Gary Gauthier's Blog, page 10

Guest Post: Author Jenny Hansen on Creativity

Please join me in welcoming author Jenny Hansen as our guest today. In her post, Jenny shares some thoughts on the creative process and also reveals one of the sources of her own creativity. This is the first of a column that will appear regularly and feature a member of The Life List Club. I recently joined the Club, whose members each share a Life List that contains their projects and personal goals. The club members also post articles every other Friday on the topic of getting things done and achieving your goals.

My article on how to stop procrastinating is on LLC member, Marcia Richard's Blog.

Kicking Your Creative A$$
by Jenny HansenThanks for hanging out with Gary and I on his first Life List Friday! I'm honored to be hosting the party here at his place on this auspicious day. Enjoy the blog hop! J This Saturday marks my 11th year with my local writing chapter, OCC/RWA. I'm fired up about this month's meeting as it honors our 30th Birthday. It should be a rip-roaring day of fun and learning. The monthly meetings nearly always bolster my creativity.Speaking of creativity, I'm sad about the passing of Steve Jobs, one of the most creative and innovative industry leaders that I will see in my lifetime. The depth of his impact on the world at 56 years-old is almost unfathomable. Google Executive Chairman Eric Schmidt summed it up perfectly: "Steve defined a generation of style and technology that's unlikely to be matched again."In his short time on Earth, Jobs lived at least a full lifetime. Possibly two. His diligence and hard work combined with his creativity to produce brilliance. Since finding out the news, I've been ruminating on the lessons available from Jobs, particularly for us artists. Because, make no mistake, he was an artist, especially when it came to product development.On the artist front, I made dinner for good friends of ours a few weeks back. The husband in this clan is a very successful musician. It hit me, before he came over, that I know a great man, who is very successful at his CREATIVE career, and not once have I asked him about his creative process. Here I spend all this time on writing craft and process… Why have I never asked my friend about his creativity?I can only say that it falls along the lines of not wanting to act like a groupie with him when he's off stage. I like to think that when all of us are successful New York Times Bestselling authors that our friends will give us a break when we go to dinner at their house.Rather than pepper us with all the "writer groupie" questions like – Where do you get your ideas? How is the book going? Blah-blah-blah – I'd like to think my friends will just tell me about their insane mothers, or provide advice on how to fix my complete lack of fashion sense. (In other words, the things we talk about NOW.) Still, that particular day had been full of Creative A$$ Kicking with my own WIP and my enquiring mind wanted to know. "Walter," I asked, "you've made an album a year for TWENTY years now. What is the creative process that allows you to do that?"He smiled at me, a really benevolent cozy smile that made me feel better about bringing work to his Saturday night of fun. And then he said, "I don't really know."My response was, "WHAT? That's it? Come on! I thought this music business was different than being a writer. That's what all my writer pals would say."He looked at his wife, who is a major force in his success, and said, "Well SHE books the studio each year and tells me about three weeks beforehand that I need to write fifteen songs."She and I exchanged an eye-roll and I said, "There's got to be more to it than that."His response: "Jen, every year when it's time to record a new album, I feel like I've done it already and those are all the songs I have to write." He paused a moment and added, "Then I'll hear my mother's voice in my head, like she's right there talking to me": "Walter, you said you wanted to be a musician; it was what you trained for and practiced at. It was the only thing you EVER wanted. So, get off your a$$ and write some music, and quit crying about it."And he does, every single year. He goes to the place in his mind where his music lives and hangs out there, scribbling, until the music comes. Ever since this conversation, he's been one of my creative inspirations: He trusts in his creative process and has the discipline to sit down and kick himself in the keister, now that his mother isn't there to do it.His answer challenged me to create a writer's version of that Memo from Mom above my computer screen, to assist me on those really crappy days:You want to be a writer. It's all you've EVER wanted to be.
It's what you spend all this time and money on, training and practicing your craft.
Get off your a$$ and write your page and QUIT CRYING ABOUT IT.It's working for me so far. What about you? What helps you bolster your creativity? What helps you finish a page that's going badly? Do YOU ever feel like you just can't write another word? What has helped you bust through this fear and get to the other side?Jenny About Jenny Hansen:

Jenny fills her nights with humor: writing memoir, women's fiction, chick lit, short stories (and chasing after the newly walking Baby Girl). By day, she provides training and social media marketing for an accounting firm. After 15 years as a corporate software trainer, she's digging this sit down and write thing. In addition to being a founding member of Writers In The Storm, Jenny also hangs out on Twitter at jhansenwrites and at her solo blog, More Cowbell.

Visit other Life List Member's blogs for more insights on getting things done.

Jess WitkinsMarcia RichardsJennie BennettSonia Medeiros
Lyn MidnightPamela HawleyJenny HansenDavid Walker

Nightly Quest

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this enchanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on horseback, without a head. It is said by some to be the ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried away by a cannon-ball, in some nameless battle during the Revolutionary War, and who is ever and anon seen by the country folk hurrying along in the gloom of night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no great distance.

Indeed, certain of the most authentic historians of those parts, who have been careful in collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this spectre, allege that the body of the trooper having been buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the scene of battle in nightly quest of his head, and that the rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being belated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before daybreak.

Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow

Painting: John Quidor (1801 - 1881)

Fearful Shapes and Shadows

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was—a woman.

Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hallow

Painting: Pierre Auguste Renoir (1841 - 1919)

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst th...

What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path, amidst the dim and ghastly glare of a snowy night! With what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light streaming across the waste fields from some distant window! How often was he appalled by some shrub covered with snow, which, like a sheeted spectre, beset his very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! And how often was he thrown into complete dismay by some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly scourings!

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though he had seen many spectres in his time, and been more than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite of the Devil and all his works, if his path had not been crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches put together, and that was—a woman.

Washington Irving, The Legend of Sleepy Hallow

Painting: Pierre Auguste Renoir (1841 - 1919)

Out of Order

It was the kind of question that might be termed out of order, and the ladies glanced at each other as though disclaiming any share in such a breach of discipline. They all knew there was nothing Mrs. Plinth so much disliked as being asked her opinion of a book. Books were written to read; if one read them what more could be expected? To be questioned in detail regarding the contents of a volume seemed to her as great an outrage as being searched for smuggled laces at the Custom House. The club had always respected this idiosyncrasy of Mrs. Plinth's. Such opinions as she had were imposing and substantial: her mind, like her house, was furnished with monumental "pieces" that were not meant to be disarranged; and it was one of the unwritten rules of the Lunch Club that, within her own province, each member's habits of thought should be respected. The meeting therefore closed with an increased sense, on the part of the other ladies, of Mrs. Roby's hopeless unfitness to be one of them.

Edith Wharton, Xingu

Painting: Federico Zandomeneghi (Italian, 1841-1917)

Write a Review and Win a Book

There are all sorts of contests for freebies. If you do this or that, you have a chance to win, just like a lottery. Well, this contest is different. You can't lose. If you participate, you win. To enter, simply review one of my books and post the review on Amazon.

I'm sure you've seen offers that limit your choice to an item of equal or lesser value. Well, it's not the case here. You review the 99 cent book and the 4.99 book is yours for free.

There are five books to choose from. Each book contains color reproductions of paintings. They're all in Kindle format and are designed for color ereaders. A computer with Kindle software will also work. If you need a book to get started, just let me know. This is my amazon author page.


The Portable BouguereauIllustrated Basho HaikusVan Gogh For A Starry Night50 Classic Love Poems In Rhyming VerseThe Art of Reading: An Illustrated Anthology

Embers of a Bonfire

The moon was climbing higher and higher, its light began to fall here and there in masses through the more open districts of the wood, and right in front of me a glow of a different colour appeared among the trees. It was red and hot, and now and again it was a little darkened—as it were, the embers of a bonfire smouldering.

Robert Louis Stephenson, Treasure Island

Painting: Claude Monet (1840 - 1926)

A Rededication of Lives

No marriage could have been more true, more fitting in every respect. The solemn relation was never entered upon in more holiness of purpose or in higher resolve to hold themselves strictly to the best they were capable of. It was a rededication of lives long consecrated to God and humanity; of souls knowing no selfish ambition, seeking before all things the glory of their Creator in the elevation of His creatures everywhere. The entire unity of spirit in which they afterwards lived and labored, the tender affection which, through a companionship of more than forty years, knew no diminution, made a family life so perfect and beautiful that it brightened and inspired all who were favored to witness it. No one could be with them under the most ordinary circumstances without feeling the force and influence of their characters.

Catherine H. Birney, The Grimké Sisters

Painting: Frédéric Soulacroix (1858 - 1933), The Marriage Proposal

It Was a Cookery Book

She stood by a window, holding a book in close contiguity to her nose, as if with the hope of gaining an olfactory acquaintance with its contents, since her imperfect vision made it not very easy to read them. If any volume could have manifested its essential wisdom in the mode suggested, it would certainly have been the one now in Hepzibah's hand; and the kitchen, in such an event, would forthwith have streamed with the fragrance of venison, turkeys, capons, larded partridges, puddings, cakes, and Christmas pies, in all manner of elaborate mixture and concoction. It was a cookery book, full of innumerable old fashions of English dishes, and illustrated with engravings, which represented the arrangements of the table at such banquets as it might have befitted a nobleman to give in the great hall of his castle.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables

Painting: Adriaen van Utrecht (1599 - 1652)

Indescribable Grace

He made a salutation, or, to speak nearer the truth, an ill-defined, abortive attempt at curtsy. Imperfect as it was, however, it conveyed an idea, or, at least, gave a hint, of indescribable grace, such as no practised art of external manners could have attained. It was too slight to seize upon at the instant; yet, as recollected afterwards, seemed to transfigure the whole man.

Nathaniel Hawthorne, The House of the Seven Gables

Painting: John Collier (1850 — 1934)