CREATIVITY

• “Ten Obstacles to Creativity–And How to Overcome Them,” Cheryl Reif, Cheryl Reif Writes: Be forewarned; Cheryl has links to enough books to occupy you for weeks; make sure you come up for air and actually create.
• “4 Steps to Create Boundaries for Your Creative Work,” Marianne Mullen, Awaken Creativity: A fave creativity guru of mine, I had the good fortune of meeting Marianne and her husband in person for the first time after my MFA residency in Montpelier, Vermont, last month. Ah, the power of Twitter as a connector.
• “Why Are You Really Procrastinating?” Joe Bunting, The Write Practice: In a word? Fear. Speaking of Twitter connections, I hope to meet Joe in person while we’re both at the AWP Conference in Chicago next week.

WRITING

• “Web Extra: A Field Guide to AWP,” Courtney Maum, Tin House: An amusing list of types of writer stereotypes. I’m writing a travel memoir, so as a memoir writer I must be a fleece-wearing woman bearing snacks.
• “How Long-Form Journalism is Finding its Digital Audience,” Louis DVorkin, Forbes: As both a fan and occasional practitioner of long-form journalism (my quasi-journalistic post on my recent White House visit ran nearly 3,000 words), this column pleased me greatly.
• “What is the Recipe for a Great Blog Post?” Ann Tran: I invite you to sign up for my class at The Writer’s Center titled “Writing Compelling Blog Posts” to learn my thoughts, or click this link and learn from ten other bloggers. I forgive you in advance for taking the easy route.
• “Writing on the Ether,” Porter Anderson, Jane Friedman: I thought I’d wrap up with a link to one of the most comprehensive round-ups you’ll find on the Web, a regular feature compiled by one social media star (Porter) for another (Jane). I’ll be looking for Porter at AWP as well; I’m such a rebel, engaging with people in person.

A preview of coming attractions: On Tuesday, February 28th, I’ll be showcasing a guest post from an accomplished author with great writing tips. Later in the week, watch this space for “AWP Nuggets,” as I post short takes on the highlights of the Association of Writers and Writing Programs Conference in Chicago. If you’re attending, let me know!

This photo was taken about an hour before the one in my masthead, also in Wyoming. Yes, I'm driving and operating a camera at the same time. Kids, do not try this at home.

I’ve been reflecting on the unpredictable nature of my art-committed road as I prepare to attend the Association of Writers and Writing Programs (AWP) annual conference in Chicago, Illinois, February 29th to March 3rd. I plan to post “AWP Nuggets” from the conference, not unlike my “MFA Nuggets” from my winter residency with the Vermont College of Fine Arts. I’ve also promised Dinty W. Moore that I will write a guest blog from AWP for the Brevity blog.

I attended AWP last year in Washington, D.C., and posted a summary of the conference after the fact. But so much has changed in the past year.

When I walked the trade-show floor at the 2011 AWP, I was approaching every table and booth affiliated with MFA programs. I sought not just to find one that suited my desires–low-residency, creative nonfiction–but also to learn more about what an MFA really is and why I would even want to pursue one. A year later, I’m in my second semester with VCFA, and plan to perform a short reading at an event for VCFA students and alums the first afternoon of the conference.

In 2011 I marveled at all of the literary journals that were exhibiting at the AWP, and wondered what it would be like to be published in one. This year a personal essay I wrote around the time of that 2011 conference will be available for sale at one of those trade-show booths in a brand-new print anthology.

I felt a bit out of step at last year’s conference. I knew I was a writer; I had earned a living with my words for twenty years. But I thought it disingenuous to refer to myself as a creative writer, and most certainly I wouldn’t have entertained the label literary writer. As I prepare to attend another AWP, I still don’t feel completely in sync. Most of the attendees there have experienced far more time in the formal study of both creative writing and literature. I teach blogging at a local writer’s center; many of the other attendees teach creative writing at colleges and universities.

Another photo from I-80. Why go around an obstacle when you can go right through it?

But one of the beauties of the art-committed path is that there is always open road in front of you. It’s easy to look around at the amazing attendees and speakers at a conference like AWP and measure oneself as falling short. But it’s rewarding to instead look around and see one’s own potential, to imagine what might be waiting behind that rocky ridge.

For the past year I have been in full learning mode, greedily consuming the wisdom of others while staying open to possibility. It has served me well. A week from now I’ll be dining well at AWP, and I’ll be sure to share generously from my plate.

If any of my readers are planning to be at AWP or in Chicago, let me know!

CREATIVITY

• “How to Be a Complete and Utter Creative Failure,”Dan Goodwin, A Big Creative Yes: It’s the same advice entrepreneurs give: Redefine what failure is, take ownership of falling short of your goals, and learn from it.
• “12 Simple Ways to Unleash More Creative Thinking,” Jeffrey Cufaude, Idea Architects: A common element of many of this is that we should break routine.
• “Brainstorming Addiction: How to Stop Dreaming and Start Doing,” Carla Young, MOMEO Magazine: #1: Shorten your timelines.
• “A Juggler’s Guide to Creating Time for Creativity,” Sue Mitchell, Your Muse is Calling: Are you a creative who does not wrestle with other obligations of life? Congratulations! Feel free to use that time to read every one of my previous blog posts. Enjoy!

WRITING

• “What Advice Would You Give to Someone About to Write a Novel,” Hunger Mountain: Advice from novelists Dorothy Allison, Charles Baxter, Connie May Fowler, Thomas Christopher Greene, Pam Houston, and Dani Shapiro.
• “Three Things That Happen When I Judge for a Contest,” Michelle Davidson Argyle, The Literary Lab: Her first criterion is what you find everywhere, from agents to editors to blog readers: “Judge the beginning.”
• “Prologues: Please Use Responsibly,” Roz Morris, Nail Your Novel: Are you providing value-added information, or an “info-dump for its own sake”?
• “How to Write Memoir? 1. Forget writing prompts and exercises. 2. Stake out your territory,” Marion Roach Smith, She Writes: No offense to those who write and/or use writing prompts, but as someone writing a travel memoir, I can attest that writing prompts are absolutely useless to me. (grumble)

BLOGGING

• “How do you Blog Part III: What Should You Blog About?” Anne R. Allen: One dilemma bloggers face: “There are already, like, a trillion writers out there lecturing the blogosphere about how to write vivid characters, prop up saggy middles and avoid adverbs. A lot of them probably know more than you.”
• “Please Don’t Blog Your Book: 4 Reasons Why,” Jane Friedman: Yes, some bloggers have seen their labor of love turn into a book. Jane explains the pitfalls of attempting that, including reason #2: “Blogs can make for very bad books.”
• “The Ultimate Guide to Guest Blogging,” KISSmetrics: A very lengthy post, but it begins with an excellent point: “Determine your guest blogging goals.”

Here’s a question for you, gentle reader. Which would you prefer from The Artist’s Road on Friday? A Creativity Tweets of the Week? Or a traditional blog post? I’ve done both in recent weeks, and am curious to see which provides more value to my readers. If you have an opinion, feel free to share it below!

Overly simple, perhaps borderline trite. But consider this. Yesterday in Washington began with the White House releasing its annual budget, the first volley in what promises to be a year-long partisan exchange of vitriol and venom. Four hours later I found myself in a moment liberated from ideological divides, incongruously at an event in the White House itself.

Was it coincidence that President Barack Obama chose to grace the necks of the 2011 National Medal of Arts and National Humanities Medal winners with their prizes on the same day as his budget release? The President himself hinted it was not. “Michelle and I love this event,” he told the audience gathered in the White House’s stately East Room, beneath the glint of television production lights off of 18th Century chandeliers. “This is something we look forward to every single year.” Who wouldn’t choose rubbing elbows with the likes of poet Rita Dove and actor/director Al Pacino over sparring with Republican congressional leaders Mitch McConnell and John Boehner?

(See photos of each recipient except André Watts–who had a performance scheduled in Salt Lake City–in the slide show below.)

Click to view slideshow.I stood pressed into the back of the room, behind the gold rope used to cordon us reporters from higher levels of humanity. The East Room was considered imposingly large when built—those dining with Thomas Jefferson felt the warmth of four fireplaces—but it is dwarfed today by the scale of modern architecture. Organizers could only fit in a few rows of chairs, forming a semi-circle around a temporary stage boasting only a podium bearing the Presidential seal. I stood beneath one of those tall TV light cranes, shoved in front of one of those now unneeded fireplaces.

As the audience drifted in, a few celebrities appeared, their arrival announced by a stir among my colleagues behind the press rope. Washington reporters think nothing of covering a President or a visiting head of state, but we lose our composure when Hollywood pays a visit. Sarah Jessica Parker lingered in the center aisle, as if struggling to find her seat, ignoring her companion who was signaling its availability. The sound of paparazzi gunfire followed, cameras snapping as the phalanx of photographers to my left demonstrated their gratitude for her stillness with shot after shot. In front of me, just beyond the gold rope, sat the breathtakingly beautiful actress Alfre Woodard. I took too many photos of her. She paid me no heed–yet another media hound behind a rope–but I decided I’d tell my wife that she had winked at me.

The back wall of reporters was split in two by gold rope and Secret Service agents, creating a lane leading into the room from two ten-foot tall doors of highly polished wood opened. The doors opened; it was time for the sixteen honorees to enter from what is called the Cross Hall, a rare moment of logic in Washington in that the hall crosses between the East Room and the State Dining Room. The distance to the front-row seats reserved for the honorees was no more than twenty feet, a short walk. But the Arts and Humanities Awards are not unlike a lifetime achievement award, so some recipients—namely Pulitzer Prize-winning poet John Ashbery and music and culture essayist Charles Rosen–needed assistance. Acclaimed painter and printmaker Will Barnet had no difficulty maneuvering his wheelchair. The Arts winners took seats to their right, the Humanities winners went left. Scholar Kwame Anthony Appiah discovered someone was already in his reserved seat, and he forcefully stated his case. After a brief delay, the miscreant relocated to the back row.

I’ve attended presidential events dating back to the administration of Bush the First. There is always an energy in the air. The Leader of The Free World bears a strong presence, regardless of your opinion of him or his policies. But yesterday that energy preceded the President; it entered with the awardees. It was as if someone in that now climate-controlled East Room had turned up the creativity thermostat. I suppose the accumulation of more than 600 years of labor at arts and letters among 16 award winners manifests its own force.

A loudspeaker on the fireplace mantel behind me began playing “Hail to the Chief,” and President Barack Obama walked through those same polished doors. The First Lady walked with him, and she took a seat next to Dr. Jill Biden, the Vice President’s wife, while the President took his familiar position behind the podium.

“The arts have the power to bring us together,” Obama told us. “There’s not a person here today who hasn’t had their beliefs challenged by a writer’s words.” I thought of Dove, the youngest-ever Poet Laureate in 1993, who helped us look at race in new ways. I glanced over at Appiah, who had literally staked a claim to his seat here today, and considered the lessons he has taught us regarding globalization.

It was in fact an impressive list of winners. Mel Tillis, who overcame a stutter to produce more than 60 country music albums. André Watts, wowing audiences at the piano with the New York Philharmonic at the age of 16. Emily Rauh Pulitzer, without whom there would be no Pulitzer Prize for the Arts. And Martin Puryear, a sublime sculptor. When his biography was read to the crowd, the narrator said: “His unwavering commitment to manual skill and traditional building methods offer a seductive alternative to our increasingly digital world.” I nodded, welcoming the seduction of a pre-technology life, while capturing the moment on a digital camera and recording it with an app on my smartphone.

A beaming smile filled the President’s face, a common occurrence four years ago when he was scoring win after win in caucus after caucus, but largely absent since he assumed the office he had fought so hard to win. Framed by portraits of George and Martha Washington, Obama’s voice danced across his listeners as it had in 2008. “Emily Dickinson wrote, ‘I dwell in possibility.’ ‘I dwell in possibility.’ And so does the American spirit,” Obama said. “That’s who we are as a people. And that’s who our honorees are. Each of you have traveled a unique path to get here. And your fields represent the full spectrum of the arts and humanities. With us are actors and poets, authors, singers, philosophers, sculptors, curators, musicians, and historians. We even have an economist, which we don’t always get on stage. But what connects every one of you is that you dwell in possibilities. You create new possibilities for all of us.”

The line about the economist drew polite laughter. But this audience of artists and scholars found far more to savor in those words. And the words connected us.

I witness few true connections in this town. It’s easy in this era of self-constructed digital hollows—in which we converse only with those of like mind, hardening our own ideological biases every time we “like” or “retweet” a politicized post—to become hardened to the possibility of harmony.

And it would be erroneous to suggest that these artists and scholars lacked their own ideological agendas. For many, their art has been a tool they have wielded to fight injustice. But I knew, in that moment, that art can provide connection at a higher level than ideology. We can find a poet’s expression sublime or subversive. We can find a historian’s thesis empowering or enraging. But we can celebrate them for embracing their creative muse and applying their intellect to human advancement.

As the President spoke, about a half-dozen military officers stood ramrod-still in strategic points around the room. In their formal uniforms, with gold strands of braided rope adorning their right shoulders, their high visibility contrasted with the suit-wearing Secret Service agents disguised in equal number. A young female officer I spoke with before the event told me she was in the U.S. Coast Guard. She pointed to her various colleagues in arms. The one in black is Navy, she said. That blue one is Air Force, and there’s another blue uniform, but he’s Coast Guard like me. Thanks to her generosity, I knew it was an Air Force officer who read the biographies of each recipient. A Navy officer handed Obama each medal in turn, purple sashes for arts winners, red for humanities.

All of the uniformed guardians, as they are taught, adopted a serious exterior. I wondered what they thought of the event, if they were trying to be as distant from the festivities as those of us behind the press rope. Did they frequently attend White House events? Had they registered that this was a rare bird, a gathering absent political rhetoric? Did they think back to a moment when a writer’s words had forced reflection? I believe they did. I am convinced of this because I saw a flash of humanity break through the stern visage of the young Coast Guard officer I had conversed with, when she helped John Ashbery to the stage.

“It’s true that we all have songs in our soul that are only ours,” Obama said, after citing Walt Whitman’s “I Hear America Singing.” “We all have a unique part in the story of America. But that story is bigger than any one of us. And it endures because we are all heirs to a fundamental truth: that out of many, are one — this incredible multitude.”

The room was small, and the microphone powerful, but Obama’s voice rose nonetheless. “I hear America singing today. I hear America singing through the artists and the writers that we honor this afternoon; the men and women who are following in the footsteps of Whitman and Hemingway, and Souza and Armstrong, and Eakins and Rockwell. But I also hear America singing through the artists and writers who will be sitting here a few decades from now with another President.”

While Pacino nodded his head, Obama continued. “Somewhere in America, the next great writer is wrestling with the first draft of an English paper.” As dawn broke that morning and White House aides were preparing to release the budget, I was at home struggling with a critical essay for my MFA instructor. I allowed myself a momentary fantasy of sitting on the other side of the rope line, a colored sash around my neck.

“Somewhere, the next great American artist is doodling on her homework.” A few days ago, I sat down with my 16-year-old aspiring artist daughter to review her work on an SAT practice test. Near the end of the math section, I came across a sketch of a pensive young woman. When I asked my daughter if she thought it wise to take precious time during a standardized test to doodle, she told me the process of drawing clears logjams in her head. I chose to accept her explanation. Perhaps the President was speaking of my daughter.

No U.S. President walks away from a microphone without firing off at least one policy position. Obama inserted his at the conclusion of his opening remarks. I hadn’t read the new budget, although I could have pulled it up on my smartphone with a new app the White House recently developed. With all due apologies to Martin Puryear, I would have welcomed that digital advance ten years ago, when on a below-freezing morning I joined the queue outside the U.S. Government Printing Office building next to Union Station, awaiting the 9 am opening at which bureaucrats would hand each of us with press badges three phone books’ worth of federal agency line-items.

As a reporter who covered the arts, I would monitor every year the budgets proposed for the National Endowment for the Arts and its sister institution, the National Endowment for the Humanities. Surely those agencies were front of mind for the President at that moment. In fact, the President had opened his remarks by waving hello to NEA Chairman Rocco Landesman and NEH Chairman Jim Leach. “As long as I am President,” the President said of the arts and humanities, “I look forward to making them a priority for this country.” Thus occurred the only moment during the event in which the President received applause equal in force to those of the award recipients.

Obama’s closing remarks were pedestrian, as he played the thankless role of event coordinator. He told the attendees that they should make their way through the double doors directly in front of him to the Entrance Hall, where a reception awaited them. “The food is usually pretty good around here,” Obama said, receiving the polite humor we give our politicians when they attempt levity.

The crowd gave one final standing ovation for the award winners, and a disembodied voice informed us we were not to move until the President and First Lady had left the room. Barack and Michelle walked down the center aisle and exited through those double doors, followed by the honorees. There would be no reception for those of us behind the gold rope, and the Secret Service wouldn’t move the ropes aside until most of the room had cleared. So I stepped up onto the platform reserved for the television cameras and took in the scene.

Audience members posed for pictures, many making sure the President’s podium—complete with Presidential seal—was in frame. A gaggle of fans made their way to Alfre Woodard, and she gamely posed with each grouping, her smile perfect in each shot.

That harmonious vibrancy I had been savoring began to dissipate. A young White House staffer in a black suit and lavender tie began dismantling the podium. The sound of ripping Velcro echoed off a gold-framed mirror as videographers and photographers opened canvas bags to store their cameras and tripods. I lingered, taking photographs. Perhaps my camera could capture that slipping specter of creative tranquility.

“You need to clear the room,” said a broad-shouldered man in a crew cut. A twisty cord descended from his ear into his suit jacket. While I was looking through my camera’s view finder, nearly every other reporter had exited. I nodded and turned to leave. Ever since September 11^th, we Washingtonians have learned to recognize those with whom we cannot argue.

The only way to exit the East Room and reach the North Portico doors is to pass through the Entrance Hall. The reception was in full force. Some wore red sashes, others purple, but nearly all had glasses of red wine in hand. My camera was still in my hand, so I snapped a quick picture. A stout man with a badge and a gun stepped in front of me, his hands cupped at his belt. I knew the drill. He had every right to confiscate my camera. The reception was not open to press; it was an opportunity for our nation’s cultural and intellectual celebrities to relax without cameras in their faces. But I believe the harmony of the event had carried itself into the Entrance Hall. The officer raised his right hand. But he didn’t reach out for my camera. He waved me on, a slight smile forming on one side of his face.

The sound of angry chanting reached my ears when I walked down the steps of the North Portico into the White House’s curving entry driveway. A crowd of protesters shouted and banged drums. They were just beyond the White House fence, taking up a significant segment of what had been Pennsylvania Avenue before it was converted to a pedestrian plaza after the 1995 Oklahoma City bombings. These individuals were protesting the government of China, and I recalled reading that morning that the President would be meeting Tuesday with the man slated to be that country’s next Premier. The bubble of connection that had enveloped the East Room had popped. Discord ruled once again.

I made my way back to the James Brady Briefing Room, a room much smaller than it appears on television. I retrieved my overcoat and laptop and headed out once again into the cold. This time I was ready for the protestors. I looked away, my eyes focused on the White House lawn, a remarkably vivid green for early February. Leaves of Grass, I thought, realizing the President had put Walt Whitman front of mind.

And it struck me. I didn’t need to linger in the East Room to hold onto the harmonious magic of connection. I could return to that moment in the poetry of Dove, in the scholarship of Appiah. I could accept the gifts of those celebrated leaders of the arts and humanities. I could find inspiration in their own works, and learn how to sing my own soul’s song.

The headline said it all: “The end of lone-wolf capitalism.” For years now digital utopians have first insisted that we all believe in a myth that creativity and innovation comes from solitary thinkers; then they knock down their straw man by pointing to the power of collaboration. Citing the Firefox browser (volunteers maintain and upgrade it) and Facebook (the content comes from us, not Mark Zuckerberg), Neal Gabler wrote this: “In our global, networked economy, the lone wolf is rapidly becoming an anachronism, one that threatens to impede innovation rather than fostering it.”

Hmm.

Perhaps I’m sensitive to the suggestion that creativity practiced in solitude is somehow an impediment to our economy and society. Perhaps it’s because much of my creative energy emerges in solo activity, in particular writing. Creative writing. Journalism. And yes, editorial writing for myself and clients.

My wife endured my Sunday morning rant with a forced smile. But I received more welcome feedback that evening from, of all places, a television commercial. The SuperBowl is the one time each year I don’t use my TiVo to skip through the commercials. Imagine my surprise when I saw this ad for Best Buy, that features Philippe Kahn, cameraphone creator; Ray Kurzweil, text-to-speech inventor; Daniel Henderson, video sharing innovator ; Chris Barton and Avery Wang, founders of Shazam; Jim McKelvey, Square Mobile Pay creator; Kevin Systrom, Instagram creator; Neil Papworth, text message innovator; and Paul and David Bettner, designers of Words with Friends.

I had the honor in 2008 of receiving a VIP tour of the Disney Animation Studios in Burbank. Disney had recently acquired Pixar, but had put Pixar’s team in charge of Disney’s animation studio. It made sense. Pixar had been producing one quality movie after another–Finding Nemo, The Incredibles–while Disney was inflicting us with Home on the Range and Chicken Little. My guide showed me how Pixar’s John Lasseter literally was rebuilding the studio by changing the interior architecture. A large, central space had been carved out in the middle of the sprawling building to create a lounge. Animators were encouraged to mingle in the lounge, to bounce ideas off of each other, to share their art and their story ideas, and seek feedback.

Anaheim's Disneyland is a magical world of lakes and swans. Burbank's Disney Studios is a complex of warehouses and asphalt. Thus, I'm giving you a photo of the moat surrounding Cinderella's castle.

That made perfect sense to me. When I covered DC for an online publication based in San Francisco, I worked out of my apartment, the news outlet’s only reporter in Washington. Most of my journalism career I spent in newsrooms. When you can ask a question of the reporter next to you or walk down the hall to consult with an editor, your journalism improves. I know, because I’ve been in both environments.

The same concept applies to creative writing. Whether you have your drafts workshopped at an MFA residency, with a local writer’s group, or even with a spouse, the feedback helps you grow as a writer and improves your final work.

But that draft of creative writing is still produced alone, from ideas formed in your head. That story that you write in the newsroom is typed by your fingers, with words formed in your head. There are actually digital utopians out there who believe a news story can be crowdsourced, that a novel can be crowdsourced. Will they need constant updates to provide value, like my Firefox browser does?

When my Disney guide and I left the animation building, we continued walking on the studio grounds. We passed a smaller, low-slung brick building with aging windows. The guide told me that the building was where Walt Disney and his animators had been housed. Each window represented a separate room, he told me. An animator would have a specific task–perhaps illustrating Bambi venturing into the meadow for the first time–and all of those individual projects would be combined to produce the final film.

Creatives working alone and yet also collaborating. That seems a good model; after all, Bambi is still delighting audiences 70 years after its 1942 release.

The editorial writer who inspired my Sunday morning rant, Neal Gabler, is the author of Walt Disney: The Triumph of the American Imagination. I have not read the book; I likely will at some point, which will be no surprise to my loyal readers who know my obsession with biographies. I find it intriguing that Gabler, who maintains individual innovators are not only the product of myth but that perpetuation of the myth impedes innovation, would contribute to that myth by writing a biography about a single innovator.

Perhaps the book takes a more nuanced–and accurate–view of its subject, making clear that Disney was a man of great vision and creativity, and that he also knew how to motivate and mobilize a crowd of creatives to produce great art. That was what I learned about him on my Disney Studios tour. And think of those innovators featured in the SuperBowl ad. They conceived of their innovations, but presumably then worked with other creatives to bring their ideas to market.

As a veteran of editorial writing, I know the writer’s job is to posit one extreme and then knock it down with an opposite extreme. But I have little patience for extremist thinking. Let us celebrate the creative spirit and solo effort of individual artists and innovators, while also welcoming the benefits that can come when they share their ideas and collaborate with other creatives.

Thank you for tolerating my rant. Be glad you’re not married to me, thus sparing you daily torture.

What are your thoughts? Is the idea of solo creativity a myth? How does one combine solo creativity with collaboration?

I’m feeling quite empty right now and can’t seem to focus on any one piece of writing.

That’s what a writer friend of mine wrote to all of us in her local writer’s group in explaining why she needed to skip our monthly meeting this evening. She would face no expectation to write at our gathering at a French-style bistro; we gab, nosh, and workshop. But she told us she needs to lie low because something happened recently when she finally submitted a personal essay she had been laboring over for months. “I literally had some kind of separation anxiety/panic attack when I mailed it… I’m just feeling blue because I wake up thinking about [the elements of her essay] and they have moved on.”

The National Institutes of Health defines post-partum depression as “moderate to severe depression in a woman after she has given birth.” Putting aside my annoyance at defining an expression by using one of the words in that expression, this definition cuts to the heart of the matter: A woman spends nine months nurturing a new life in her womb, and then the connection is severed. Literally, in the case of a cut umbilical cord.

A photo of my children taken four years ago at the M&M store in New York's Times Square. My daughter heads off to college in a year, and I'm already anticipating my own separation anxiety.

It’s fair to say my friend experienced a similar trauma when those words she had caressed and shaped for months were sealed into the darkness of an envelope and handed over to strangers. But what can we learn from this analogy that will help my friend find her way back to her creative self? Because I know she’s not the only creative writer to have experienced this, and I have to believe this occurs with painters, composers, inventors, and any other creative you could name.

I’m tempted here to adopt a blogging trope and write a post titled “7 Steps to Post-Post-Partum Creativity.” Pedagogical lists are a favorite of SEO gurus. But as was the case last week when reflecting on possible gender differences with creative writing, I find myself with more questions than answers. So I’m going to jot down some of my thoughts and invite you, my readers, to share your experiences and advice.

• Isn’t this just burnout? I worked for a few years with a D.C. think tank, and our signature event was a high-level policy and business summit in Aspen, Colorado. It would take the better part of a year to plan and execute. When the conference was over and the last CEO was “wheels up” (the term their harried aides would use to refer to when the executive’s private plane had taken off from Aspen’s tiny airport), none of us wanted to even contemplate ever doing this again. Yet, after a month or so, we’d start brainstorming new topics and possible keynoters. Putting on that conference was an execution of creativity, and we were indeed burned out when each conference concluded. But I don’t believe any of us felt separation anxiety; if anything, we wanted quickly to separate ourselves from that otherwise delightful Rocky Mountain village.
• Does solo creativity invite more depression? Before us conference organizers went wheels up in the coach section of a United Airlines puddle-jumper, we’d gather poolside at the 39 Degrees Lounge in Aspen’s Sky Hotel and unwind. We’d share a laugh about the drunken trophy wife of the media conglomerate CEO who shouted an obscenity during her husband’s keynote. By doing so we’d rely on each other to defuse our shared anxiety. My friend can reach out to those of us in her writing group for sympathy, but while we workshopped drafts of her essay, we weren’t an intimate part of her creative process. She gave birth to those words, not us. She alone is carrying that separation.
• Is there advice that isn’t just a cliché? My first advice to her was to find another writing project to shift to; she must have some other project in the works or in mind, and busying herself in that one might help distract her from her separation anxiety. I’d call that cliché “getting back on the horse.” But in that quote above she said she can’t focus right now on any one piece of writing, so by telling her to do it anyway, was I really helping her? Paralyzed stares at a blank screen could aggravate her depression.

I feel I’ve gotten to know this writer over the past year. She is a resilient woman, the mother of two young children who has done better than I did at her age of staying true to an art-committed life. At some point she’ll be in an MFA program, I’m sure, and that program will be lucky to have her. I have every confidence she’ll meet the program’s monthly packet deadlines. But what she’s experiencing right now is real, and I wish there was something I could do to help her.

Any thoughts, readers?

I’d love for you to visit Wordplay, check out my guest post, and if so inclined leave a comment there. I’ll be monitoring the comment field there, and look forward to engaging with you!

CREATIVITY

• “Got Creative Block? Get out of your office and go for a walk,” Bernie DeGroat, U. of Michigan News Service: You can follow this link to read the science behind the headline’s command. Or you can just follow it. I’ll be here when you get back.
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  Here's where you'll find me, reminding workshoppers that the true secret to blogging success is having something to say and saying it well. Or you could do what I do and fake it.

  “The Power of Metaphors,” Michael Michalko, Psychology Today: They’re not just for writers anymore.

• “Vision + Mastery for No-Goals Creatives This Year,” Jeffrey Davis, Psychology Today: It’s okay if you’re not a New Year’s resolutions type of creative. But do you have clearly defined goals? Do you have a path to reaching them?
• “Are You Creative? A Quiz,” Jill Badonsky, guest post on Strangling my Muse: I’ll give you a hint: Jill thinks you are.

WRITING

• “10 Content Ideas that Generate Comments and Shares,” Gini Dietrich, SpinSucks: I’m resistant to posts that advise you on what to write about in your blog, but these are worthy of note. In my blogging workshop I’ll provide one suggestion: What are you passionate about?
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  Picture yourself at this table with me, workshopping others' blog posts. I might just bring snacks. Do you like treats with coconut?

  “Sue William Silverman,” interviewed by Derek Alger at PIF Magazine: A confession: Sue is one of my Vermont College of Fine Arts muses. It’s an interesting interview even without that connection, particularly her discussion of her transition from fiction to nonfiction.

• “5 Questions with Terre Britton, Author, Painter and Lots More,” John Magnet Bell, Start Your Novel: An engaging interview with a talented creative. Interestingly enough, John raises the “Oxford comma” in the Q&A, a grammatical device he eschews in his headline.
• “3 Numbers that Matter to Your Platform,” Jane Friedman: Advice on what matters in your writer platform that will potentially leave you feeling a bit inadequate, especially when Jane reveals her Klout reach. (Perhaps I’m projecting here.)
• “What’s the Problem With Free?” Kristen Lamb’s Blog: A lot, it turns out, if you believe your writing has value. A lengthy but forthright post, with 100 provocative comments and counting.

If you haven’t already done so, share your two cents on potential gender differences between male and female writers on my previous post. We’ve got a great conversation going!

Ever the manly man, on my cross-country US road trip I paid a visit to the Barber Vintage Motorsports Museum outside of Birmingham, Alabama.

I don’t claim to have the answers on differences, if any, between male and female creative writers. I do know, however, that since returning to an art-committed life and engaging in a community of creative writers, I have found myself a minority. I have taken three creative-writing courses at The Writer’s Center in Bethesda, Maryland. I was the only male in one class and one of two in the others. I have been in two 12-student workshops at my MFA residencies, and in both I was one of two male students.

Now the courses and workshops focused on creative nonfiction, with writers working on personal essays and memoir. I’m sure there’s a blog post on why more women than men write memoir, if that is in fact true. But I think that trend I’ve noticed fits into the larger point I’m exploring here, that perhaps women are more inclined to explore their own emotional interiors on the page.

I believe this trend may be true in fiction as well as nonfiction. Last year I read a fantastic memoir in which the author shares when she was a young writer living with an unemployed boyfriend who belittled her and stole from her. Then I read a great novel by the same author about a young writer living with an unemployed husband who belittled her and stole from her. There was little doubt where the inspiration for the heroine came from, but that knowledge didn’t prevent me from enjoying the book.

Here are some of the questions I’m pondering:

1. Is it even true that women write differently than men? Any sociologist will tell you that data outliers exist. The male poets of the Romantic Era certainly wrote about women and love, and Patricia Cornwell doesn’t write romance novels. The question is if those examples are outliers or instead are representative of the fact that there’s no trend to be drawn from the data.
2. 

   I also tapped into my sensitive side on the road trip, as I took in the roses in the Biltmore Estate garden in Asheville, North Carolina.

   If true, is this a bad thing? Ms. Berry seems to think so, but I think her bigger concern is that the young women in her class lack perspective. She wants them to know that broken hearts heal, are broken again, and yet the person grows and survives. But isn’t that really an issue of age, not gender?

3. If true, is it in part a reflection of the audience? We hear about “chick flicks,” which feature tender stories of love and loss, and “guy flicks,” with crazy sex and action. Clearly Hollywood thinks there are gender differences in their audience. And I suspect you’d find more women than men read romance novels, and more men than women (although I suspect a smaller differential) read suspense. It also seems true that more women than men are published romance writers, and more men than women are published suspense authors. So which comes first, the writer’s inclination or the reader’s expectation?
4. If true, are men simply not as introspective? A primary goal in my MFA is to learn how to put myself on the page. I’ve written about that struggle here on The Artist’s Road, and the very act of sharing that with all of you has been difficult. I’ve wondered if part of the reason I seem poorer at sharing than many of my classmates is that men simply don’t reflect as much on their own lives, experiences and emotions as women.
5. If #4 is true, is that a result of societal conditioning? It’s safe to say that men are not encouraged, as a rule, to share their emotions, although frustrated girlfriends and wives may often wish they would share more. I believe society is more supportive now of men displaying their sensitive side (I’m seeing a lot of male politicians crying), but from an early age, girls tend to receive more support and less derision when they share their feelings.

I’d love to know what your thoughts are on this subject, if I’ve raised any good questions, if you have answers for them, or if this subject is even worth discussing. Join me on the third rail. It’s electrifying!

CREATIVITY

• “The Success of Failure: Pulitzer winner’s surprising road to the top,” Todd Leopold, CNN: “Successful people — creative people — fail every day, just like everybody else.” I fail constantly, so by extrapolation I must be very successful and creative.
• “Training Creativity,” Allan Douglas, guest on Creative Flux: Is your muse housebroken?
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  This is the Recoleta Cemetery in Buenos Aires, Argentina, a necropolis I visited in 2006. The vault of Evita Peron is located there. Why am I posting this photo, you ask? Since when have my photos had any relation to my posts?

  “Placing Too Much Importance on Passion,” Jane Friedman: So you’re really passionate about something? Who cares, Jane says: “What matters is how that translates into action.”

• “Study: The Brains of Storytellers and their Listeners Actually Sync Up,” Discover: All creative action involves telling a story, I believe. Thus, all creatives connect with their audience on a neurological level. Cool.
• “Open-plan offices killing creativity,” The Sunday Times (Australia): “Research strongly suggests that people are more creative when they enjoy privacy and freedom from interruption.” That’s true for me. Of course, when I crave interruption there’s always Twitter.
• “Ten Steps for Boosting Creativity,” Jeffrey Baumgartner: #9: “Read as much as you can about everything possible.” YES, I AGREE! #7: “Don’t watch TV.” Um, you know a new season of Archer has just started, right?

WRITING

• “Focusing on Flash Nonfiction: An Interview with Dinty Moore,” Jenny Patton, River Teeth: Hey all you flash-fiction writers. Hear from a fav writer of mine–and the editor of Brevity–on the CNF equivalent.
• “The Delicate Tension of Being a Writer,” Charlotte Rains Dixon: “The pull of the story is always with us.  And that creates a constant tension in our lives.” That sounds about right. That, and looming deadlines.
• “How to Put On Your Own Writer’s Retreat,” Jane Porter: Great DIY advice. Given that currently I have a coconut jones, let me add another suggestion–put out a plate of macaroons between writing sessions.

Here’s to a great February. I hope yours is filled with creativity, coconut, and bacon. You could try engaging the first by combining those last two. If you do, let me know how it worked out.