Randy Fertel recently posted a substack page, Improvisation’s Invisible Design, about the creative process. Not surprisingly, he wrote that the logical, goal-oriented, parts of our minds don’t have much to offer to the creative process.
At least when it comes to the initial inspiration.
The execution of an inspired idea may be rigorously logical and may require all the goal-orientation skills we can muster up—but the original idea comes from somewhere else. That “somewhere else” has always been mysterious and—since inspiration does not originate in the part of our minds that employs logic—logic can’t help us explain it.
Or, what is worse, summon it.
How many times have we sat, immobilized, before a blank screen, a sheet of paper, or a freshly-primed canvas—wondering if we’ll ever again be visited by a worthwhile idea?
A brief aside: Fertel’s’post added a couple of lines—at the end—that were political in nature. Whether one agrees—or disagrees—with them, they detract from the main subject. Had I written that post, I would have trimmed them away.
I have to confess being a little embarrassed, but it occurs to me that I have mentioned micturition too often of late. And today’s post, allegedly about one aspect of the writing life, is tangentially renal. Believe it or not, I don’t spend much time thinking about the output of my kidneys, but still—here I am, posting something from The Digressions of Dr Sanscravat: Gastronomical Ramblings & Other Diversions …
…if only to get it out of my system.
(Tell me the truth: Does it piss you off when I end one of these head notes with a patently puerile pun—and compound the felony with foul alliteration?)
Maybe I should have trimmed that away…)
Marcel Duchamp’s “Fountain”—a moment of inspiration, back in 1917.
Writing as a Profession
I’ve published a small stack of books, and had lots of work in periodicals, but I certainly don’t live off it. Like most writers, I make just enough from writing to have to report it on my taxes so, in that limited sense, I’m a “professional.”
Getting published is very satisfying to the ego, of course, but it also gets one invited to participate in interesting forums and meet fascinating colleagues—as an equal—one might not otherwise encounter. It also impresses the hell out of friends and relatives (who believe that all published writers are rolling in dough, and would never imagine that anyone would bother to write, considering how little it actually pays).
Editor’s Note: Rarely, very rarely, Sanscravat seems to be on the verge of something akin to enlightenment. This, unfortunately, is not one of those times.
Like most of us who scribble, from time to time I find it necessary to pursue gainful employment of some other sort altogether. It’s a sacrifice made to support my writing habit.
The other day, just before leaving work, I made a stop in the bathroom. As I switched on the light and closed the door, it occurred to me that I was still “on the clock.” In a flash—much like the one Gautama experienced under the Bo tree—I realized that I was earning more money by producing urine than I ever do by writing.
Clearly, I should be cutting back on the verbiage and increasing my fluid intake.
Paid subscribers (who want to spare me from excessive visits to the urologist) get access to complete editions of two of my novellas. Noirvella is a modern story of revenge, told in the style of film noir. Unbelievable is a kind of rom-com that forms around a pompous guy who is conceited, misinformed, and undeservedly successful. Both books are sold by Amazon, but paid subscribers get to read them for free.
Also, substack pages (older than eight months) automatically slip behind a paywall—so only paid subscribers can read them. If you’re interested in reading any of them, you can subscribe (giving you free access to them), or buy them in book form should you prefer the feel of a physical book.
Meanwhile, it is easy to become a paying subscriber (just like supporting your favorite NPR station). It’s entirely optional, and—even if you choose not to do so—you’ll still get my regular substack posts—and I’ll still be happy to have you as a reader.
On point. As always.