July 22, 2008

why i’m writing a book, revisited

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For the last cou­ple of days I’ve been pin­ging back and forth with my book edi­tor over at Pen­guin, Jef­frey Kra­mes. We’re about to work through the final draft.
From what I’ve been told, the hard­back ver­sion of “How To Be Crea­tive” is coming out around Valentine’s day, 2009, give or take a few weeks.
This harks me back to a blog entry I did in Octo­ber, 2004, entit­led “Why I’m Wri­ting A Book”.

I’m wri­ting a book. It’s an expan­sion on a web post I published this sum­mer called “How To Be Crea­tive”.
(NB: The Book Out­line is here)
The pre­mise is very sim­ple:
“So you want to be more crea­tive, in art, in busi­ness, wha­te­ver. Here are some tips that have wor­ked for me over the years.”

I didn’t really have a rea­son for wri­ting it at the time. It was simply one of those lists of everything you wish you had known 10 years pre­viously but didn’t, but had you done so it would have saved you a bunch of time and trou­ble. Edu­ca­tion is expen­sive.
It star­ted off short and sim­ple, but then I star­ted adding little para­graphs to it, explai­ning it all the bet­ter. Then I star­ted adding wee car­toons to it. The whole thing star­ted to grow. And grow.
In the end the list was seen (and is still seen) by a lot of peo­ple. Folk star­ted telling other folk about it. It went viral. After a few weeks of crazy traf­fic the book idea star­ted coming to me.
I had always drawn car­toons, but never really wan­ted to do it pro­fes­sio­nally. Car­too­ning as a day job meant chai­ning your­self to your table, scratching out a living in silence, inte­rrup­ted only by fre­quent trips to the cof­fee shop. I wan­ted to see more of the world than that. I wan­ted to get out, have adven­tu­res, tra­vel, make money, live in the adult world. I wan­ted to be part of the noisy, hustle n’ bustle, big city life. I wan­ted to look out my bedroom win­dow in the mor­ning and see skysc­ra­pers. Car­too­ning was too ‘college town’ for me.
So I got a job in a big Chi­cago adver­ti­sing agency. It was a good choice. It pretty much used the same part of my brain as car­too­ning, the pay was good, the work doa­ble enough and you got to inte­ract with adults most of the time. Plus it also indul­ged one’s fas­ci­na­tion with mass media that all young adults seem to have. I was dead plea­sed to be in the busi­ness.
Still, my first few years in adver­ti­sing were not easy. Wri­ting ads is a tough pro­fes­sion. There are far too many peo­ple doing it, it’s very com­pe­ti­tive, it’s hard as hell to stand out and get ahead, the stress is awful, the future is always uncer­tain, the hours are long, the wor­king wee­kends are many and the poli­tics invol­ved are com­ple­tely insane.
By the late 1990’s I was star­ting to burn out a bit. The job was taking its toll. In spite of this I found myself being offe­red a great new job in New York City, which I jum­ped at.
My first year in New York was a tran­sient time for me. Uncer­tainty about my career and other per­so­nal issues meant ins­tead of sett­ling down like a nor­mal per­son, I was going out a lot. I was drin­king way too much. About this time I star­ted dood­ling on the back of busi­ness cards, just to give me something to do while sit­ting at the bar.
Busi­ness cards are the per­fect medium for a New York barfly. They’re easy to carry around, they don’t attract a lot of atten­tion, they don’t take up a lot of space at the bar, they’re cheap and dis­po­sa­ble enough so it doesn’t mat­ter if you spill your drink on them. They’re a com­ple­tely unfa­mi­liar, baggage-free, expectation-free medium, so it doesn’t mat­ter if you never get a foothold in the gallery or publishing scene. They can simply exist without a lot of fuss.
Peo­ple wal­king past the bar on the way to the bath­room would see this jit­tery, unkempt guy in a tweed jac­ket on a bars­tool, dood­ling furiously and won­der what was up. Some­ti­mes they’d look at my work. Some­ti­mes it would be met with enthu­siasm, some­ti­mes not. Often I was asked if I publish. I’d say no, I don’t.
Saying no would inva­riably get me a funny look. Why was I bothe­ring doing something this invol­ved if I wasn’t plan­ning on publishing it? This is New York, dam­mit; you’re sup­po­sed to have a mas­ter plan for world domi­na­tion etc.
But I had the adver­ti­sing job. I didn’t need the money, not really. The adver­ti­sing paid well enough; even if it was wea­ring me out a bit. I knew how much most car­too­nists make (pea­nuts) and how hard they work (very). It wasn’t a route I wan­ted to go down.
Besi­des, I had been wor­king my ass off for over a decade. Maybe I liked just doing something for no rea­son, for a change. Maybe I liked the fact that these wee dra­wings would never be seen by a wide audience. Maybe I liked not having the pres­sure to suc­ceed at all costs in the fore­front of my psyche. Maybe it made me feel less of an ani­mal to be moti­va­ted by something other than raw ambi­tion.
Maybe I just saw myself swim­ming in this crazy, des­pe­rate, horny, exis­ten­tial, urban, greedhead-frenzy sea of ran­dom bodies, and maybe the act of sit­ting at the bar and dood­ling for no rea­son was my little anti­dote for it. My little piece of drift­wood to cling on to.
It is a very agreea­ble fee­ling, when you know you have something spe­cial and won­der­ful hap­pe­ning, but you don’t feel any par­ti­cu­lar need to let every­body know about it. I knew the car­toons were good, I knew I could do something with them. But I also knew the publishing mar­ket. I knew those media folk weren’t ever going to make my life easier. Ins­tead of wai­ting to be dis­co­ve­red, I was doing the oppo­site. I was deli­be­ra­tely kee­ping them from the commerce-minded peo­ple, who I just knew would spoil everything the moment I let them anywhere near.
Then the inter­net came along and chan­ged everything.
I’m not sure how I got into the inter­net so hea­vily. It just snuck up on me. One day I just built a web­site and star­ted pos­ting my dra­wings on it. A few months later 9 – 11 hap­pe­ned and all hell broke loose. Peo­ple were being laid off all over. Peo­ple were at home, sur­fing the inter­net. I guess that’s when my work star­ted get­ting noti­ced. Peo­ple star­ted blog­ging. I star­ted blog­ging, too.
The world has chan­ged since 9 – 11, any­body who thinks dif­fe­rently is a fool. And for some rea­son I find myself far bet­ter sui­ted to the post-9 – 11 world than the fun, pros­pe­rous, party-central one that came before.
The future we see before us is a chao­tic one. Somehow sit­ting there at a Manhat­tan bar in the late 1990s, end­lessly dood­ling away for no rea­son, I got a glimpse of the impen­ding chaos a few years soo­ner than my more sta­ble, pros­pe­rous, well-adjusted friends.
And now it’s infor­ming my adver­ti­sing career.
Chaos can be a posi­tive thing. Chaos is inhe­rently part of the crea­tive act. To embrace crea­ti­vity means you must also embrace chaos. Things don’t hap­pen when everything is neat and “just so”. Crea­ti­vity is all about dis­rup­tion. The peo­ple who tell you that crea­ti­vity is pain-free are liars. The peo­ple who tell you they’ve got a plan are liars. There is no plan. There’s just you, God and the need to invent. And this uncer­tain world is what most of us now find our­sel­ves ente­ring, willingly or other­wise.
Crea­ti­vity equals chaos. Chaos equals crea­ti­vity. Embrace it or die. I’ve already done so. I know all about it. It almost cost me my liver but like I said, edu­ca­tion is expen­sive.
The Crea­tive Age is upon us. The Chao­tic Age is upon us. We are sca­red. Damn right, we should be sca­red. But out of the terror comes the ama­zing oppor­tu­ni­ties for us to expand both on the mate­rial and spi­ri­tual level. The fewer safety nets there are to save us, the less choice we have to be anything other than our­sel­ves, the less choice we have besi­des doing what is mea­ning­ful to us. And fin­ding our­sel­ves, doing what mat­ters, beco­ming the per­son we were born to be, this is what God put on this earth to do.
We live in ama­zing and inte­res­ting times. I intend the book to do a damn good job pro­ving it.

I’m loo­king at this piece and saying to myself, “Damn, I wish I could still write like that…” But I can’t. When I wrote that, I was a lot more poor, unem­plo­yed and des­pe­rate than I am now. “Hun­ger is the best spice”. No money or suc­cess can replace the artis­tic edge that pro­lon­ged poverty & under-achievement gives you. Sad but true.
Would I want to go back there, for the sake of “Art”? No. I was there once already. And it suc­ked.
Yes, it was an adven­ture. But only in retros­pect. At the time, the rea­lity was far more mun­dane and une­dif­ying. Besi­des, new adven­tu­res inte­rest me now, a lot more than the old ones do. Happy but true.

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21 Responses to “why i’m writing a book, revisited”

  1. It’s true. Crea­ti­vity comes from chaos, and thanks for kee­ping it real about all this. Look for­ward to chec­king out the book.

  2. amar irani says:

    Grab cliches, embrace chao­ti­cally; blitz them and churn them out! Could you do bet­ter than the Post­mo­dern Generator’s Dada Engine?

  3. roughcutpunt says:

    hey man– i met you at gue­ros. this article is.…very good. more cool shit please!

  4. awe­some post as always, I can reci­pro­cate those sen­ti­ments in your ori­gi­nal post quite hea­vily. I’m currently in the middle of wri­ting a novel, I work in mar­ke­ting – online word of mouth spe­ci­fi­cally – and I’m trying to hold down a social life and self pro­mote at the same time. It’s tough, it often invol­ves 17 hour days, but it’s also inc­re­dibly enjo­ya­ble.
    I had to make the deci­sion recently, how badly do I want it? To get it published, to push for the end, etc. See, I star­ted wri­ting my novel purely on a mis­sion of self explo­ra­tion, to ans­wer ques­tions I have in my head about my own per­so­nal beliefs. After giving some early chap­ters to some res­pec­ted peers to read, they con­vin­ced me to go down the publishing route, and push to get it on the shel­ves. I pos­ted about why i am wri­ting a novel recently.
    So now, I’ve got an author currently asses­sing it for me, I spend almost every waking hour thin­king about it and wri­ting it, like I men­tio­ned I’m trying to self pro­mote through my blog and net­wor­king, and I’ve set myself til Octo­ber to get the first ite­ra­tion of the manusc­ript finished off.
    The ride’s never easy, but that’s why it’s so much fun. Best of luck with the book, Hugh. Hope­fully I’ll be in the same posi­tion soo­ner rather than later.

  5. m says:

    great ! can’t wait to put in my order — if you do a book tour can I recom­mend Word­Po­wer Bookshop in Edin­burgh ? http://www.word-power.co.uk/ they also orga­nise the Radi­cal Book Fair. Situa­ted opp the Pear Tree.

  6. tinkugallery says:

    I also find that some of my best ideas come when I am pushed to the edge of some dif­fi­cult situa­tion.
    It was timely to read your post because I just quit my sala­ried job to open up my art gallery and the pros­pect of no gua­ran­teed income is frigh­te­ning but it is for­cing me to get my shit together soo­ner rather than later and come up with some good ideas to grow the gallery.
    I was glad to see you say you wouldn’t go back to your poverty-stricken years for the sake of the Art. It does suck, being a star­ving anything is not as gla­mo­rous as peo­ple on the outside seem to think it is.

  7. Carman Pirie says:

    Hey Hugh…
    RE: I’m loo­king at this piece and saying to myself, “Damn, I wish I could still write like that…” But I can’t. When I wrote that, I was a lot more poor, unem­plo­yed and des­pe­rate than I am now. No money or suc­cess can replace the artis­tic edge that pro­lon­ged poverty & under-achievement gives you. Sad but true.
    check out http://ca.youtube.com/watch?v=L2L2VwHIv1k from, say, the 1:10 mark thru to 3:20.
    cheers, carman

  8. Karthick says:

    Exce­llent post Hugh. Ama­zing read, can’t wait for the book to come out!

  9. Remiss63 says:

    Hugh, thank you so much for explai­ning the back­ground for your forth­co­ming book, your mean­de­ring career deci­sions, the sig­ni­fi­cance of the inter­net to your life (and busi­ness) and thoughts on crea­ti­vity.
    I look for­ward to buying your book straight away. I agree this is (going to become) the Age of Crea­ti­vity.
    Keep on chooglin’!

  10. BL Ochman says:

    we’re going to be saying “i knew him when…” when the book comes out. Great stuff Hugh.
    rock on, xo

  11. Alex Jones says:

    Hugh is a great guy, I have wor­ked with him and I always found him very polite and inte­res­ting.
    Best Wishes
    If your in Lon­don again, let me buy you a beer.
    Alex J

  12. Trott Felipe says:

    Tell Pen­guin to publish my book please. Thanks. I knew you’d help.

  13. I’ve been so sca­red lately. Thanks for this, Hugh.

  14. This is a thought­ful, authen­tic post about what it’s like to be crea­tive. I’m sure your book will be awe­some. I’ll start saving my pen­nies. I guess it won’t go directly to Kindle:-)

  15. Daniel Edlen says:

    This really is a com­ment I’d’ve added to “How To Be Crea­tive” back in 2004:
    Woah. Bri­lliANT! Thank you for all of those. I mean ALL of those! It’s won­der­ful to read such well sta­ted thoughts with such gene­ral appli­ca­bi­lity that are so ins­pi­ra­tio­nal!
    I’ve had my cra­yons in hand for a bit over a year now and it does defi­ni­tely feel good.
    Peace.

  16. Andrew says:

    I remem­ber rea­ding your ori­gi­nal post of “How to be crea­tive” way back when the viral was just begin­ning to take off. So I check back occa­sio­nally to see what’s going on, and I remem­ber also rea­ding this post in 2004. I go 18 months without visi­ting, and here again is an update on the book. It’s all pretty awe­some stuff, so I’m glad for the book, and I’m glad to here that your life keeps evol­ving too, even if it makes it har­der to write more cool stuff. Maybe your next book will be “how suc­cess made me soft” or something.

  17. RKR says:

    (Do I dare com­ment?)
    I cringe at life and aging. Chaos may help crea­ti­vity, but then again life has a way crushing your inner child — which I believe is the spi­rit of crea­ti­vity
    …the inno­cence of daring do, and the bra­very to follow through!
    I look for­ward to your book.

  18. Jasmine says:

    Hi Hugh!
    This is exci­ting. ‘How to be crea­tive’ hel­ped me find my box of cra­yons and I’m posi­tive it will ins­pire many others to look for theirs.
    I look for­ward to get­ting my hands on the book!
    Best,
    Jasmine

  19. amir says:

    PLEASE don’t for­get the pdf ver­sion. I have stop­ped buying paper books (still in rehab :-) ) as an alter­na­tive to buying a new Home and the green forests will thank you too.

  20. RomanJeremie says:

    I’ll buy one for my friends. I already know your blog and use your advi­ces very often. It works on me !

  21. Emma Kirsopp says:

    Great post, as usual. I tho­roughly enjoy rea­ding “how to be crea­tive” it has hel­ped cla­rify a lot of things for me in my own work. Advise from someone who has been there always does.
    I did snag a bit on your com­ment about nee­ding to live in “the adult world.” That’s a tricky one. I guess I both agree and disa­gree. Wor­king from a stu­dio does require a willing­ness to be iso­la­ted at times, its hard to work if you are worried about mis­sing out on the “action” and a cer­tain self assu­red­ness is nee­ded to get the job done without suc­cum­bing to dis­trac­tions and cof­fee shops. I have met a other artists and car­too­nist who like myself do not have a “day job” and they are a part of the adult world. Howe­ver I have also met a lot who are so com­ple­tely divor­ced from it, its pathe­tic.
    I guess what I’m trying to say is that the adult world is perhaps lin­ked to a state of mind rather than occu­pa­tion.
    Thanks again.
    Emma