Tag: creativity

After the shitshow

PeterLeave a comment
Return to work

Look, it’s been a while since I posted here regularly, mostly for pretty obvious reasons.

Life, as they call it, got in the way, particularly cancer, which is a bit of a shitshow that takes a lot out of your daily schedule – among other things. That’s as good an excuse as any, but probably more relevant is that I lost some motivation to update this regularly. I was busy with things, true enough, and nothing happened that was worth recording.

I’d written a book but couldn’t resolve to publish it. In the meantime, I did fuck all writing when I had cancer full-on. I didn’t have the energy for it; without it, it’s hard to be creative. Then, that passed, and I began writing again, but it felt very personal. I had no notion of putting myself out there. I didn’t think much beyond the page.

What’s changed is that I thought fuck it, and went out and published my novel, almost on the spur of the moment. What’s the point of it gathering dust in my bottom drawer? I’d always figured I wanted to do more with it, improve it here and there, but I realised that becomes a vanishing point you never reach. Just do it, and so I did.

Odd how I feel having done it. There are people out there reading it at this very moment (I hope!) and most likely judging it. It can be a spooky thought, and that’s how I felt initially. But then it fades. I’ve done it; it’s out of my hands. Make of it what you will. It’s almost as if I’ve put it behind me now.

The one abiding sentiment is that I always said I’d publish a novel one day, and now I have. I don’t feel the pride you might expect, but there is a sense of quiet satisfaction.

More importantly, I have another novel to work on and then another after that. I have plenty of ideas. Hopefully, I’ll get the next one – quite different – released next year.

Stories from the night

PeterLeave a comment

I wrote a story yesterday. It wasn’t something I’d planned to do. The story wasn’t even in my mind until the hours before. And even when it was in my mind, I thought I would jot down no more than a few notes for it. Once I started, though, I couldn’t stop.

This story is an interesting case study in the creative process. As I said, I had no conception of the story until the early hours. In fact, I woke with this in my head in the middle of the night. I lay in bed in the dark, turning it over in my head. I let it lead me on, my conscious mind fleshing out the bones the subconscious had provided me with. It was a fair story, I thought, but how often have I thought that and reconsidered it come daylight? Even more so, how many stories have been lost because, from sleep to wakefulness, they have been forgotten?

I woke, and I remembered this. As I prepared for work, it was rolling around in my mind. It seemed a fair story still. And so, when I found a moment, I began to write it down.

What I’ve written is far from the finished product, but it’s complete. I dashed it out, not thinking too much over it, not spending the time I might typically giving it a veneer of polish. It was all story, and every bit of it heartfelt.

It’s fascinating in this case as this story has an apparent reference to my own story. It’s entirely fictional but draws on my experiences and feelings. Most of those experiences I have pushed to one side. The emotions I rarely dwell on. That’s the crux of it, though – I think. My conscious self has moved on, but these things remain real and relevant in some deep part of myself.

I don’t know if this could be called a dream, but it has much in common with dreams as I understand them. I’m one of those people who believes that dreams can reveal hidden truths. There’s an honesty to our subconscious because it is not subject to the whims and ego of the conscious mind. It does away with the nonsense that dictates we must be this person or must do that. Dreams may exaggerate and transfigure, but often, they present an underlying reality we are unwilling or unable to face in our conscious self.

I know that sounds like amateur pop psychology. You can take or leave it, but it’s true to my experience and observation. Most dreams have obscure meanings, if they have any meaning at all, even when remembered. Others, like last night, present truth in the form of a parable. Isn’t that what writing is about? It is for me.

I have a history that I won’t go into here. The story that came out of the night directly touches upon that. I’ve written it out now, but as I did, I wondered what it meant for me. It felt like a candid message from my soul. You may deny it, Peter, but these are the things that are important to you – these are the things you crave.

Not all stories come like that. If you gave me ten minutes to come up with a brand new story, I could probably pluck something from the air. That’s the exception, though. I don’t sit down and search for stories – they come to me. It’s rare they arrive as last night’s story did, but it’s indicative of the process nonetheless. The story yesterday was seemingly conceived and written within a 24-hour block, but I can guarantee the essential truth of it has been in me much longer than that, evolving and shaping itself into a tale that finally came out yesterday.

The next story is in me now, bubbling in the background, though as I type this, I’m oblivious to it. When it’s ripe, it will come out. It’s what’s in the pot that’s important.