This is me in 2018, baby.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to be coming back to this blog. I have some stuff on my mind though, and it’s related to writing and creativity and inspiration, and it’s keeping me up at night. So that’s a sign that I need to get it out, and this is the place where I do that, so here I am.

There’s this book called Big Magic. It’s by Elizabeth Gilbert, who wrote Eat, Pray, Love. Maybe I’ve mentioned it before. I think it’s pretty well known, but I don’t know anyone else in real life who has read it, though I’ve recommended it to a lot of people.

I read it a couple of years ago, and it’s one of those books that really stayed with me, I think about it often. So basically, the main point of the book is that inspiration and creativity owe us nothing; it’s about creating for the sake of creating, and Gilbert proposes that inspiration is almost a conscious entity itself – that what ideas WANT is to get OUT, and they are constantly in search of the right vessel to make that happen.

I don’t think she means this literally. I don’t think she means that inspiration is an angel or something. I certainly don’t think so. I’m not even sure I can suspend my disbelief at the idea of inspiration being “conscious”. I like it, to be fair. I like the idea that ideas are searching for the right person to get them into the physical world. I like it because even though I don’t consider myself to be a spiritual person, I concede that there is a lot I don’t understand about the universe, and magic is just science we haven’t figured out yet.

(Ugh, I’m so disappointed in myself. I sound like a 4^th grader.)

I also like it because I have experienced what I can only assume was inspiration, and it was a truly indescribable kind of bliss. It was like dipping my toe into a fast moving stream, which then pulled me in and carried me along with it.

This was the experience I had when creating Becoming Marlo. The idea arrived, and it burned hot and bright, and consumed me to the point where I literally couldn’t wait to write it. And after I wrote it, I couldn’t wait to draw it. And after I finished drawing it, I couldn’t wait to publish it. I had to get it out. You couldn’t stop me. And the whole time I felt like there was some benevolent force along with me, sometimes even taking the wheel, when I did have my doubts. There was never any doubt that I would finish it though.

That makes it sound like it was easy. It wasn’t. But I was compelled, and that meant I crushed the hard parts to bits when I encountered them. Nothing was going to stand in my way. And I had never felt like that before about anything I wrote, or drew, or whatever. It was exhilarating. Looking back on it, I don’t even think Marlo was that good of a thing. It was the first thing I ever finished, and I’m proud of it for that. Other people seem to have liked it, or they just can’t tell me they don’t – it doesn’t matter.

The point is, something made me do it. I mean, I DID it. I take the credit (for better or for worse). But I did feel something that came from outside myself, and it stayed with me for the duration, and it left me as soon as I held the printed book in my hands.

And then it happened again, about a year later. It was similar, in the way the idea came to me, and the external presence that was with me. But the vibe of it was totally different. With Marlo, the force that was with me (groan, sorry) was confident, kind, bold, optimistic, disciplined, and future-focused. The whole time it was with me, I couldn’t believe how those traits infused me and the work I was doing. I felt like… it was on my side. It held my hand and guided me all the way through and as a result, I worked with zeal, determination, and intensity, for hours and hours, until it was complete.

With Lifesicle, it was like the force had a different personality. It was moody. Sometimes it would get me totally swept up in the writing or the painting, while other times, it would will me to drink a bunch of wine and lay on the floor while the paint dried, staring at the ceiling, listening to music in my art room – but this was not procrastination. It was part of the process.

There were nights when I stayed up late, painting, lamenting over whether what I had done was good enough, leading to drinking a bunch of wine, leading to painting on the wine bottle, and then going to bed, only to get up half an hour later after incessant looping thoughts prevented me from sleeping, just to start the process all over again.

Lifesicle was a swirling, messy, emotional, often enthusiastic but sometimes sluggish, controlled stumble that somehow came together, not in spite of the process, but because of it. In the “alignment chart of inspiration”, if the force that was with me for Marlo was Lawful Good, then the force that was with me for Lifesicle was Chaotic Neutral. I’m not convinced it always had my best interests at heart, but it wanted the thing done, and it got what it wanted. It was fun, and I felt like a real artist.

And just like with Marlo, as soon as I held the printed book in my hands, the force was gone.

It’s pretty common, from what I’ve seen and heard, for creators to go through a bit of post-creation depression. Simon and Garfunkel said it best in the song “Cecilia”.  After Marlo and Lifesicle were finished, and inspiration was done with me, my heart was kind of broken. If you believe a lot of what professional writers and artists say, that makes me an amateur. They’re not wrong, I suppose.

 I don’t make these things for a living. I’ve done a lot of uninspired writing and arting that didn’t go anywhere, and that’s fine. Am I disappointed that more didn’t come out of the finished products of Marlo and Lifesicle? Maybe sometimes. But ultimately, it doesn’t bother me that much. In both cases, I felt like I was compelled, and once they were done, they were done. And now that some time has passed, I feel somewhat detached from them.

I should probably go back to Big Magic for a minute here. In it, Elizabeth Gilbert proposes that ideas are looking for the vessel that will get them from an intangible state to a tangible state. And that means that sometimes an idea will leave you for someone else. This can happen because you didn’t act on it quick enough, or because the approach you took isn’t satisfactory, or because, quite simply, someone else who can do it better becomes available, LOL. St. Cecilia is a fickle, unfaithful biatch.

A few months after Lifesicle was finished, another idea came to me. As soon as it came, I was overwhelmed by it. It was big. It was too big for me. I work pretty small scale. I’m happy being small scale.

I thought of Big Magic. And I’m not even kidding, I spoke to the idea (in my mind, not out loud, because I’m not crazy) and I told it that I was the wrong person. It needed to go find someone else. Not only did I not think I could handle it, I didn’t want to. I gave it back to the universe.

It left me for a few weeks, but then it came back, and I thought, okay, let me think about this. I wrote out a few lines, just possibilities for directions this idea could go. I wasn’t happy with any of them. But it kept bugging me, so I picked the one that I hated the least and wrote a couple of paragraphs, kind of a plot summary. It was… just barely okay, and I still felt totally overwhelmed by the size of it. I considered bringing in a collaborator, someone who knows more about the subject than I do.

But it didn’t feel right and I basically spoke to the idea again, this time telling it unequivocally to leave me alone. I didn’t want it, I’m not the right vessel, go find the right one and leave me in peace. And it left again, this time for several months.

It came back to me again early this year… with a vengeance. This time, it came back to me with characters and a plot – and completely different from the “just barely okay” direction I had come up with previously. I’m not even kidding. You’d think I’d be ecstatic. This is what every writer wants, right? I gotta tell ya, I was actually annoyed. Here I was actively rejecting this monster, and yet it was relentless in its pursuit of me. But now I felt like I had no choice.

So I basically agreed to write the most basic outline of the thing, just to get the idea OUT THERE, like it wanted. Write a few pages, draw a few pictures, and if that wasn’t enough, publish it on my blog. Boom. Out there. And I could get on with the rest of my life.

It hasn’t happened like that.

It is now 263 pages long (just under 65,000 words). I am on page 153 of the rewrite. And every word since the first one has been a living hell. Utter agony. Finding each word has been like pulling teeth out of a mouth with endless rows of teeth, or excavating a dig site for fossils with my bare hands. And the words are not good words. They are basic, clumsy, dumpster fire words.

I can’t even count the number of times I have tried to quit on this thing. I have flat out refused to work on it, for weeks, a few months even. But it always comes back, and I don’t want it. I don’t know why it has chosen me. I am not the right person for it, and I am messing it up big time. I’m embarrassed by it. It is self-indulgent, completely subjective and impossible for anyone but me to relate to. I would be mortified if anyone read it.

And it’s not even that I hate the idea – I don’t. I like it. I like… gulp… I love the characters. They are dear to me. In a way, I want this out there as much as the force that is driving me to create it. I would read this book, if it was written properly by someone else. I’d see the movie. I’d watch the TV series. If it was done right by someone who knows what the hell they are doing.

In the inspiration alignment chart, this force is CHAOTIC EVIL. It is a psychopath. It does not care about me. It cares only about using me to get “OUT THERE”. To the point where it clearly doesn’t even care how well I execute it. It’s like it’s trying to hurt me, show me how puny and insignificant and terrible of a writer I am. It is doing this to me for sport.

At this stage, I have agreed to only finish this rewrite. I’m hoping that will satisfy this monster. Because I’m not willing to go further than that. I am not willing to suffer and toil over a third draft. I am not willing to self-publish this mess, or attempt traditional publishing for that matter. And I am 100% not drawing pictures.

Having said that, it made me draw the front cover art. Ridiculous.