Thinking About Creativity

And a Weekly Writing Prompt

Curiosity and Creativity

Last Friday I was invited to share my work with the residents of Buffalo Hill Terrace, a senior living residence in Kalispell, Montana. The hostess, a delightful resident who attends numerous arts and literary events throughout the area, curates visiting guests for Buffalo Hill (earlier in the day residents had been treated to a performance by an accomplished violinist from the area), and maintains their library, is someone I first met through a similar event and because she is good friends with another area writer, Debbie Burke. Debbie was kind enough to attend and even offers a good synopsis of my talk/conversation on her blog. I had titled the talk “Curiosity and Creativity,” an elemental enough notion, particularly in the relationship between the two, but one with enough legs to get us into interesting terrain. Early in the conversation, I asked the group to share some of their own creative endeavors and their thoughts on creative experiences, something Debbie captures in her blog. A number of the women spoke, and all inspired me with their realizations and their wisdom, but the first woman to volunteer caught my ear and planted something in it. She spoke of quilting, her passion for it when her hands were nimbler and of the friendships that had come from participating in quilting groups. We talked about the power of what quilts so often represent, sometimes group efforts, often patchwork projects where the material come from different sources or, sometimes, from intimate ones, like quilts that are made from baby clothes or items donated after someone’s passing. Some become collaborative projects. Often solo projects are enrichened by working on them among friends and fellow artists, quilts fueled as much by conversation as by handwork, sharing of another sort. Echoing experience by journeyed artists across all disciplines, she spoke of a large quilt that had been donated to a commons room at Buffalo Hill, a work that she might not identify with for its aesthetic decisions or color choices but one she clearly admired for the quality of skill exhibited and work it revealed.

And then she took us to another universal of creativity and why the arts can climb inside of us and evoke emotion. Her voice wavered just a bit as she spoke of the time after her husband passed, and how, knowing she was in need of community as solace for her grief, she visited a quilting group at a local quilt shop. There she found the welcoming comfort she was looking for and the return to social activity she had avoided for too long. “I stepped into the room,” she said, “and almost immediately the shop’s owner gathered her in a hug and said, ‘Come with me. I know exactly the quilt you need to see.’ You know, she was right. That quilt now hangs above my bed.” She reached up and touched her heart with her right hand as she spoke, lightly, a small gesture of the memories and emotions she harbored there.

(This image is a section of a group quilt by “Good Heart Quilters”)

Her story, like those of her friends that afternoon, reminded me not just about the universal qualities of why art matters and how broadly defined creative enterprise can be, but also about how important it is that we share the creative parts of ourselves. I’ve been very lucky. My work has gathered small accolades and an embrace from some in publishing and bookselling in the formal sense, but Friday was a reminder that the really meaningful part of having creative work out in the larger world is in the chance to connect with others, to talk about the experiences and the art and the people that move us with strangers who speak with passion and conviction and who are open to new ideas.

Over the weekend, in response to an email from a French writer whose work I adore, I found myself reflecting on the Friday visit and on thoughts I shared in a book club group discussing Man, Underground at a library the week before as I sought to address her sense of feeling lost and confused and anxious about having part of her memoir appear “in the wild.” With a core part of her story out in the world where strangers and family alike might read it, she felt conflicted, vulnerable especially to the people she loves the most. There is strange intimacy that comes with sharing our creative work. In the case of writers, reading requires an act of intimacy that brings readers close to the stories we share on the page, and thus to pieces of us, even if fabricated, an intriguing intimacy most of us otherwise share only with our closest family members and friends. That’s fearful to think about. Powerful as well. It can be touching and can connect us. As a species, I think we are too fearful to have the sorts of startling, honest, revealing conversations that would probably benefit us most. We vacillate between not wanting to harm others with our ideas and creating confrontational settings instead of finding a way to communicate, listen, learn, expose. So some of write some approximation of the substance behind such conversations. Some of us, even within fiction, likely open the door to silent conversations as a result. On our best days, perhaps we help readers address ideas long floating disjointedly in their minds or confront notions they can’t always admit to having. When reading can become a two-way street—a conversation—like happened on Friday, there’s little that is more meaningful.

Writing Prompt: Musical Tinkering

I had a question from a member of a book club the other day about the role of music in my work since it is very dominant…which got me thinking playfully and then I was further prompted by a funny text exchange about song titles and eye color with a dear friend who shares some of my musical obsessions…so here it goes:

Think of a musician/songwriter you consider to be a great lyricist; next choose a favorite song by this songwriter; finally, pick a line or two of the lyrics that stand out to you (maybe you just like the turn of phrase or maybe the line speaks to you for a personal reason or maybe you think it speaks to something universal). Write it down. Now, choose another musician/songwriter and do the same thing again. (Feel free to do this several more times if you want to up the “difficulty” rating—think gymnastics or diving scoring; after all the Olympics are two weeks away.) And now, you guessed it, write a scene that either incorporates the lyrics you have chosen, steals some of their imagery, builds on their spirit, finds their point of connection…whatever you see fit that puts some of this language or the ideas that inspire it to work. (This is writing, folks; there are no rules here, so experiment, bend, alter, interpret however you see fit.) Feel free to share the result in the comments or just share the lyrics you love; not a writer but somehow you’ve still read this far? (I suspect I have news for you, friend), you’re still more than happy to share lyrics you love and why.