My Book Launch and Creativity

 By Thomas Kies

Whisper Room, my fifth novel, is due for release on August 2nd and obviously I couldn’t be any happier.  I’m busy preparing for book signing events taking place starting this weekend (yes, I know, it’s a couple of days early). That being said, I’m going to cheat this week and rerun one of my favorite blogs that I’ve written.  This one seems appropriate.  It’s simply entitled: Creativity.

         Creativity

There’s a theory that everyone is born with in innate sense of creativity.  As babies grow into toddlers, and toddlers grow into school age children, they have within them a sense of adventure and curiosity.  As they discover and learn, they take great joy in creating, whether it’s coloring, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, or making castles out of Legos. 

That same theory posits that as we grow into adulthood, we’re often urged to forget our creative side and conform.  Buckle down, do what’s necessary, make money.  

But that creative spark, though dampened, lives on in all of us.  It may come back out in the form of a hobby, tending a garden, making a special dinner, or redecorating a room.

This weekend my wife and I had an outstanding dinner at the house of two friends of ours.  In addition to a delightful meal, the conversation was thought provoking.  We talked about food (of course), home remodeling, a smattering of politics, watching your adult children evolve, and ghosts.  Yes, ghosts.

We also had a very interesting discussion about creativity.

We can save our discussion on ghosts for another blog.

Being of a certain age, we all had former lives and are all redefining ourselves.  One of us was a concert pianist who performed all over the world.  Her husband was a noteworthy magazine publisher.  Now they own a boutique hotel here on the coast, in a historic little town right on the waterfront.  They’ve redecorated, upgraded, installed a 21st Century computer and reservation system, and began a marketing program that includes sophisticated usage of social media. 

Additionally, they buy fixer-upper homes, make them look pretty, and sell them, moving on to the next project.  

They’ve traded one set of creative skills for another.  

My wife was at one time a very successful market research analysist who had done work for major corporations all over the world.  She’s retired now, and during our discussion, wondered what her creative superpower might be. 

During our earlier discussion, we talked about her enjoyment of genealogy and how it led to her discovery of a brother she never knew she had.  It’s an amazing story that I may share on another occasion.  But the conclusion we reached was Cindy’s creative superpower was in her curiosity.  She’s a discoverer—an explorer. 

Mine is that I’m a crime novelist and I make stuff up.  Being a novelist has always been a dream of mine.

I read where the definition of creativity is: Transforming your ideas, dreams, and imagination into reality. 

An article from Huffington Post cited a recent New Zealand study which says that “engaging in creative activities contributes to an “upward spiral” of positive emotions, psychological well-being, and feelings of “flourishing” in life.”

The Pacific Standard Magazine cited another study conducted at the University of North Carolina – Greensboro on college students that says that “those who reported feeling happy and active were more likely to be doing something creative at the time.”

When I think about it, the happiest people I know are the ones who are creating and/or exploring—trying new things. 

So, what do you do to get your creative spark fired up?

I take a walk around our neighborhood or up to the beach.  I find that by the time I get back, I have a fresh perspective on what I’m currently working on.

Here are some other suggestions I found on the web:

Keep a journal and jot down ideas as they occur to you.

Exercise.

Take a media break.

Read a book.

Don’t be afraid to play.  Thomas Edison’s notebooks and Alexander Graham Bell’s prototypes suggest that they played while working. 

Take a break from your daily routine.

Try to think about things and look at the world around you in a different way. 

And finally—I like this one the best—dare to dream!

More on creativity

by Rick Blechta

Just under this post is one by Tom Kies, and I strongly suggest you read it. Not only is it excellent, but my post this week is riffing off it.

For longer than I can remember I’ve had people telling me how creative I am. 

I find it sort of embarrassing, actually, since I was brought up not to be conceited and being singled out for praise makes me feel as if I am being conceited if I acknowledge it.

Identifying first as a musician — since I’ve been at it by far the longest — a certain amount of creativity has to be acknowledged, otherwise you wouldn’t be much of a musician. Every musical phrase, every note to be honest, has to be created which is a thoughtful process if you wish to do it well.

But too much music can become a problem. It did for me.

When I was 38, after doing music seemingly 24/7 for 20 years, I burnt out. At that point, I was still teaching full-time in schools as well as conducting a high-end ensemble at the Royal Conservatory on Saturdays, but it began taking a toll on me psychologically. My wife, also a musician, suggested I find something else to do in my spare time. She knew I couldn’t walk away from my two jobs, but she also guessed that I needed some form of hobby or interest that had no musical component.

Easier said than done. I spent several months trying to figure out what that might be. Eventually I came to writing, something at which I’d always been pretty good. I wrote three interconnected baseball-themed short stories that I’ve thankfully lost track of. The characters were interesting as were the plots, but the writing itself was, shall I say, underdeveloped.

After reading a few books on how to write and pulling out the notes from a university creative writing course I took, I sort of got better at it.

I decided to write a mystery short story. Six months later, I realized I was no good at this mainly because my short story was 315 pages. I got up the nerve to show my novel to a few people, got some positive feedback, then found an editor to help me.

But midway through this process, I realized how happy and content I now was. My daily musical jobs didn’t bother me as much. I was no longer feeling burnt out. In fact, every night I couldn’t wait until the boys were in bed so I could get down to my created world.

And that, my friends, wraps around to what Tom said at the end of his post. Feeling creative and indulging it — no matter what it might involve — does something good deep inside us. In fact I can’t think of a single friend who has some sort of passion in life that isn’t also pretty darn happy.

Tom is so right.

Creativity

 There’s a theory that everyone is born with in innate sense of creativity.  As babies grow into toddlers, and toddlers grow into school age children, they have within them a sense of adventure and curiosity.  As they discover and learn, they take great joy in creating, whether it’s coloring, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, or making castles out of Legos. 

That same theory posits that as we grow into adulthood, we’re often urged to forget our creative side and conform.  Buckle down, do what’s necessary, make money.  

But that creative spark, though dampened, lives on in all of us.  It may come back out in the form of a hobby, tending a garden, making a special dinner, or redecorating a room.

This weekend my wife and I had an outstanding dinner at the house of two friends of ours.  In addition to a delightful meal, the conversation was thought provoking.  We talked about food (of course), home remodeling, a smattering of politics, watching your adult children evolve, and ghosts.  Yes, ghosts.

We also had a very interesting discussion about creativity.

We can save our discussion on ghosts for another blog.

Being of a certain age, we all had former lives and are all redefining ourselves.  One of us was a concert pianist who performed all over the world.  Her husband was a noteworthy magazine publisher.  Now they own a boutique hotel here on the coast, in a historic little town right on the waterfront.  They’ve redecorated, upgraded, installed a 21st Century computer and reservation system, and began a marketing program that includes sophisticated usage of social media. 

Additionally, they buy fixer-upper homes, make them look pretty, and sell them, moving on to the next project.  

They’ve traded one set of creative skills for another.  

My wife was at one time a very successful market research analysist who had done work for major corporations all over the world.  She’s retired now, and during our discussion, wondered what her creative superpower might be. 

During our earlier discussion, we talked about her enjoyment of genealogy and how it led to her discovery of a brother she never knew she had.  It’s an amazing story that I may share on another occasion.  But the conclusion we reached was Cindy’s creative superpower was in her curiosity.  She’s a discoverer—an explorer. 

Mine is that I’m a crime novelist and I make stuff up.  Being a novelist has always been a dream of mine.

I read where the definition of creativity is: Transforming your ideas, dreams, and imagination into reality. 

An article from Huffington Post cited a recent New Zealand study which says that “engaging in creative activities contributes to an “upward spiral” of positive emotions, psychological well-being, and feelings of “flourishing” in life.”

The Pacific Standard Magazine cited another study conducted at the University of North Carolina – Greensboro on college students that says that “those who reported feeling happy and active were more likely to be doing something creative at the time.”

When I think about it, the happiest people I know are the ones who are creating and/or exploring—trying new things. 

So, what do you do to get your creative spark fired up?

I take a walk around our neighborhood or up to the beach.  I find that by the time I get back, I have a fresh perspective on what I’m currently working on.

Here are some other suggestions I found on the web:

Keep a journal and jot down ideas as they occur to you.

Exercise.

Take a media break.

Read a book.

Don’t be afraid to play.  Thomas Edison’s notebooks and Alexander Graham Bell’s prototypes suggest that they played while working. 

Take a break from your daily routine.

Try to think about things and look at the world around you in a different way. 

And finally—I like this one the best—dare to dream!

Searching for that grain of sand

Before I explain that title, I want to second Rick's excellent suggestion about buying a book (or more!) from your local independent bookstore as a gift this holiday season, and I love the idea of Type Mers buying one another's books. Read and transport yourselves this holiday!

Now for my actual blog. I'm probably not the first person to use the oyster metaphor to describe writing a novel. An oyster starts with a single grain of sand inside and then works layer upon layer around it to create a beautiful pearl. For me, that's how my novels start. With a single intriguing idea. It can be a simple image like a pair of shoes, a character that I am curious about, a small snippet from the newspaper. No matter how small, it's a toehold that allows me to start spinning the story around it, expanding and developing and adding until sometimes the original germ of the idea has completely disappeared as it's subsumed by the bigger story it inspired.

I am just embarking on the fifth Amanda Doucette novel, and at the outset I knew only one thing; it would be set in British Columbia. Because of the constraints I'd set upon this series, it should involve Amanda creating a charity event somewhere in the wilderness. Luckily, British Columbia has plenty of absolutely spectacular wilderness, so there was a lot to choose from. After some thinking and some reading, I narrowed it down to the west coast of Vancouver Island, in part because I always travel for research and it's on my bucket list. But a setting does not make a story by itself. I needed an idea. So I started to read about the history and people of the area, looking for that inspirational grain of sand. Lots of history. Lots of drama. Shipwrecks and swindles and epidemics and heartbreaking loss. It was way too big a canvas. Most novels, especially mystery/ thrillers are about struggles and triumphs on a more intimate scale. So I continued to read, asking myself all the time "what is this book going to be about?"

Then this morning, the idea came to me in a single word. Hermits. Apparently the wild west coast of Vancouver Island is a haven for hermits. Every hermit has a very intimate story, of tragedy, triumph, rejections, and perseverance. And in that single word lay a world of possibilities. A grain of sand I can build a story around. In the few short hours since reading that, the tiniest pearl has already begun in my head. It will mean a whole lot more research but now it will be focussed. I will no longer be casting about aimlessly but slowly building the knowledge I need. I am still far from setting pen to paper, and I know there will be moments of despair and frustration as the story develops, but it's an exciting moment.

I even came up with the title, far earlier than I usually do. But that's a secret until I'm more confident about the pearl I'm hoping is in there.

 

Pandemic voices

For weeks now, our Type M blog posts have circled around the central player in our lives - the pandemic. We have talked about the inability to write, the question of whether to include the pandemic in our stories, the lament over lost opportunities to celebrate and promote our books, and the ups and downs of our moods. As I tried to figure out what to say today, I thought "Can anyone stand one more blog about the damn pandemic?" Are we sick of it? Do we want our lives back? Can't we at least pretend things will go back to normal?

Then I realized this is our job. As artists we document the emotional reality of our times. Economists will talk about job losses, stock market rollercoasters, and accumulating debt. Scientists will talk about advances in virology and herd immunity, epidemiologists about infection curves and deaths per million, etc. Social scientists will analyze lockdown fatigue, crowd contagion, and the delicate balance of maintaining public cooperation. Ecologists will describe the return of the animals and the blue of the sky.

All important for the historical record. We are living through possibly the most significant global event in a century, in terms of its scope and impact on every single person (and indeed on nature and the planet). Other crises have had a more drastic effect on specific parts of the world, such as the world wars, the Holocaust, and the Khmer Rouge. And even then, much of normal life went on in the streets and towns. But this crisis is against a single enemy worldwide, and has changed almost every aspect of our daily lives, from hugging our families to trying to buy yeast.

People's experiences and reactions are all over the map, and as several posts have already pointed out, they change from day to day and evolve over time. Artists have always been a mirror to our inner life. Psychologists and other mental health researchers are going to dissect our adjustment and struggles minutely. They are going to subject us to surveys and statistical analyses and possibly even experimental re-enactments. All this is going to be very valuable for future planning, but trust me, as someone who worked in that field for years, it's going to be dry as dust. It will not bring to life the essence of being alone on Mother's Day, staring at your one-year old grandson trying to eat the phone his parents are using for Zoom. It will not capture the sound of your silent wail. Nor the hummingbird restlessness you feel some days after listening to too much news. Shall I bake cupcakes? Watch Netflix? Or even, horrors, wash the floors?

The blogs, poems, paintings, and short isolation videos that artists are producing all over the world will serve as a record of our times, a mirror of our feelings and thoughts at the moment we go through them. And any books that come out of it, whether about the pandemic or not, will be a testament to these times. So feel free to create and to put it out there, to be shared online across the world. Someone will be listening, and equally important, history will be listening.

Walking for mind and soul

Facebook is very useful for the random links it shares, sometimes posted by friends and other times by sponsoring companies. Facebook is also good at tracking what I like or might want, so I would never get a link to Rebel Media, for example. (if I did, it would be killed as fast I could click delete.)

Recently The New Yorker posted a link to an article about the connection between walking, thinking, and writing. I apologize if this link is behind a paywall, but the gist is that walking stimulates creativity and novel thinking by allowing the mind to drift in and out between the real world and our own inner world, and furthermore, that walking in nature does this better than walking in the city.

Other studies have confirmed the benefits to both physical and mental health of walking in nature, this at a time when more and more people live in clamorous cities and green spaces are fewer and fewer (because there are no property taxes to be collected on parks, for one thing). My city of Ottawa has an official city planning policy of "intensification", which means building more tall condos and multi-unit dwellings on lots where there used to be smaller homes on lots with lovely mature trees and gardens. But I digress.

The main interest for me in this article, and in similar ones, is that walking in nature stimulates creative thought. Scientifically, this is apparently because blood flow to the brain increases when we move and because our body, including our brain, tends to move in sync with our surroundings. Hence if we are listening to hard rock music or walking down a busy street, our body revs up. While this can be energizing and enjoyable at the right time, it is not conducive to creative thought, which needs a drifting openness of mind to allow novel, random thoughts to enter.

Like most authors, I suspect, I have always known this. Because I have dogs, I take long walks every day and that's when I do my best story development. If I have a plot snag or a character puzzle, I often take a walk just to "clear my head". I find the act of walking is a non-intrusive backdrop with just enough stimulation to keep me thinking. Have you ever tried to sit in a chair doing absolutely nothing except think? Chances are you start to doodle or jot down notes or pace from the kitchen to the office.

The walks in nature are by far the best. Distractions are fewer, you don't have to watch for street lights or dodge cars or pedestrians, you can look for occasional inspiration at the rustling trees and glistening lake. Or you can stay almost entirely inside your own head, imagining your story. Taking this nature walk idea one step further, another scientific benefit is that walking on uneven, unpredictable terrain like a hiking trail engages more parts of the brain than walking in a straight line along a flat path. This has limits for creativity, I find, because if you have to pay attention not to trip over a root or rock, you can't lose yourself as completely in your imagination, but in moderation, it can help get the juices going.

One worrisome thing I notice on my walks is how few people are actually enjoying just being in nature. Almost everyone is listening to something on their earbuds (audio books, music?). Since I find that disruptive to my thoughts, I never do, but I'd like to know if it helps or hinders "mind drift". Or if the walkers are not attached to earbuds, they have their nose in their phones, oblivious to everything around them. This transports them to another world, for sure, but not one of their own imagination. I am afraid that imagination and mind drift are becoming a lost art.

And what a loss that would be to our creative future.

More on inspiration

Barbara here. In my last post, I wrote about inspiration on the road, specifically a three-week personal holiday travelling through India and Nepal. I am still on that trip, now staying at the final destination of Kathmandu before flying home later in the week. Throughout the trip internet access has been capricious and slow, so I will try to be short.

The trip has been filled with inspirational moments that make your spirit and imagination soar. Imagine the passion and enduring loyalty that drove a grieving emperor to build a tomb to his beloved dead wife, embarking on a dream that took 22 years, employed 20,000 workers, and cost an unimaginable sum. Clad in shimmering white marble inlaid with precious stones, perfect in its symmetry, set off by fountains and gardens, it is breathtaking. Humbling yet exalting.

Another inspirational moment was sunrise in a boat on the Ganges River, joining the many faithful who make a pilgrimage to this sacred river seeking blessing or fulfillment of a wish. Along with others I lit a candle in a tiny flower boat and watched it dance along the current with the others, bearing our wishes out towards the sea.

A third inspiration came at sunrise again, on a flight out of Kathmandu over the legendary Mount Everest. Despite the persistent smog that plagues Asian cities, the sky over the Himalayas was a fierce, crisp blue, and the sun lit the white glacial peaks in perfect detail. Everest is but one of dozens of jagged, terrifying peaks around it, but its power lies in the human dreams that it has inspired. Cold and solitary, it still carries with it those legions of climbers who have dared to dream big, who've fought and triumphed and sometimes died on its rugged slopes.

There were many other touchingly inspirational moments as well. Watching a young rickshaw driver who couldn't have weighed 100 pounds, valiantly struggling to pedal his large charges around the markets. Watching young mothers trim the excess silk from the scarves and fabric bolts in the silk factory in Varanasi, sitting on the floor in a circle with their babies and toddlers by their side.

As Aline said in her Monday post, writing is about stepping into another person's shoes and imagining their world. Travel not only offers us other shoes, but other worlds and lives beyond our own. Not only will that enrich our writing, but our humanity as well. I will carry the inspiration of these moments with me for a long time.

Born to be

Barbara here. Rick has invited us all to put in our two cents on the question of talent and storytelling. Canada abolished its one cent coin a few years ago, so here's my plug nickels's worth. I have no idea whether the talent for storytelling is born into us or not, bit I do believe that most of us, if not all, are born with a creative urge and the path through which it is expressed. This path may be guided by early exposure, as in musicians or artists who follow in their parents' footsteps, but sometimes it has nothing to do with the culture and interests of our families.

I was born into a family of musicians and painters. They did other things with their lives, but my grandfather, as a surgeon in France during World War I, painted scenes of rural France as an outlet and counterpoint to the horrific demands of his job. His talent for painting predated the war; I have a painting of his hanging in my house, done when he was 16 years old. My mother was a high school science teacher but inherited that painter's passion, and many of the other walls in my house hold paintings done by her, inspired by the sight of a child playing or a spectacular play of light on mountains or sea.

I, however have never had the slightest urge to pick up a sketchpad or capture a scene on canvas. I have absolutely zero talent for drawing, painting, or otherwise interpreting the world in visual form. But from the age of six, when I first learned how to spell, I have been inventing stories. Story ideas spin in my head all the time. The question is not where do I get my ideas (for they are in the line at the coffee shop and in the sidebars of the newspaper), but how do I know whether an idea has the legs for a 300-page novel, or whether it deserves to be a scene or a subplot in a larger story. Experience and practice have taught me that.

Writing, particularly fiction writing, occupied no part of my family tree. I am the first in my whole extended family to be obsessed with creating stories. However, some of the prerequisites to good storytelling were present in my family home. My parents were avid readers and our home was filled with books. Filled. Every kind of book from biography to history to great literature and poetry. I had free rein of the shelves and picked up books at random, reading William Faulkner and Alexander Solzhenitzyn at whim From them I learned the secrets of great drama and absorbed, without lectures or lessons, the techniques of story arc, characterization, and imagery.

I wrote all through my childhood and throughout adulthood, mostly dreadful sap that fortunately did not see the light of day but that helped me to learn my craft. My late husband, however, was a painter. He saw the world not in terms of story bites like me but in terms of images and framed scenes to be captured on canvas. Not in terms of characters and conflicts but in terms of colour, shapes. shadows, and contrasting light. Yet our children, with their DNA packed on both sides with a painter's genes and on one side with a storyteller's, followed neither path. Like me, they show no talent or inclination for visual art. One has some interest in writing song lyrics and another in writing scripts, so some of that has past on through the DNA. But their creativity has found its primary outlet in other forms -- in music and acting.

It is a strange, human beast, this creative urge. Who knows where it comes from, but I believe we all have it. Perhaps we are all born with our own primary outlet, whether it's writing, art, acting, music, dance, crafts, woodworking, photography, or even software design. It may be the random re-alligning of the DNA but it comes from the core of who who are. The rest -- the talent, training, and practice it takes to do it well -- are secondary, because if it's not your passion, you won't put yourself at the artist's easel or the writer's desk long enough to get anything done.

Creativity

The passing of David Bowie has made me ponder over the past few days on the nature of creativity. I liked David Bowie, even though I was not a fanatic and actually am unfamiliar with some of his later work. However, the thing that I particularly admired about the man was the way he endlessly recreated himself and his craft, and every iteration of David Bowie was eye-catching and beautifully done. He was brave, and no matter what your art is, you have to be brave, to put yourself out there.

I don't know where creativity comes from. Is there a mystical source? I’m sure it’s something infinitely more prosaic than Muses or an Oversoul, but I like that idea better than the thought that it’s all just a mental exercise. Why are some people born to their art and others struggle or are even incapable? No matter how much you love music, it's hard to become a singer or composer if you have a tin ear, or to create a moving painting or sculpture if you have no eye for form and color. You have to have an "ear" and and "eye" to be able to write effectively, as well.

I usually start the day by reading the paper front to back, and then working all the puzzles. This is not quite the time consuming activity it used to be a few years ago, when the daily paper actually had news in it. But at least the puzzles get my brain revved up for the day. One of my favorite puzzles is the Jumble, which consists of an anagram of a quotation from a well-known person. A while back, I deciphered a quotation from Truman Capote which, as a writer, I found quite insightful. It is as follows:

Writing has laws of perspective, of light and shade, just as painting does, or music.

Perspective is a sense of depth. It is a way to show things in their true relationship to one another, a way to make them seem real.

I never know what the entire story will be before I begin.* I learned early on that when you start to write a novel or story, or even a poem, you may think you have it all figured out before you set pen to paper. But you don't. Before I start a mystery, I always think I know why the killer did it, but to date, by the time I reach the end I discover I was wrong. The motive seems get modified every time. Not long ago, I told someone she should "trust the process" with her writing. Even if you don't know where the story is going to go, just start writing and trust that all will become clear as you go along. Have faith that the answer will provide itself when the moment comes.

Once the novel is done, it’s interesting to me to see how it all turned out, to remember what I originally had in mind and see how the tale changed as I moved through it. The only thing I can always count on when I write a book is that whether I deserve it or not, the Muses always come to my rescue and I end up with a finished novel that hangs together in an interesting and logical way. I don't know how.
_________________
*in writing or in life

In praise of the writers' retreat

Barbara here, writing from the idyllic shores of Sharbot Lake in classic Canadian cottage country. It is 34 degrees celsius in the city and here on the lake, it is a balmy 29. My cottage has no air conditioning, but who needs it when you can roll into the lake every half hour or so as the whim strikes?

I am lucky enough to have a group of writer friends who live within reasonable distance, allowing us to get together to inspire, commiserate, offer answers, and generally help soothe the solitary angst of a fiction writer. Every writer needs the company of our own kind. No matter how supportive our family or spouse is, no one understands the struggles of writers' block, the teeth-gnashing frustration of publishing, and the exhilaration of a good review better than a fellow writer. I would never have believed in myself nor had the courage to keep going if it hadn't been for the critiquing help and enduring friendship of the Ladies Killing Circle – Mary Jane Maffini, Linda Wiken, Sue Pike, Joan Boswell, and Vicki Cameron – each with their own special talents.

I have always loved nature and find the peace of water, birds, and silence to be the perfect creative environment. I bought my cottage especially as a haven where I could write, far from the demands and hubbub of the city, and I still do my best creative writing on the dock by the lake. This week, as in the past few years, I am hosting an informal writers' retreat for some of my friends, inviting them to share the peace and inspiration of the cottage while we all work on our own projects. RJ Harlick and Vicki Delany have joined me.

The weather is cooperating magnificently. This afternoon, after a morning of writing, we all swam out into the lake with our noodles and spent a half hour bobbing in the cool water, discussing book launches and tours. Yesterday it was how to move the plot forward from a stuck place. There was admittedly some book gossip and rants about the book biz, mostly fuelled by wine at the end of the day. And the dinners were delightful. The perfect way to finish the day.

In this photo, we enjoy Robin's dinner of herb-crusted chicken, chanterelles picked from her woods, and tomatoes with bufala mozzarella and fresh arugula from her garden. And we capped off the day with a refreshing moonlight swim under the full moon.

Thanks to the example of hard-working friends and the discussion of plot tangles, I have made some headway on my new novel, the second in the Amanda Doucette novel. I hope these memories will sustain me during the cold, dark days of February.

Is really special creativity only the provenance of youth?

by Rick Blechta

I was away last week and totally oblivious to what day it happened to be, hence one of my rare non-appearances on Type M. My apologies for that. Quite frankly, it’s embarrassing when that happens, but, well, it happens. The world continued to turn. Life as we know it didn’t suffer. And I’m back again this week.

While away, I began reading an account of something that’s always interested me intensely: the soul music of the 1960s that came out of Memphis, Tennessee on the Stax Record label. Yeah, it’s an arcane subject, and most of you reading this have no idea what I am referring to, but that’s okay. It’s not what this weeks post is truly about. It just provides the jumping off point. If you are interested, the book is called Soulsville, U.S.A.: The Story of Stax Records by Rob Bowman.

Stax Records was an anomaly in its time. First and foremost, it was integrated. Its studio musicians, the ones who cranked out all those classic soul tunes by Otis Redding, Sam & Dave, Eddie Floyd, Carla Thomas, etc. got their jobs because of their musicianship. Skin colour didn’t enter into it and that was very rare, especially in the South. This was during a time when the racial turmoil that griped the US was at its height. Once through the doors of Stax, racial differences didn’t matter. Musicianship did.

What amazes me, though, is the incredible musical creativity that existed when those band members got together. Day after day, they crafted astonishing arrangements and recorded literally hundreds of songs. With no written out musical arrangements, just feeling their way through until they were satisfied, this group of young men (mostly) cranked out more era-defining music than nearly anyone else. They’d just cut one song and move on to the next one. Their output is nothing short of brilliant. Yes, it all had a definite “Stax sound”, but the songs never sounded as if they’d come out of a cookie cutter. Each one was its own entity and in the amount that was produced, it’s truly astonishing. (I can provide a listening guide if anyone is interested.)

At roughly the same time, The Beatles were assembling their awesome catalog of era-defining songs. Their output is even more astonishing in the too brief time they flourished as a group.

Now to the crux of the matter. In what way are these two musical ensembles most similar? They all did their best work while rather young and finding their way as musicians. All were playing well “over their heads”.

In much the same way as athletes, pop musicians generally do their best work in their early years. It’s not the same in jazz or classical music, but these artists did do their best “learning” when in their teens and twenties. After that, it’s polish and experience that provides the finishing touches to what they do best and it comes mostly with years and experience.

This is not to say that pop musicians don’t continue to improve in mastering their instrumental ability. But in terms of creativity in making original music, nothing seems to beat those early years for output. None of the members of the Stax house band, as they grew older, created anything near the volume of superb and astonishing music. To be fair, they didn’t have the same chance once things began falling apart at Stax, where they worked five days a week. They weren’t recording at anywhere near the same frenetic pace. So too with The Beatles. Once they split up, their individual shortcomings were exposed simply by the fact they were working alone. Both ensembles were highly collaborative/synergistic. Everyone threw ideas into the creative pot. Solutions were tried and either worked or were found wanting. When the latter was the case, someone else would generally step forward with a different idea. The total was indeed proven to be greater than sum of its parts.

Writers, by definition, work alone. Though there are exceptions, it’s rare to find more than one person crafting the words. Yes, we can join critiquing groups or show our work to trusted allies while we’re still in the “development stages” of our writing, but that’s not really the same thing. In my own small way, I have experienced the (almost) rapture of creating something within a group. It is indeed a heady feeling. Often, it can be a harsh crucible as ideas are thrown out, reshaped, discussed and discarded by the group as a whole, but when the dust clears and you can clearly see the fruits of your labours, it is quite wonderful.

Even though I now write with words rather than sounds most of the time, something is lost. My youth is long since behind me, and with that went youthful energy levels. If I stayed up and worked all night simply because I couldn’t bear turning off the creative tap (as I often did in my youth), I would suffer physically for days, regardless of artistic elation. So that’s no longer on the cards. But I’m also working alone, there’s no one else’s creative energy to feed off of.

I believe I’m still creative in my dotage, but the fire burns nowhere as hot as it once did when I was in my teens and twenties. Shall I say that it appears to be more “rationed” than in the past? And it is nowhere near as fecund. Seldom now do ideas pour out faster than I can hope to catch and write everything down.

The saying is, “Youth is wasted on the young.” We older farts often add, “I wish I knew then what I know now.” Both are sad statements at their hearts, but no less true for being somewhat flippant.

I completely believe in both thing – but can’t do a thing about it.