363 Words to Round Out The Week (About Inspiration & Work)

I like this commercial from ESPN. It’s pretty simple. If you want to play on the big stage, you have to do the work to get there.

I’m doing that ridiculous workout program you see on infomercials late at night right now. In fact, I’m nine days from finishing my first ninety day circuit. (And I’m going to do it again.) When I started the program, I couldn’t do very many push-ups. But every week I worked at them. Now in week twelve I can do quadruple the number I could in week one.

The same is true being a creative. The fundamental thing that always held me back from writing anything was my desire for it to be perfect. But how could it be perfect if I never worked at it? It’s taken me WAY too long to realize this simple truth.

The last definition for inspiration is “an act of breathing in; an inhalation.” I like that a lot.

The body requires oxygen. I learned why in eighth grade science but I can’t recall now, so I just accept that it does. Inspiration in the physiological sense is the oxygen delivery process for the lungs, which in turn passes it on to the blood and so on. Inspiration in the creative sense is the catalyst delivery process for the mind. The thing I like most about this last definition is the implied constancy of it. We are always breathing. Constant inspiration. The day we stop is the day we die.

We are always breathing.

Inspiration is inevitable. Because we are created as emotional beings, we will always intersect with catalysts that send us into that transcendent state. That’s a comforting thought. Before I was always afraid of not being inspired. Now I live confidently that inspiration is always right around the next corner. Always in the next breath.

“What is the result inspiration produces?” If I’ve done the work to play on the big stage, if I’ve placed myself in the path of success, loaded for bear with a double-barrel full of words, full of rhythm and syntax and structure…

I’m working to be ready for that next breath.

497 More Words on Inspiration (& Work)

I spent the better part of the last twenty years waiting to be inspired to write something awesome. I didn’t get a whole lot written. Sure, I started a bunch of stuff, but I could never finish it. The inspiration (that feeling of invincibility derived from a catalyst) would run out and I would wait for the next catalyst to push me further down road.

What a complete waste.

Then in the last few years I started digging deeper into the craft of writing. I spent more time thinking about and working on the mechanics of good writing, rather than relying on talent and waiting for inspiration. In 2010 (in addition to all the stuff I wrote for work) I wrote a both a feature-length screenplay and stage play. I was inspired to write both, but finished them through perseverance, through pushing through that place where there’s no more inspiration and only a mountain of words left to write.

Because if there’s one thing that’s been beaten into me about living and working as a creative, it’s that it’s a habit. You have to get up and do it whether you feel like it or not. Inspiration has little to do with it. It is hard, painstaking, gutting-it-out work. Inspiration has its place as the jumping off point (see the definition: “a sudden brilliant, creative or timely idea), but inspiration is a fleeting emotion that doesn’t get you through the dark night of the soul. (Donald Miller has touched recently on this too. Here and Here.)

The question then, I don’t think should be “what inspires you?” It can actually be counterproductive. We find something we think is the bee’s knees and can’t wait to share with people but when we do we hardly ever get the desired response. A “yeah…cool” at the most. We get our feeling hurt because they didn’t get it. If this happens enough we get bitter. Inspiration wasted. Lord knows I’ve lost plenty of good ideas that way.

So I think it’s important to recognize that the inspiration you experience is for you. It’s your rocket fuel to break out of the centripetal force that’s holding you where you are, but it’s only the stage one booster of breaking orbit. You have to maintain your trajectory after lift off. Stage two. This question I believe, is the important one: “what is the result inspiration produces?”

In that earlier series I wrote, I talked about that symbiotic relationship between faith and inspiration. I believe they are inexorably linked. You can’t have one without the other. The next logical step (for faith and creativity) is found in James. As paraphrased by Rich Mullins: “Faith without works, it just ain’t happening.”

I plan to double my output this year. Two screenplays. Two plays. And I plan on writing at least one of them here in front of you. I have not an ounce of inspiration for any of these four projects.

That’s also for later.

499 words about inspiration

My friend MeLissa has declared this “Inspiration Week” and has challenged people to talk about what inspires them. If you have the time, I wrote about 4000 words on this subject in a rambling, semi-sensical four-part series a little over a year ago. It’s not a list of cool stuff or places to find inspiration. It was a journey of discovery about how symbiotic faith and inspiration are. You can find them (in order) here, here, here and here.

But this post isn’t about that. In fact, I encourage you to leave now before you read what I have to say today about inspiration. It’s not what you’re hoping for. You might even get your feelings hurt. Really.

You’ve been warned.

We think of inspiration as a thing: a piece of art, a good book, an epic movie. But those things are just the catalysts for inspiration. Inspiration is our physiological, emotional and spiritual response to such catalysts. In one of those earlier posts, I gave the definition of inspiration. Here again:

inspiration
noun
1 the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, esp. to do something creative
• the quality of having been so stimulated, esp. when evident in something
• a person or thing that stimulates in this way
• a sudden brilliant, creative, or timely idea
• the divine influence believed to have led to the writing of the Bible.

2 the drawing in of breath; inhalation.
• an act of breathing in; an inhalation.

Look at the first definition. It’s a process. Or the second: “the quality of having been so stimulated…” We sense something that elicits a response in us. Endorphins and adrenaline are released. Our breath quickens. Our hearts pound. A switch is thrown somewhere deep inside and suddenly we’re able to conquer the world. That’s inspiration. Not the thing that did it to us, but our response to the thing. And because we’re all unique we’re all uniquely inspired. The catalyst for one person is not necessarily the same for another. So you could show me cat pictures and illustrations of robots and girls holding hands and I might not feel a thing. (I know. I’m a cold-hearted B. But I’m also thirty-eight with four kids. It’d be creepy if such things inspired me.)

Which makes me think, “Inspiration is a crap-shoot.” It’s entirely subjective to the beholder, and it changes day to day. I.E.: When I was twenty-five I told Seth Worley that “The Crow” was an awesome movie. I was INSPIRED by it. Now I think, “gosh, it’s really dark, and kind of thin, too.” So not only are the catalysts different and unique for each individual, they change constantly.

I don’t know if I like that. This idea that I’ve held so loftily for so long now seems a bit…fickle.

I am a believer in inspiration. True believer. And I want to share with you in the beauty and truth of inspiration.

But that part comes later.

The Creative Doldrums Pt. 2 (but actually 1199)

This is a story about ennui and inspiration. About hard work, about creating, about believing. About hope and it’s fundamental link to real passion and creativity.

About a year ago I developed my own belief of what I hope heaven is. Till then I’d been existing off of other people’s definitions and visions—a mashup of gold streets and big choirs and angels with a lot of wings and bad CCM. Didn’t sound terribly exciting, I mean, I think the angels will be cool, but gold’s not my favorite precious metal, and CCM…well…

Beneath that I knew heaven was better. Better. Had to be. I understood the people trying to describe heaven were reduced to metaphor and simile—how do you describe the indescribable? I knew that, knew they were doing the best they could, but at the end of the day it fell short, and that no matter how they described it with their finite minds and imperfect imaginations, heaven was better.

And I’ve lived long enough in this broken world to Long for Heaven, to have that deep tug from the center of your chest toward that place where suffering and conflict cease. There have been stretches in which I’ve said, “Lord, now’s not so bad…” But still then, even with a Biblical and seminalogical knowledge of heaven, even knowing it was better than anything I’d heard, even with the angels with the wings and the eyeballs, I still had reservations about it’s awesomeness.

But about a year ago I was driving to Ridgecrest by myself late one night, and I was listening to Peter Gabriel’s “Growing Up Live” concert. Towards the end of the concert he does “Solsbury Hill” and they’re on this giant circular stage in the middle of an arena and the stage is actually a revolve—it spins on a motor. Mr. Gabriel jumps on a very English bike and proceeds to peddle around the stage while the rest of the band skips merrily along. All the while singing:

“Climbing up on Solsbury Hill
I could see the city light
Wind was blowing, time stood still
Eagle flew out of the night
He was something to observe
Came in close, I heard a voice
Standing stretching every nerve
Had to listen had no choice
I did not believe the information
Just had to trust imagination
My heart going boom boom boom
"Son," he said "Grab your things,
I've come to take you home."

In that car in the dark by myself on the way to Ridgecrest. I’m singing at the top of my lungs and I’ve never had a truer epiphany. At the end of my days Jesus will show up on a very English bike singing Peter Gabriel songs. And I’ll skip merrily along into heaven. I don’t know. Maybe he’ll have a bike for me too. We’ll sing and skip and cackle like mad men and ride very English bikes and joy will burst from our pores.

Except it will be Better.

I hadn’t thought of this in a while, mainly because I’ve been living in the Creative Doldrums. Actually I’ve been in the Doldrums so long it had soured into what can only be described as ennui.

ennui (änˈwē)

noun

a feeling of listlessness and dissatisfaction arising from a lack of occupation or excitement. (occupation meaning a way of spending time, not a job)

The color had slowly seeped out of my world. Nothing excited me and I began to see only the negative. I would fret about stuff I had no control over. But mostly I would trudge through each day hoping that no one would notice the stuff I was creating had no spark. I was a colorblind man painting by numbers with colors that had no names.

There were occasional bursts of color, mostly from my kids, or I’d get a temporary jolt from a new song or TV show. I consumed vast quantities of media, looking for that elusive inspiration. I’d get a jumpstart from some cleverly written dialogue only to suck all the marrow out of it and I’d be sustained for an afternoon or a day. But inevitably I’d be picking up the colors with no names, painting on numbers with no meaning.

I lost track of time.

Not to say I’d forgotten about Jesus or Relationship. I’ve been reading my Bible regularly, applying the Peterson method as I go: reading slowly, imaginatively, relationally. I read passages I’ve read dozens, even hundreds of times and still came away with new questions. Not really finding answers to them or my struggle with inspiration. I guess you could say my colorblindness seeped into my relationship. I couldn’t see the color in what I was reading. I couldn’t see the beauty, the hope.

Inspiration is a funny thing when you go looking for it. It’s like those floating microscopic things in your eyes. You can see them, but if you try to look at them they float away. So you go stumbling around on this constant search for inspiration, focused on your periphery, hoping the thing you’ve glimpsed that might be inspiration will stay still long enough for you to sidle up next to it. You’re afraid to look directly at it, to look it in the eye for fear that it’s not what you thought it was, that it might not be real, or rather that it is, but by turning your full attention to it you’ll jinx it or ruin the magic. You’ll cause it to float away.

This is how I felt with Don Miller’s new book. Everybody I know that’s read it has gushed about its awesomeness. It’s bad juju for something if everyone around you praises it. It can’t possibly live up to the hype. But I’d already bought my tickets to hear Mr. Miller talk about this book and I didn’t want to be the J-hole that shows up without having done his homework. I’d painted myself into a corner, but still haven’t even bought the book and now the date is only two weeks away. So I did the only thing I could: I crept through the bowels of the ‘Way to the secret entrance of the bookstore and plunked my employee discount card on the counter to get my copy. I took a deep breath and looked it in the eye.

Shannon and I got up at 3:30 Friday morning to get our kids farmed out before we caught a 7:00 flight to Maryland for marriage event we were performing at. I was planning to start it on the plane. But I was also planning on doing a bunch of other stuff, just in case…you know…just in case it floated away when I looked it in the eye.

Inspiration is a funny thing when you go looking for it. When you have great hope for something to be awesome and inspire you and you’ve finally sidled up next to it and worked up the courage to look it in the eye…sometimes it doesn’t float away. Sometimes it looks right back. Sometimes it smiles. Sometimes it winks and grabs your hand and whispers, “let’s go, we’ve got work to do.”

The Creative Doldrums pt 1 (but actually 999)

It is a well-known fact that the only way out of the Creative Doldrums is to create a way out of them.

I think I’ve stated my difficulty with the creative process (and hence, the irony of my chosen profession). About this problem I read a lot. I get a lot of advice. And most of it is at least decent advice. The problem with this is it’s usually of the clinical type. It’s an analysis of the process. And understanding why I struggle is great. I get that. I need that. But at the end of the day there’s still the gap. I’m here. Success (something Created Well) is over there. I have a vision of what I want it to be. Due to my research and received advice, I know HOW to get there. But there’s still this GIANT FREAKING FATHOMLESS CHASM between me and Success.

It’s like I’ve got the blueprints (the vision) and all these tools (received advice) to build the bridge…but none of the actual building materials. And so I stand at the edge of the chasm, toes over the edge, staring futilely to the other side. The only thing I know to do is go hunting for building materials.

This is the process I go through over and over. You’d think I’d have a good idea where the materials are by now. But it’s not lumber and steel and screws and bolts I’m looking for. I’m not even sure what to call these materials…ideas? No. I have ideas. Ideas aren’t the problem. It’s the execution of the ideas I’m hurting for. I think it’s inspiration.

inspiration |ˌinspəˈrā sh ən|
noun
1 the process of being mentally stimulated to do or feel something, esp. to do something creative
• the quality of having been so stimulated, esp. when evident in something
• a person or thing that stimulates in this way
• a sudden brilliant, creative, or timely idea
• the divine influence believed to have led to the writing of the Bible.

2 the drawing in of breath; inhalation.
• an act of breathing in; an inhalation.

Ideas for me are the easy part. I have lots of ideas. The problem is “having been so stimulated” to realize the idea—to turn the Vision into Success. The problem is I’m not inspired.

So where does one go for inspiration? There’s not exactly an “inspiration store.” I look all over. It’s not easy to find. Once we do we suck all the wonder out of it and it quickly loses it’s luster, so we have to find new sources. (That’s because we’re fundamentally broken, but that’s not the point here today.) So the search for materials continues…

I’ve found a couple of minor deposits of inspiration lately: Arcade Fire’s “Neon Bible” (the album).

And this:



There’s an opera in Bregenz Austria that has a venue called the Sea Stage. Seats 7000. Was featured in the latest Bond (the big eye set). This is the set for their upcoming production of “Aida”. Me=inspired.

But not enough to get across the chasm.

And then on the way home, completely out of the blue in a place where I wasn’t searching:

While the world has spent the last week mourning some guy named Jackson, Nashville has been digging out of it’s own tragedy. You can read about it here.

So I’m driving home yesterday and the Nashville sports radio station has gotten Coach (Jeff) Fisher on the air to talk about Steve McNair. I’m not here to get into the circumstances of McNair’s death, and either was Fisher. He merely told stories about his time with Steve. It was honest and refreshing and made me respect this man (Fisher) who already has every ounce of my respect even more.

But here’s where I found the building materials. (two parts, I’ll tell part two first).

Part 2: After twenty minutes on the air (longer than any interview I’ve ever known the Coach to let happen) the host tells Fisher he has to take a break. He lets the coach off the hook by acknowledging they’ve already gone the scheduled amount of time, but asks him what he wants to do. Fisher says, “take the break. I’ll stick around." And then after the break they take callers. This is a guy well-schooled in the art of question deflection. The first rule of question deflection is control the environment (time/type of question/arena) Fisher, understanding our city’s need to grieve, sticks a pin in the rules to talk to people who he knows will ask the worst and hardest questions. He didn’t have to do this. Me=inspired by Coach Fisher’s selflessness.

Part 1: Fisher’s telling McNair stories. McNair wasn’t having a good game. He was making mistakes, getting booed by the fans. And then he gets hurt and they have to take him out. Over the P/A comes the announcement that Neil O’Donnell is coming in and the place erupts in cheers. Fisher describes looking at Steve heading into the tunnel, and seeing the defeat in his eyes. Steve’s given it everything and his fans cheer because he got hurt and had to be replaced.

Two weeks later they’re in another game. Steve’s been on the sideline because of his injury. Toward the end of the game the Titans are down by four and O’Donnell takes a shot and has to leave the game. Fisher looks over at McNair, who winks at him, picks up a ball, throws a few warm up passes, then goes in the game and puts the team in the end zone.

It’s the wink that gets me.

I was coming home from yet another day of crushing creative failure, wondering how to get over it, how to make something happen the next day. Me=inspired by McNair’s resilience.

So today I’m winking at my boss and throwing a few warm-ups (this post), then heading in to build that freaking bridge to Success (idea created well).