Gasp!

Career Advice and Your Magic Time Machine

If you could go back in time and give yourself career advice, what would it be?

I'd go back to my college days, when I first started writing for theater. I'd tell myself not to be so trusting of everyone. The people who I thought were my friends, weren't.

I'd also tell myself that success doesn't give you respect from other people. It won't make you a better person; in fact, sometimes it can make people worse!

I'd tell myself that people who are successful today aren't necessarily successful tomorrow. There are highs and lows. I was often awed by people back then who had high-powered agents and egos to match. I was intimidated easily. I'm often amazed at how many "successful" people back then have disappeared career-wise. I wonder why that happens?

I'd tell myself to follow my creativity and my intuition. I thought that I could only do one thing - theater - and dismissed all other creative aspects to myself.

I'd tell myself to find a way around taking out so many student loans.

I'd tell myself to concentrate on being a good writer, instead of outward trappings of success.

I'd tell myself to write about topics I love, instead of what I think would be interesting to other people.

I'd tell myself that there is no room for suffering in the life of a writer - I'll get enough suffering just being one. Heh...

I'd tell myself that "paying dues" simply means getting good. Don't purposely look for rejection.

I'd tell myself to have self-respect. Anyone with power who asks you to do something that is inappropriate won't help you career-wise anyway, so it's useless to do it. Even if it's tempting...

I'd tell myself not to be so rigid, dump that man, pay the bills, figure out a day job you like, and for goodness sake, quit being so intimidated by people!

Your turn...

More on Debt and Writing

Pat Gabridge elaborates on finances and writing. As Chris has suggested, I plan on blogging my experiences paying off my debt. I haven't officially enrolled in Financial Peace University yet, though I paid for a lifetime membership during my Dave Ramsey experience. Jethro and I will do it. We both have those little financial organizers that designed for the program. I unwrapped mine this weekend, and gave the other one to him. We chatted for a while about it. Figuring out a budget will be key.

I have a feeling that starting it is the hardest part, though Baby Step #1 shouldn't be a problem for me. I'm almost there anyway.

Throughout my life as a writer, I've had periods of money and periods of poverty. Neither has taught me how to deal with money. Poverty is no way to live.

I also don't buy the idea that I have to settle for poverty to do what I want in life. Yes, that includes theater.

More progress as we figure out what the heck we're doing, and how the heck we're doing it.

Writing and Spirituality

A few weeks ago, I began thinking about the role spirituality had in my own writing. I've had a long attraction to writers who integrate their brand of spirituality into their work. Writers like T.S. Eliot, Natalie Goldberg, Hildegard Von Bingen, and Alice Walker have earned my admiration because they search for the meaning of life on their terms.

To me, one of the most important qualities of being a writer/artist is to remain teachable and keep an open mind. I think that's probably why I'm disappointed at the quality of the discussion going on right now about theater and religion.

So here's what I'd prefer to talk about: How do your spiritual beliefs figure into your work? If you believe in God or Gods, does it play a role in your work? Are you inspired by that? How exactly does it work for you?

If you don't believe in a higher being or spirit, how does that figure into your writing?

For me, I'm a bit more of a hippy than I'd care to admit. I spent most of my 20s in San Francisco, so I've been exposed to most alternate forms of spirituality. I've called myself a number of different things through the years. Yes, I attended - and graduated - from a seminary, but it was an unconventional one. The most important quality about my years there was allowing others to have their own beliefs.

I've already mentioned how my spirituality plays into my writing. I do believe there is a God, but I also respect that others don't.

So comments are open. I think we can talk about this in an adult and calm fashion. I don't want anyone attacking anyone else over their beliefs. And if you'd like to be anonymous, feel free.

Testing Yourself

Despite all of the outside validation, ten years ago I didn’t feel like a writer. I felt like I lacked certain experience, but I couldn’t figure out what I needed. More rejection? Maybe I needed more doubt.

Silly, but I’ve always been skeptical about writers who experience early success. Would they still write if they didn’t have encouragement? If critics hated their work, would they continue to write?

I didn’t know if I would be able to withstand rejection. Sometimes, over the past ten years, I’ve purposely looked for rejection. I’ve set myself up for failure as a test.

Do you have doubts about your work?
Have you ever tested yourself?

Replenishing

Ten years ago, I made a decision to heal my creativity. It felt like the flow just wasn't there. The river was in past time, my perspective had changed and it needed to be brought into the present.

I remember that my creative rehab became the sole focus for a while It began with meditation and visualization healing work. I dug deep and addressed some wounds that I had sustained. I read (and did) Julia Cameron's The Artist Way. I painted, wove poetry and collaged my fears and blocks.

After that, I made a decision to look at my scrutinize my life. I wrote my life story, looked at past interactions, and discovered patterns that were making me unhappy.

When I finished with all of that, I surfed an unforgettable wave of creativity. I also experienced a profound sense of peace.

Ten years is a long time, and much has happened between then and now. I finished a major project exactly a year ago. It felt like an ending; a form of expression was finished.

Now, it's time again. Time for a creative rehabilitation. Time to look at what my relationship is with writing, to re-own my creativity. Its time to assess the past decade as well, to assign meaning to what's taken place.

As my spine undergoes its daily realignment at the chiropractor, so must everything else I guess. That's probably what Louise Hay would say. The physical is merely a symptom of the emotional, mental and spiritual.

So that's my writing project, for the time being. I do have the urge to start new projects, but I'm afraid that I'll simply be going to the same old well again.

What do you do to replenish your creativity?

On writing violence

Whenever a theater person gets into serious trouble, Jethro is always quick to tell me about it. Usually his email will give me the straight up news, followed by something like, "What's going on with theater people????"

He did it with the Alabama church fires, and it did it again today.

Still, I didn't want to be the first to this bring this up. Isaac did. Dan Trujillo wrote about it as well. So now I feel like I can mention it.

As a writer, I regularly explore areas in my psyche that I would never actually want to manifest. I may write about a killer, for instance. That doesn't mean I want to murder. For those who believe art is cathartic, writing about such things could be a sign of health.

On the other hand, there is a relationship between the writer and what's being written. I wrote some heavy-handed suicidal poems when I was younger; it was far more realistic than I'd care to admit. Undoubtedly, if I did something ugly back then, people would've pointed a finger at my work.

But there's a difference between exploring the shadow and planning out violent fantasies via theater.

I've had long periods of writing about rage, pain and hurt and I'd like to think I'm a healthier person for doing it.

However, as a playwright I'm mapping out an experience for the actors to share with an audience. Therefore, I have to think about other people. Will they want to take the ride with me? What are they going to get out of it? Is it going to leave them feeling disgusted with themselves? With humanity? With life in general?

I'm not saying there are right answers to these questions. I'm only saying that they're worthy of consideration, especially when dealing with shadow material.

Regarding the killer's work, I'll say this: I have no plans on reading it. Writing is not only about words; it has everything to do with energy. Even as I write this entry, I'm conveying meaning on a variety of different levels. The best writers are conscious of these levels and can work within them. The rest still work with it, but they usually end up exposing or sabotaging themselves. Sort of like a subliminal message of sorts.

A well-known serial killer could write a happy song, and I'd still be creeped out. I suspect that you'd be weirded out as well. You may not know why, but you'd feel it anyway.

So while his work might've been disturbing, I'm willing to bet that people picked up on the subliminal stuff. A happy kid could've written a violent story, and no one would've thought a whole lot about it, other than "Gee, I wonder where that came from."

It's not the topic, it's about energy and intention. Unfortunately, we don't work within a subtle culture. Everything is literal. It makes me wonder how many other writers will now be castigated for choosing unpleasant topics. Quite a few, I bet.

Looking back at a younger self

"... Actually, I believe that we were all put here for a purpose. I think, sometimes, when I am depressed, that I was put here to write, act and think and to help others.

But now I look at it like the whole world being composed of salt and pepper. With this in mind, I can safely admit that I am here because I am part of the human race. My higher power can use me any way he'd like but my general purpose to be here is because I am here. I used to toy with the idea that because people only use 10% of their total capacity of thinking that they must only think, see, feel, smell, taste 10% of the earth."

--- a writing journal from February 24, 1987

I wrote that passage when I was 16 years old. My high school teacher made us keep writing journals. The first 5-10 minutes of class was spent writing whatever we wanted to write. Then, we'd move on to our normal assignments.

For years, I kept the writing journals in a plastic envelope, stuffed with old high school poetry and stories. As an attempt to get my papers into some kind of order, I leafed through the envelope. I was surprised what I saw.

These poems were the ones that got me into college. It certainly wasn't my C average or my SAT scores. Yet, I've kept everything hidden in a closet. It wasn't meant to be taken seriously since I was young and silly.

Last night, I developed an appreciation for the poems. It changed the way I viewed my history.

There was a fearlessness back then, along with an authenticity. And yes, innocence. I've long associated innocence with stupidity. Experience was the only anecdote.

But along with experience came cynicism and pretention, which can only hinder good writing. And good living.

While an online dictionary defines innocence as a lack of knowledge or understanding, it also means simplicity. It could also be an openness of sorts.

Innocence is required of all creative endeavors, yet it's not exactly a celebrated quality. Is it?

To write, act and think and to help others... The most influential people in my life have taught me to help others. My first writing mentor told me that, in the end, that's all life is really about. He was right.

The way you live your life can help or hinder your creativity. Remind me about it every now and then.

For All the Writers Out There

I feel *clean* after finishing a writing project. That's the best word for it. Clean.

Though I wouldn't call the writing a purge. I don't know what I'd call it.

So I ask you: What's the feeling you get after finishing a writing project? Is it a clean feeling? Peaceful? Anxious?

Withholding Conclusions - The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit I & II

In contrasting the two Sloan Wilson books, you can see difference between writing in the present about in the present and writing about history.

Writing in the present about the present is best done through description. For example, in The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit, Wilson describes Tom Rath’s current condition of being a war vet trying to succeed as a civilian. Rath feels gloomy and desperate without knowing why. He has an illegitimate son in Italy, and a wife who is constantly comparing their lifestyle to others.

Wilson provides evidence without reaching a conclusion. He doesn’t tell the reader what to think or even how to react. He also doesn’t tell the reader how society in the 50s emphasized conformity. Perhaps he was simply writing what he observed. Maybe he didn’t even know what the conclusion was, exactly.

Or maybe he did and was simply showing without telling. Either way, describing the so-called symptoms of the story without reaching a diagnosis is a powerful writing tool.

On the other hand, writing history in hindsight has all sorts of problems attached with it. The extra layer of “diagnosis” is problematic if you’re attempting to experience the story. Whenever I read a “writing history in hindsight” book, I get the feeling I’m being manipulated. I’m asked to consider only those details that the narrator tells me. Most likely, these details will support the narrator’s judgment/diagnosis/agenda*. Not only do I have to deal with the story at hand, I also have to deal with the current perspective/life of the narrator.

Wilson makes an attempt to rectify this “current perspective” issue in The Man in the Grey Flannel Suit II by concluding the book with a look at Tom Rath’s current life, circa 1983. This “happily ever after” conclusion was annoying, though it also explained why he told certain events and not others.

Ultimately, historical writing is trickier because history is constantly being reframed to fit present circumstances. Perhaps the best way to write history is to write the details of it, without drawing a conclusion. Tough to do, especially when dealing with political history. Writers have to include show/write details in such a way that the reader doesn't feel manipulated into drawing a particular conclusion.

I felt a tremendous pressure to come up with the “proper political conclusion” while writing about the 1968 Democratic Convention, for example. The thing that got me through (and gets me through as I continue to work on it) is that no one in the story knows what the future holds.

Which is why drawing a conclusion about the present when writing about the present is also a bad thing.

But maybe, its conclusions that are the bad thing.

*Yes, wisdom gained through experience could also be called an agenda. Any belief or conclusion about an experience could be defined as an agenda if I am asking someone else to believe the same conclusion. Through this definition, an agenda could be my opinion about a book, the way I view paintings or the way I write plays. Sharing a thought is one thing, trying to gain support for that opinion or thought is another.

Got fragments?

It's an odd process. I didn't realize that this is how I write.

It's like this: I spend years writing fragments. Then one day, for no particular reason, I'll start piecing the fragments together.

When I wrote the fragments, I didn't think of placing them in a larger work. There was no intent, other than writing in the moment.

These fragments are a jigsaw puzzle. I usually have to edit the passages a bit, but it's as if I had it in my mind all along. This is how it's going to turn out. Except I didn't know it until I strung the fragments together.

I suppose that's the way it is with life as well. Each experience is part of a larger body of work, even if I didn't know it at the time.