March 2022
Author’s Note
So pity this poor parable writer—instead of a muse, I ended up with a committee.
Truly, the entry into the writer’s mind of characters and plot comes as if implanted by an external presence. When I’m in the flow, the implantation can happen at two in the morning—the muse sitting on the edge of the bed, telling me to get up and get this written down. There is a great creativity to it, a sense of inevitability and wonder. The next morning, with a bit of caffeine in the system, well, …
But as long as the flow is there, so is the muse.
Then comes the other side of writing. The side that is full of self-doubt, of the gut punches of someone else’s critical comment, the adjustments and corrections both demand. Those two things, self-doubt and external criticism, feed on each other like the snake eating its own tail.
Editing one’s own work is both impossible and necessary. True enough, for the sake of publication having new eyes (and delete keys) working on the manuscript is helpful. But in reading the feedback, in taking that good hard look at the manuscript again after the muse has gone into hibernation … well, that part is filled with self-doubt. There is so much wrong to see. When it comes to doubt, all one can do is embrace it and have the courage to carry on with the work.
One final comment. I initially wrote this parable about fifteen years ago. Preparing it for publication now I realized that I had to go back and change it. My thinking about these powerful elements of creativity has shifted in that fifteen years. Who’d ever have thought that, eh?
So pity this poor parable writer—instead of a muse, I ended up with a committee.
Truly, the entry into the writer’s mind of characters and plot comes as if implanted by an external presence. When I’m in the flow, the implantation can happen at two in the morning—the muse sitting on the edge of the bed, telling me to get up and get this written down. There is a great creativity to it, a sense of inevitability and wonder. The next morning, with a bit of caffeine in the system, well, …
But as long as the flow is there, so is the muse.
Then comes the other side of writing. The side that is full of self-doubt, of the gut punches of someone else’s critical comment, the adjustments and corrections both demand. Those two things, self-doubt and external criticism, feed on each other like the snake eating its own tail.
Editing one’s own work is both impossible and necessary. True enough, for the sake of publication having new eyes (and delete keys) working on the manuscript is helpful. But in reading the feedback, in taking that good hard look at the manuscript again after the muse has gone into hibernation … well, that part is filled with self-doubt. There is so much wrong to see. When it comes to doubt, all one can do is embrace it and have the courage to carry on with the work.
One final comment. I initially wrote this parable about fifteen years ago. Preparing it for publication now I realized that I had to go back and change it. My thinking about these powerful elements of creativity has shifted in that fifteen years. Who’d ever have thought that, eh?
CREATION WITH A LITTLE HELP
A parable about the creative process
We're supposed to believe it happened in a straightforward fashion. On one day God created the heavens and earth, a few days later she created plants, on another day the animals. A week's work and it was done.
Perhaps it would've been so if God had been working alone. She wasn't. Alongside of God were three, for lack of a better word, celestials. It will be much easier for the telling of the tale if these three celestials were named, so they will be called Doug, Chris and Chuck. As you read the story Doug, Chris and Chuck will surely hover about and you, reader, might do well to watch out for them. If you are not careful, they might just steal the story.
Imagine the creation of animals. God had come up with a pretty workable format, four legs and a head and a tail—dogs and cats and cows and horses. If there was one thing that God was good at, it was variations on a theme. Consider tails. The pigs were given a corkscrew tail because God liked the curve and swish she had put in the dog's tail and wanted to push the idea to the bizarre. Fly-swatting, balance-granting tails definitely worked and God got quite a delight in them. Just before lunch God strung out the monkey's tail, making it longer and longer until it came time for her salad and scone. By the time she came back, after tea and fruit, the monkeys were swinging in the trees and God knew that it was good.
But later that afternoon Doug came along and spoke to God, "I doubt if there is much you can do with the animals' heads."
"What do you mean?" asked God curiously.
"Look at that deer. He looks very much like the elk and the moose and the horse. I doubt if anyone would ever care about the difference between them. God, I’m afraid that you are losing your creative touch."
Now God, on her own would never thought that. But when Doug said it, it was suddenly clear to her. She had to do something. She did antlers. She was pretty pleased.
"They'll never work," Chris’s loud and sarcastic voice echoed throughout the valley.
"What do you mean?" God asked.
"They'll get caught in the trees, hang the poor creature up."
"I'll ... I'll ... " God struggled for an answer.
"And how will you deal with the way antlers will keep growing? We're going to have the poor thing walking around with a coral reef on its head." A sardonic smile crept across Chris’s face.
"He could shed, couldn't he?" But even God was starting to sound unsure of herself.
"Yea, right." Chris mocked.
"I'm not so sure you know what you are doing here," Doug commented.
Chris turned to Doug, not even bothering to look God in her eye. "It just doesn’t work, the way she’s done it. Maybe someday she might come up with something that will be okay, but this just doesn’t do it for me."
God’s eyes met Doug’s and her heart fell just a little. She knew she had to listen to her companions but to do so was so hard. She drew Chris off to the side, settled him down, heard him out. Then coming back she put her left arm around Doug, drawing him in close. She reached her right hand out to Chuck and took strength from him.
Before long she was off again, spinning faster and faster. A stream of animals were coming out of her as if she was right out of control: lamas and gnus, kangaroos (could you believe it?), elephants looking totally preposterous, sheep with wool (it was afternoon and she must have been getting chilly) and then rabbits and more rabbits and more rabbits and more rabbits and ...
"Wait!" God shouted. Dusk was falling and Doug and Chris and Chuck huddled on bleachers off to the side.
"It is good." God declared. And it was, and is, and will always be good. But Doug and Chris and Chuck were secretly pleased with themselves as they watched God make her way off to bed exhausted.
Landscapes are landscapes, right? We all take them for granted, think them beautiful when they are and talk about the weather or the price of coffee when they're not.
Most landscapes rolled off of God's creative pallet with ease. Gentle hills with forests and orchards as examples. God had no problem with those. Where water met land, God did some of her most inspired work. She thought that she just might want to walk the beach for the rest of the day, make an early break of it.
"You'll never be able to handle the dry areas, deep inlands away from the coastal moisture." Doug said. His words were convincing and God fell into a fen of discouragement.
"Badlands," Chris concluded shaking his head in disgust.
"Exactly!" said God seeing the possibilities. She thanked Chris for his opinion, seeing the value in it. She pulled Doug in close again, drawing on his fear and foreboding. Then she reached out for Chuck, taking his hand in hers.
And off she went.
Gully upon gully cut through soil striped with hues of red and brown and gold. Before long God was lost around the corner, out of sight of the three celestials gleefully making dry valley after dry valley, all askew and most certainly out of order. She tumbled weeds over them and dreamt up sunsets and pictured prospectors climbing the impossible banks, their donkeys laden with packs beside them.
Before long Doug and Chris caught up with God and told her that a volcano was erupting, and hadn't she foreseen that would happen? And, would this planet ever be stable? Now God hadn't, and it wouldn't, and she wondered whether those two celestials would ever understand.
Seeing and hearing all this Chuck was delighted. There were rock islands teaming with gulls, moss rotting down in a peat bog simply crawling with all sorts of buggy things, and a dizzying array of stars overhead which no one could begin to make sense of.
But under their canopy God lay, a satisfied smile on her face.
And then, on the final day, came humankind.
God had this idea—it was about incompleteness and sorrow. It was about making mistakes and feeling shame. God knew that she wanted a creature who could laugh for no apparent reason and cry because it hurt. God thought to give her creature emotions.
"I doubt if they'd know what to do with emotions. Why don't you just stick to what you know?" Doug asked.
But God knew what it was like to feel and wanted humankind to know the depth of her own joy and sorrow. She knew that humankind would often struggle with doubts as to her continuing creative and compassionate presence.
Chris lamented, "not emotions! We're sentenced to a history of humankind that will read like a soap opera."
But God touched his lips and let the words die there.
"And ... " she paused long for effect. "I wish humankind to be intelligent creatures. I wish them to know that they can re-shape the world I have created. To cherish it, to nurture it. To keep it green and healthy. Only when they can do that, can they know what my work has been like."
"I doubt if they would want to." Doug answered. But God no longer heard his doubts and he, Doug himself, wasn't really convinced of them either.
"They'll make a mess. It just doesn't work for me." Chris stated.
God knew this and couldn't care less. She stepped back, taking courage from Chuck as she worked her magic on it all, knowing that if creativity was allowed her presence would be popping forward everywhere in ways least to be expected.
Now I told you at the beginning that Doug, Chris and Chuck might try to steal the story away. I have noticed them wandering around and playing with your mind while you read. Doug was saying "I doubt if you'll get anything out of this story, it's a muck-up for sure." And Chris was saying "He's off his rocker this time. Poor guy. The story just doesn't make sense. What a lousy ending. This guy needs to take up oil painting and leave us in peace."
But Chuck was there too, knowing that the fuel of creativity is courage, courage to pursue vision, courage to create beauty in the most unlikely places, courage to know that the final judgement of the creative process is the emotion we feel in its presence. God is there. Truly she is, an exhausted smile on her face.
Perhaps it would've been so if God had been working alone. She wasn't. Alongside of God were three, for lack of a better word, celestials. It will be much easier for the telling of the tale if these three celestials were named, so they will be called Doug, Chris and Chuck. As you read the story Doug, Chris and Chuck will surely hover about and you, reader, might do well to watch out for them. If you are not careful, they might just steal the story.
Imagine the creation of animals. God had come up with a pretty workable format, four legs and a head and a tail—dogs and cats and cows and horses. If there was one thing that God was good at, it was variations on a theme. Consider tails. The pigs were given a corkscrew tail because God liked the curve and swish she had put in the dog's tail and wanted to push the idea to the bizarre. Fly-swatting, balance-granting tails definitely worked and God got quite a delight in them. Just before lunch God strung out the monkey's tail, making it longer and longer until it came time for her salad and scone. By the time she came back, after tea and fruit, the monkeys were swinging in the trees and God knew that it was good.
But later that afternoon Doug came along and spoke to God, "I doubt if there is much you can do with the animals' heads."
"What do you mean?" asked God curiously.
"Look at that deer. He looks very much like the elk and the moose and the horse. I doubt if anyone would ever care about the difference between them. God, I’m afraid that you are losing your creative touch."
Now God, on her own would never thought that. But when Doug said it, it was suddenly clear to her. She had to do something. She did antlers. She was pretty pleased.
"They'll never work," Chris’s loud and sarcastic voice echoed throughout the valley.
"What do you mean?" God asked.
"They'll get caught in the trees, hang the poor creature up."
"I'll ... I'll ... " God struggled for an answer.
"And how will you deal with the way antlers will keep growing? We're going to have the poor thing walking around with a coral reef on its head." A sardonic smile crept across Chris’s face.
"He could shed, couldn't he?" But even God was starting to sound unsure of herself.
"Yea, right." Chris mocked.
"I'm not so sure you know what you are doing here," Doug commented.
Chris turned to Doug, not even bothering to look God in her eye. "It just doesn’t work, the way she’s done it. Maybe someday she might come up with something that will be okay, but this just doesn’t do it for me."
God’s eyes met Doug’s and her heart fell just a little. She knew she had to listen to her companions but to do so was so hard. She drew Chris off to the side, settled him down, heard him out. Then coming back she put her left arm around Doug, drawing him in close. She reached her right hand out to Chuck and took strength from him.
Before long she was off again, spinning faster and faster. A stream of animals were coming out of her as if she was right out of control: lamas and gnus, kangaroos (could you believe it?), elephants looking totally preposterous, sheep with wool (it was afternoon and she must have been getting chilly) and then rabbits and more rabbits and more rabbits and more rabbits and ...
"Wait!" God shouted. Dusk was falling and Doug and Chris and Chuck huddled on bleachers off to the side.
"It is good." God declared. And it was, and is, and will always be good. But Doug and Chris and Chuck were secretly pleased with themselves as they watched God make her way off to bed exhausted.
Landscapes are landscapes, right? We all take them for granted, think them beautiful when they are and talk about the weather or the price of coffee when they're not.
Most landscapes rolled off of God's creative pallet with ease. Gentle hills with forests and orchards as examples. God had no problem with those. Where water met land, God did some of her most inspired work. She thought that she just might want to walk the beach for the rest of the day, make an early break of it.
"You'll never be able to handle the dry areas, deep inlands away from the coastal moisture." Doug said. His words were convincing and God fell into a fen of discouragement.
"Badlands," Chris concluded shaking his head in disgust.
"Exactly!" said God seeing the possibilities. She thanked Chris for his opinion, seeing the value in it. She pulled Doug in close again, drawing on his fear and foreboding. Then she reached out for Chuck, taking his hand in hers.
And off she went.
Gully upon gully cut through soil striped with hues of red and brown and gold. Before long God was lost around the corner, out of sight of the three celestials gleefully making dry valley after dry valley, all askew and most certainly out of order. She tumbled weeds over them and dreamt up sunsets and pictured prospectors climbing the impossible banks, their donkeys laden with packs beside them.
Before long Doug and Chris caught up with God and told her that a volcano was erupting, and hadn't she foreseen that would happen? And, would this planet ever be stable? Now God hadn't, and it wouldn't, and she wondered whether those two celestials would ever understand.
Seeing and hearing all this Chuck was delighted. There were rock islands teaming with gulls, moss rotting down in a peat bog simply crawling with all sorts of buggy things, and a dizzying array of stars overhead which no one could begin to make sense of.
But under their canopy God lay, a satisfied smile on her face.
And then, on the final day, came humankind.
God had this idea—it was about incompleteness and sorrow. It was about making mistakes and feeling shame. God knew that she wanted a creature who could laugh for no apparent reason and cry because it hurt. God thought to give her creature emotions.
"I doubt if they'd know what to do with emotions. Why don't you just stick to what you know?" Doug asked.
But God knew what it was like to feel and wanted humankind to know the depth of her own joy and sorrow. She knew that humankind would often struggle with doubts as to her continuing creative and compassionate presence.
Chris lamented, "not emotions! We're sentenced to a history of humankind that will read like a soap opera."
But God touched his lips and let the words die there.
"And ... " she paused long for effect. "I wish humankind to be intelligent creatures. I wish them to know that they can re-shape the world I have created. To cherish it, to nurture it. To keep it green and healthy. Only when they can do that, can they know what my work has been like."
"I doubt if they would want to." Doug answered. But God no longer heard his doubts and he, Doug himself, wasn't really convinced of them either.
"They'll make a mess. It just doesn't work for me." Chris stated.
God knew this and couldn't care less. She stepped back, taking courage from Chuck as she worked her magic on it all, knowing that if creativity was allowed her presence would be popping forward everywhere in ways least to be expected.
Now I told you at the beginning that Doug, Chris and Chuck might try to steal the story away. I have noticed them wandering around and playing with your mind while you read. Doug was saying "I doubt if you'll get anything out of this story, it's a muck-up for sure." And Chris was saying "He's off his rocker this time. Poor guy. The story just doesn't make sense. What a lousy ending. This guy needs to take up oil painting and leave us in peace."
But Chuck was there too, knowing that the fuel of creativity is courage, courage to pursue vision, courage to create beauty in the most unlikely places, courage to know that the final judgement of the creative process is the emotion we feel in its presence. God is there. Truly she is, an exhausted smile on her face.
Oh, and one other thing. There is further reflection on the dynamic of doubt in my blog post for March 2022. Check it out too.