Creativity

Ex Nihilo, Introduction

By / December 8, 2016 / Art, Creativity, Writing
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Out of the unformed ether of the mind erupt peoples, nations, entire worlds of every kind. By unleashing the raw power of creation, we storytellers breath form and life into entire universes ex nihilo. It’s an extraordinary power, but like most practitioners of magic, we prefer to work in seclusion. We barricade ourselves in our ivory towers, huddled over parchments and keyboards in the dark, not because we’re arrogant or because, like magicians, we believe in closely guarded secrets.

Rather, we hide the details of our work because we’re scared.

We’re scared that if we let you in, you’ll discover the awful truth, that the handful of gems we’ve managed to produce after weeks or months or years is invariably preceded by decomposing mountains of dross, the inarticulate by-products of a creative process that reveals our numerous inadequacies in all their shameful glory.

We jealously guard these imperfect scraps and never allow them to see the light of day. We believe only in presenting our most polished work; we’re certain that to do otherwise would be intellectual suicide.

But today, I want to throw the doors open. You’ll notice I’ve already done a little of this in my Friday Freewrite series. I’ve come to realize that perfection is a foolhardy illusion, that if only I swallow my pride and allow others to encounter my flawed and imprecise methods, I can share a much more authentic, much more human story.

To that end, I’ve decided to post my next blog not in its complete and perfected form, but as a weekly four-part series of intermediate steps.

Below are links to each installment in the series:

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©2015 Jeff Coleman. All rights reserved. For reproduction rights, please contact the author (who happens to be a kind and eminently reasonable man.) Unless otherwise stated, images are copyrighted by various artists and licensed by Shutterstock.

Friday Freewrite

By / December 8, 2016 / Creativity, Fiction, Writing
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What’s Friday Freewrite? Find out here.

Bound by rules I don’t entirely believe1, I wander through the desert in search of answers, a pursuit that surely has no resolution, no termination except in death. Loneliness is my companion. Uncertainty my consolation. I observe the lives of the others, the carefree jubilation of the ordinary things that are a part of everyday life, and I stand outside on the periphery, too turned away from the ways of the world to participate, too doubtful of my order’s doctrine to remain with them. I wander the vast yet narrow no-man’s land of the intersection between, broken, lost and alone.

It seems to me that all of this must mean something2. Surely, this is more than just random chance. I feel so lost, adrift in a dark sea of uncertainty, ruderless3 and without a paddle.

This all feels so superficial, so empty, like a cheap plastic coating. Does this plastic coating hide behind it mysteries worth exploring, or is the plastic all there is, all there ever was?

Sometimes, I feel that if I only squint hard enough, if I only focus a little further, a little deeper than usual, I might glimpse something from between the cracks. Perhaps the thin plastic of ordinary life contains cracks. Perhaps it’s worn and frayed and peeling at the edges. If I only focus had enough, just maybe I’ll see something. If I do, I hope it will be something worth seeing.

I wander through the desert, traverse sprawling dunes, trudge through blinding choking storms of sand, searching through perpetual night, searching for a light, a beacon, some guidepost to light my way and help me find my way home.

Truth eludes me, taunts me from a distance, promising I can find it if only I search dilligently4 enough. Yet it hides from me, flees whenever I feel it might be coming close.

“Just a little closer,” it mocks. “You almost had me.” Then it’s gone.

I’ve wandered through the dark for so long that I fear I’ve gone blind. In the absence of light, I ask myself if I will ever see again, and I find I have no answer.

Footnotes

1. I wrote this psuedo-fictional account of a man on the outside at a time when I was experiencing a lot of doubt about the things I myself believe. I still have those same doubts, and don’t see myself resolving them anytime soon, but I’m doing my best to live my life in spite of them.

2. I firmly believe this, but sometimes my faith is tested.

3. Should be spelled rudderless.

4. Should be spelled diligently.

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©2015 Jeff Coleman. All rights reserved. For reproduction rights, please contact the author (who happens to be a kind and eminently reasonable man.) Unless otherwise stated, images are copyrighted by various artists and licensed by Shutterstock.