I am tired and fighting off the beginnings of a sinus infection. So I am going to keep this very short, but I don’t think it will take more than that.
Imagine yourself standing next to a person who inspires you. Now, imagine the two of you are dominoes. They tip and fall into you setting you in motion to fall against another nearby domino. We all know what follows. It’s a beautiful thing to contemplate the power of inspiration.
Who inspires you?
Take a moment to thank them.
Who are you inspiring?
Be excited for them and cheer them on if it’s in your power to do so. And even if you haven’t seen them, know that inspired lives will always inspire others.
Be inspired that you might inspire others, and let the dominoes fall!
A couple days ago as I sat playing guitar in the shop, a young man asked me where he could see me play. The answer was nowhere. He pressed. So I shared my story. All of it. From the naive young man traipsing off to college with dreams of being a singer/songwriter to the bitter young man who was sure he had no place in that world. And then on to the present, where I’m doing it anyway.
It was in the midst of this conversation that he challenged me. He shared his own belief in the power of stories, and he encouraged me to share mine. Video the journey, he said. Anytime you play here at the shop, record it. Then post it. Now, I won’t say I’m going to follow his recommendations. I don’t know. But I’m considering it, and those are words I never believed I would utter.
It’s not for the audience and it’s not for the platform. It is the power of a story to inspire, challenge, and transform. I remember growing up surrounded by the finished product. I read published books. I listened to albums from my favorite artists. I stood in awe before works of art in every field. I saw the end product. I saw the destination, but I never made the connection that each of these pieces had a journey. I never knew the journey took their creator through pain, hardship, struggle and disappointment. I never knew the journey shaped their creator into someone capable of creating a masterpiece. I never knew of rough drafts, endless edits and sheets of lyrics with scribbled lines and cramped script crowding the margins. While not knowing made their work magical, it also made me look on my own work with disdain.
Obviously, I learned the truth in time. I simply wish I would have seen and understood it sooner. Even more so, that someone would have shown it to me. So I have something to think about. This is an opportunity to show someone else the journey, and maybe give them the courage to start their own.
I recently “grabbed my club and went hunting“. To follow up, I thought it might be nice to offer some of my favorite hunting spots. So here are a few places inspiration might be found.
- Not quite ripe ideas – they weren’t good enough a few days or weeks ago, but maybe they’ve ripened in the meantime. Taste and see.
- My journal – Writing in a journal makes me go deeper and helps me process. New ideas come all the time. Rereading past entries also reminds me of great ideas I never got around to using.
- Go Somewhere! – Regular haunts provide the stimulation of people I know and conversation. New places show me new things. This one is about engaging the world. Be open. It reminds me of a scene in Music & Lyrics. Stuck, Sopie says, “Let’s go for a walk.” When asked why she answers. “Out on the streets you see things and, you know, hear things and eat things. It all sort of unlocks your mind.”
- Solitude – Sometimes instead of going out, I need to go in. My journal is one way I do this, but letting the quiet wash over me and sitting with an idea can lead me in unexpected places.
- Rest – Sometimes you hunt something by NOT looking for it. Don’t worry, the brain is aware and working under the surface. I usually go back to my work refreshed and surprised to find what my subconscious has been up to while I was out.
- Cross pollinate – Creativity is an additive process. I’m consistently amazed how interconnected it all becomes. Drawing, painting, writing, music, crafts – one informs our experience of the other. You never know what will come out of a random mashup of art. I find that even in chaos there is order.
This is far from an exhaustive list, but it’s what I have at the moment. I hope these ideas can help you hunt the elusive beast Inspiration where she hides. Best of luck and happy creating!
I have one game on my phone, Find Words. I am a word junkie. I imagine, whether in error or not, that all writers are word junkies. So I hope some who are reading this will understand my fascination with games like this one. In it, I’m given a mashup of letters to rearrange into various words. Simple, right?
Right. It is. But simple does not mean easy. I have often been left flustered, unable to ferret out the final few combinations of letters and thereby finish the puzzle. Strangely, this challenge has left me with a few life lessons I am grateful for.
- Failure is part of the process. I admit that perfection is extremely satisfying. Every word seen in an instant and entered correctly with absolute accuracy. It’s also very rare, at least for me. Sometimes I don’t see the words I’m looking for until I’m busy making absurd combinations in hopes of jogging something loose. Funny thing, it works. Go ahead and make a mess.
- Stepping away from the problem is sometimes the fastest way to the solution. When frustration with my ineptitude peaked, I closed the app. Later I returned to it and, as if by magic, new words manifested to fill the gaps. Often simple words I can’t believe I didn’t see before. Words that had been buried somewhere in the mental clutter sprang to life. So, put it down. Take a break and come back later. It might surprise you what’s happened while you were gone.
- It’s okay to get a little help. I abhor hints. At first, I refused to use them which earned me an achievement for the vast quantity of in game currency I’d accrued. Figuring it out on my own was a matter of pride. But the higher level the puzzles, the more breaks I started taking. So one day I clicked the button to find that last word. A single letter jumped to life and a word soon followed. Like a road sign at a busy crossroad, help can show you which path to take. Even if you didn’t need it in the end, it speeds the process.
Today my mind took me on a road trip to some dark places. A daydream took an unexpected turn and set my wheels to turning. That in itself didn’t bother me. The idea fascinated me. It stroked my speculative “what if?”. And the storyteller in me lifted up that idea and examined it, played with it, and expanded it.
Who would do this? Why? How?
And suddenly I had the makings of a serial killer. I began to see the shadow of the person behind the art that set my mind in motion, and I began to understand what might make them tick.
And that, though I chose not to take it too deep, didn’t bother me.
A nagging doubt only set in as I considered writing the story. God forbid someone take those ideas and act on them. And as I wondered if anyone else had conjured up this particular horror I’d just engineered in my head, I questioned myself. Why didn’t it bother me more?
Of all the words to come to mind, I remembered Seinfeld talking about comedy. In particular, how to a comedian what mattered most is that it’s funny. Doesn’t matter if it’s true. Is it funny? It’s a particular view of the world.
I suppose storytellers are the same way. I look at things and wonder if their interesting. I want to tell a great story, and a great story is both dark and light. My mind needs to be able to make it’s way around in the shadows as readily as the light. Darkness is a truth of our present existence. That is honest. And I believe the best stories are honest ones.
That said, I think I plan to keep this monster to myself. At least right now, I don’t tell the kind of stories they’d be most comfortable in.
Yesterday nostalgia led me to lament a haven long gone. For a moment I could feel the place – its warmth, its colour, its calm. Clad in varied hues, in stained wood and shadows. Bookshelves littered with paperbacks, knick knacks and bric-a-brac. I suppose to me it seemed more a personal study than store. Any evening I could escape for a beer and pulling up a stool at the bar, sit and sip in quiet repose.
The bookstore no longer exists as it once did. Closed and reopened, it has become more modern. The personal warmth is gone, giving way to the cool, disinterest of plain shelves and stark white walls, one of which lights up with an alternating projection of up and coming events. The restaurant too has changed. To my mind, it has an aire of self importance. A pretentious posturing that rejects those like me. Those who would sit for a gourmet burger (and I do mean gourmet) and a beer. Not only have I lost my one and only place to enjoy a Honker’s Ale, but they will not stoop so low as to carry beer at all. It saddens me. I mourn the loss of a home away from home.
And time marches ever onward.
I cannot return to the past, but I hope that one day in the future I might find something akin to it once again. I know it will not be the same. It cannot be. This place is forever lost to me. I only hope to find a place that evokes the same feelings. A place of safety, of comfort, of peace, and of home.
The Lady in Black
peers out at me
as I peer in at her.
But does one see the other?
Is she watching me
as I watch her?
A mirror of herself
hanging in a silent world?
Two framed captives held
by space and time.
We meet between our worlds.
A silent moment exchanged.
Invited to tea
‘midst frozen chords.
Piano’s serenade –
sounds imagined but unheard.
Time has stopped.
a brief exchange
beyond the reach of time?
But future to present must turn.