plus seven cans of paint (3 eggshell, 2 semi-gloss, 1 primer and something else that I’ve forgotten); Tig was all but doing wheelies up the road with the weight over his rear axle. And when we arrive at the building … no parking save for the passenger zone with its 3 minute maximum.

Ter slammed the car into “park”, killed the motor and declared, “We’re doing it.” And from sheer terror of being busted (and potentially fined) by the strata council, we had everything out of the car, up the elevator and down the hall in twenty minutes flat.

As I’d predicted six hours earlier, professionals.

Treena comes from a family of do-it-yourselfers. Her aunt happens to be Ter’s best friend from high school, and there is nothing she can’t fix, improve, or invent on the fly. Ter is equally smart when it comes to improvising. My superpower is pointing out that “you’ve missed a spot”. Thinking about hard work exhausts me, but something magical happened on the chain gang that day:

I had a blast.

I was aching all over and two loads of laundry awaited when I got home, but I spent the day helping someone I love alongside someone I love and that made me happy. Treena, bless her, was ever so grateful for our help, and I suppose that contributed to the joy (gratitude tends to inspire a greater effort), but I am grateful to her in turn, for giving me the chance to experience the unexpected delight of offering my time and my heart in service to one of my kind.

Love and service. That’s what life is all about, Charlie Brown.

Throw Your Beam

The purpose of life, I have recently heard, is to express yourself through whatever means you have to hand. Be it painting or performing, cooking or quilting, coaching or counseling, playing hockey or playing the tuba, designing gardens or digging graves, it is within every single one of us to be great.

Albert Einstein said that everyone is a genius. He then added, “If a fish is judged by its ability to climb trees, that fish will live its entire life believing that it’s stupid.” That quote struck such a deep chord that my ears are still ringing. Must be because I’ve spent a good chunk of my life believing that I’m stupid.

Not in everything, of course. I’m actually very smart in many areas. I am capable in others, and gosh-darned-excellent in a few. But so are you. And you. And you. Everyone has something unique to offer the world. And the world needs what you have to give. Even if you’re an arch villain, you’re providing the necessary contrast that enables heroes to be heroes. So if you’re a bad guy, be the baddest guy you can be, you miserable sod. Bring out the best in others and make the world a better place.

I might be joking around a bit here, but my meaning is serious. Everyone has something at which they can excel. Find your best and let it rip. Be that little candle. Throw your beam as far as you can fling it. Touch as many people as you can; be a teacher, but be a student as well. Give love, but love yourself, too. After all, the flame burns brightest at the wick. Only then does the rest of the room benefit from its light.

Insanity

crazy in four volumes

Einstein defined insanity as repeating the same action over and over while expecting a different result.

I am thissssss close to reviving a story I started when the Twin Towers were still standing. My manuscript shelf holds three and a half binders full of it. Two of the main characters appeared in a recent short story, and the mortal history of one—Darius Wolfe—is right now being unearthed via the voice of his eighteenth century bride.

Why are these characters reemerging now? I’ve written a ton of new characters over the years. Fixed Fire bumped this series off the map and cruised into 6.5 volumes before stalling on Reijo’s romance (aaaaarrrrggghhhh). I wrote three FF novellas. I have played with angels, centaurs, and hit men. I even have a couple of other FF novels in mind. Lots to write, little time to write it. Right?

Here’s the thing. Every time I reread the urban vampire series, I think, yep, it needs work, but it’s good. Damn good. Pretty damn good, in fact. This might even be the one that cracks the market.

Okay, maybe not the last. I write, after all, for myself and not the market. I had finished with Julian in the nineteenth century and wondered if I could write something less Anne Rice-ish and more Laurell Hamilton-ish. I loved Hamilton’s Anita Blake series to the end of Obsidian Butterfly; after that, regrettably, it got too pornographic even for me. It was my first urban fantasy read and it inspired me to write one of my own.

It doesn’t even have a title. I just call it “the Cassandra series”, like it’s an android model from the classic Star Trek episode I, Mudd. Cassandra is the voice, the main character, and more like me than anyone else I’ve written. It’s her story, told in her words, and as I’ve said, even I think it’s a goodie.

But it needs work. Big work.

While writing Calista’s story—and the similarity of female names has not escaped me—I’ve been pondering how/where to begin reworking Cassandra’s story. The sheer volume of work involved is daunting and I doubt it will be much fun. I look at the first chapter and can’t see how to write the scene differently, but the scene must definitely be rewritten.

Then a little voice said to me, “Blow it up and start again.”

What?

“Blow it up and start again. You know the characters intimately. You know the plot by heart. 

The rest is scenery. Blow it up and start again.”

Holy $***. I can do that. It’s true. I do know the characters intimately. I know their relationships and how they work (or don’t work). I know the premise, the plot, the outcome. I’ve been fretting about reworking the whole thing, but the guts are fine. All the things that I like about it have not changed in fifteen years. It’s the same story; I am simply free to tell it a new way. A better way. It will be better because I’m a better writer. My style is more mature, more refined, than it was all those years ago. I can give these characters life with a capital “L”.

And isn’t it funny that the Faulkner quote has so recently come to my attention?

It’s the people, the human heart in all its conflicted glory, that make a story. Not the setting, not the timing, not the exterior finish. Those things, I can change. The rest must be left as is.

So, with that in mind … BOOM!