Being a Creative Writer

by William Alan Rieser

Writing is simply a matter of sitting down and doing it according to the pundits who argue that rewriting will iron out the difficulties. Like all single lines of advice and wisdom, the statement lacks the clarity of depth and the scope of reality. Everyone can undoubtedly write meaningful phrases. Most of us do so to please ourselves. Some, with a modicum of planning and care, manage to please others. Few are capable of being creative and joining the literati because that requires painstaking work and a devotion to the method formed by a lifetime of conspicuous attention to minor details and nebulous, inexpressive things. To understand this better, and to gain success, not necessarily financial, at writing, one needs to delve into motivations, the psychological reasons behind the desire to inscribe memorable narratives.

Artistic creativity, whether painting, sculpting, composing music or crocheting a pastoral tapestry with billions of hummingbird feathers, develops through four primordial states of consciousness in random order. Every artist experiences them and experiments with how they affect him or her. It does not seem to matter which comes first or which predominates. They are called inspiration, illumination, incubation and modification. No work of art ever reaches fruition without its progenitor undergoing all four of these conditional factors. They are the mind enhancers that transform vision to product, the self-consuming guides of intellect that govern the change from thought to deed.

Inspiration is, of course, self explanatory for the most part. It is that portion of ourselves which formulates desire and need, the coveting of a precious concept, the cradling of a newborn thought as suggested by a real or imaginary stimulus. It can also be the source of plagiarism and must be tested to prevent that. No original work of art is uninspired, not even the paintings of Cy Twombley or the seemingly incoherent rambling of mad poets. Something always triggers the imagination to search the void of our brains for a minuscule, fresh seed of thought, hopefully one that will respond and grow if we tailor its environment.

Illumination recognizes worthiness and seeks the ways and means of aiding the inspiration with that which will foster development. Sometimes it occurs before an inspirational idea, preparing the mind for an as yet to be conceived solution. It is often compared to the kindling of a flame where a concept, perhaps a discarded one, is given new life by the reasoning process. There is a kind of closed circuit feedback arrangement between this brightening of the playing field and that which inspired the game, one that makes writers cross out words or tear up pages and replace them with others. Illumination shines a spotlight on the tiny idea and throws it into the central circus ring for the audience of the mind, completely in the dark, to see and appreciate.

Incubation is that part of ourselves that questions everything, the mental detective that seeks to disprove or alienate the idea to such an extent that we shelve it for another time or forget it entirely. Yet, if the seed survives this withering inquisition, it automatically matures with sufficient strength to endure manipulation, testing and even harsh, unyielding critiques. If the idea is good enough, it will pass. Otherwise, it will die as it should. It is often the impetus that forces change, the cause that muscles alterations so that the final product is wholly viewable to its conceiver. Any artist who claims not to have considered revising his work is deluding himself. It always happens. Mozart and Michaelangelo may seem to have created their works with rapidity in an endless flow of effortlessness, according to their observers, but their own words reveal the ponderous longevity of their thinking, however brief it may appear to us.

The final condition is modification, usually the last to surface realistically but not necessarily the culminating act. Change can be considered before any of the others, but because it affects the product via the senses, it seems to dwell at the end. Most artworks endure alteration. I would be wrong to insist that they all do because that would deny genius. Nevertheless, even the greatest amongst us produce revised presentations since hindsight is more prevailing than foresight. The medium is affected rather directly, because sculptors cannot add marble nor can editors reedit published material.

Hopefully, these comments will put the creative process in perspective. For the writer, there is still more that determines success, things like erudition, the ability to turn a phrase, descriptive proclivities and the talent required to reach and impact the common or targeted reader. There are the non-writing skills that I leave to the exploration of others. For the most part, however, a comprehension of the process described above is at least instructive if not altogether illuminating.

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