(The following is a guest post by my good friend and most loyal reader, Ol’ Jake. Tell him your thoughts in the comments! — Rebekah)
These are my artistic confessions:
1) It took me 36 days to write the original draft of this guest post for the Jaunty Dame. That draft
totaled 503 words, an average of about 14 words written per day.
2) My goal in life is to become a novelist, but I do not enjoy the act of writing.
3) I started Julia Cameron’s self-directed course, The Artist’s Way, on Monday. Every morning,
participants are supposed to compose three pages of longhand writing. According to Ms.
Cameron, these morning pages are non-negotiable. Today is Friday, and I’ve done the required
writing only once – when I kicked off the program on Monday.
What has happened to me? I’m not a total chump when it comes to writing – at various points in
my life, I’ve made a living off of it (and editing, and other related skills). I’ve had short fiction
published in reputable places. I’ve even won a couple of awards.
Searching for answers has brought me back to my Bible in times of (self-induced) crisis – The
War of Art by Steven Pressfield.
If you haven’t read it, it’s a brief, startling examination into what Pressfield calls Resistance: the
unseen, evil force inside of us that prevents individuals from reaching their creative potential.
Resistance is the nastiest critic you could ever imagine, the worst parts of humanity’s collective
unconscious directed at keeping you and me from realizing our unlived lives.
Pressfield’s main thesis is that, in order to beat Resistance and become an artist, one must sit
down and actually do the work. A painter must force herself to apply paint to a canvas. A
composer must sit down and produce music. And a writer must write words. We cannot wait for
inspiration to come. Pressfield is adamant about this – if you do the work, and if you respect the
Muses, only then will the Muses bless your efforts. You can’t just think about it and half-ass it
some of the time. You can’t rely on good intentions. You have to do the work.
The last time I re-read the entire book, about a month and a half ago, I was inspired to
do…absolutely nothing. I stood up after closing the book and immediately returned to my
unproductive ways. (Actually, I probably took a nap.)
This time? This time I’m going to try and apply the lessons that I’ve learned from Pressfield,
specifically to my own confessions.
1) Why would I let the Jaunty Dame down by taking so long to write a blog post? Because I was
beaten by Resistance. I was afraid I would produce something subpar, and then she wouldn’t
want to be my friend anymore. (Resistance lies to us all the time. I did turn in something subpar,
and she’s still speaking to me.)
2) I don’t enjoy writing first drafts. I enjoy rewriting. Filling up a blank page is a task I will
always struggle with, but who said work was supposed to be fun?
3) The Artist’s Way is not going to be a ball, either. There’s going to be work involved. If I’m not
willing to sit down and write longhand first thing in the morning, then Resistance will defeat me
yet again.
I realize none of these are life or death issues, but they are a huge part of my personal identity.
Given the obvious artistic nature of this blog’s regular commenters, I’m guessing many of you
will know exactly what I’m talking about.
Here’s the thing – I don’t want to live like this anymore. I don’t want you to live like this
anymore, either. I don’t know you, but I want you to create, and I want your creation to be
released out into the world.
So, if any of you have had similar experiences, enlighten us in the comments. How do you beat
the Resistance that rises up against you? Have you been able to change your life, or do you revert
easily back to your old patterns?
Dear Ol’ Jake.
First, know that everything about me always has been and ever shall be subpar. Losing my friendship would take prolonged, concentrated effort. Thank you so much for writing this post.
I’ve read a lot about creativity, and so, so many artists/writers/painters/musicians say ‘don’t wait for inspiration. Sit down and work every damn day, and then you’ll do great work.’ So why can’t I do it?
Partly because I suck at being a beginner, because I run away from any and all uncomfortable feelings. Artists need to get out there and suck until they stop sucking, and not everyone’s willing to.
Also, I tend to procrastinate creativity until More Important things are finished; I can’t play the piano or guitar until the house is clean, I should be making dinner and not writing a song, etc.. Consequently, I feel like a housewife, not an artist. I always get much more creative work done as a single girl, because anticipating someone else’s needs can easily take over one’s time. Must learn to stick up for my dreams.
So, pride and skewed priorities are killing me softly. Any other artistic blocks fall under the general heading of Self-Discipline Problems.
“I realize none of these are life or death issues, but they are a huge part of my personal identity.”
They feel like life or death, don’t they? If our dreams died, what would we live for?
Whew, this DOES feel like a confession. Forgive me, Jacob, for I have sinned!
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Thank you Dear Jake,
I am relieved that I am not the only one that struggles with creativity. I WAS a five year old once that had to paint every day in kindergarten and showed so much talent that I got to paint the school’s holiday murals! I never once thought about wether what I created was ‘ good ” or not. What happened to that creativity, I don’t know. I do remember kids at school telling me that horses aren’t blue and why do I paint blue horses? I quit painting them!
I didn’t start painting again until college. By then, bringing forms and color to light was a struggle but one that I was determined to pull through. Being an artist at that time meant dropping everything for art. I was terribly unbalanced, but painted and painted. Sometimes I felt enlightened but many of my paintings came out unclear and unfocused.
What is it to be a struggling artist? There were the great ones who struggled to create and then there was Picasso who decided when he was going to paint and then just did it!
There must be something we learn along the way that instills the notion that creating is is a struggle that is a rite of passage as an artist. Is this necessary?
Regards,
Marsha
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Rebekah: “If our dreams died, what would we live for?” WOW, that’s something I wouldn’t even want to consider.
I also run away from any and all uncomfortable feelings. If I could tolerate being uncomfortable, even for just a bit, I think I could accomplish much, much more. This is probably true for most/all people.
And being blocked (or even just regular procrastination) DOES feel like sinning to me, except I don’t feel like I need absolution from God but from myself and those around me.
Thanks again for letting me write the guest post!
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Marsha: You raise some interesting questions. I often wonder if successful artists feel the same as struggling artists. I’ve read accounts of some that suggest both options, but it’s difficult to tell whether the artist is being truthful or not. Would Ms. Famous Artist pretend that art is always a struggle even if it wasn’t, just to relate to the masses? Or would she pretend that it’s easy when she has just as much trouble getting started as the rest of us.
That sort of childlike enthusiasm for creativity is something I wish I could get back. I used to draw endless pictures of Batman because I wanted to be a comic book artist. I knew I wasn’t a good artist and lacked the natural talent of my classmates, but I didn’t care. I loved doing it. Somewhere along the line, though, the act of doing stopped being fun because it was no longer acceptable to be a bad artist. Acceptable to whom? I’m not sure…myself I guess. My parents never dissuaded me. Nobody mocked me. Maybe I was embarassed because I wanted to be better than I was.
I don’t wish for the sort of blind optimism you sometimes see on shows like American Idol, but the allowance to be bad at something (like Rebekah mentioned) can be quite difficult. It’s easy for me to tell myself, “Ah, this is just practice. I need to get my work seen by SOMEONE. Rejection won’t kill me!” But when push comes to shove, I’m more likely to end up being a coward, even though I hate it.
Thanks for reading!
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Loved the post Ol’ Jake!
I think it’s ok to desire to be a novelist but not enjoy the act of writing. Lots of people are quite good at jobs they on some level don’t like much.
Resistance is, I suspect, what has kept me sitting here all day mending an old quilt I don’t like very much or particularly need anymore when I could be using the same needle and threads to sew the kind of things people have been known to actually pay me real money for.
I think the squeaky wheel principle is a part of this. Beck and I both hate untidy homes and our homes do not tidy themselves. Also unwashed dishes look unwashed, but an unplayed piano just sits there being itself and doesn’t seem to beg for attention.
Likewise there’s probably nothing in your environment to scream “Sit down and get to writing!” Computers and typewriters do not cast accusing looks the way laundry piles and dustbunnies do.
I apologize to Rebekah for inadvertently teaching her that Important Things means cleaning house, cooking dinner, mending. I would like to rewire both our brains to see that the dusting and vacuuming MUST WAIT until the guitar and piano are played and songs are written. Yes, some housekeeping must be done to keep us fed and healthy, but it needn’t be the top priority and it can be streamlined (and many tasks eliminated.)
Since you like editing perhaps you could think of first drafts as the price you have to pay to get to do the fun part? Looking at it that way you don’t have to spend much time on the first draft. Just dump a bunch of words on the page so you have something to play around with. Better words will show up voluntarily as you need them!
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