Terry Helwig's Blog - Posts Tagged "creativity"
Scarcity Versus Abundance Via Twitter
I always seem to be learning one of life’s many lessons. Currently, the lesson is scarcity versus abundance, and it came to me through an unlikely source—Twitter.
I’m fairly new to Twitter. Before sending out my first tweet several months ago, I read up on Twitter etiquette and recommendations. I learned one tweet a day is too few, two is mediocre, and three is “just right.” As a tweeter, my job is to engage my followers (I had three at the time), find my niche, and talk more about other things than myself. Also, one should tweet a picture periodically. Under no circumstances is the picture to be of one’s lunch unless it’s mega unusual or food is the tweeter’s niche.
What could be simpler? Right? Wit, charm, humor, and newsworthy posts in 140 characters or less. My first tweet took me a few minutes to write and an hour to edit. Condensing 280 characters into 140 that still make sense is nigh impossible. As Pascal said: I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.
As I became more adept at briefer tweets, I feared my Twitter cupboard might soon be bare. What if I were reduced to snapping a picture of my lunch? Tweeting was new to me, but the feeling of scarcity was uncomfortably familiar. To help assuage my worry, I started a Twitter file to stockpile newsworthy items for future tweets.
It doesn’t take a therapist to see that this urge to stockpile tweets reveals an overall lack of trust in abundance. It’s as if I think the universe is a finite place where creativity runs dry, news becomes extinct, and epiphanies disappear, leaving me—horrors—destitute and tweet-less.
One glance into the natural world reveals that the universe is a virtual stockpile of abundance. How many people, seeds, stars, galaxies, grains of sand and butterflies exist? Should I rush out to collect sand from the beach today because it might be gone tomorrow? Of course not. But if the sand were exchanged for creative ideas, I might start hunting for a jar.
As unlikely as it seems, tweeting, for me, has become an exercise of trust in creative abundance. Creativity, like the beach, cannot be hoarded or stored. Our job as writers, tweeters and lovers-of-life is merely to show up each day trusting that the beach is still there.
I’m fairly new to Twitter. Before sending out my first tweet several months ago, I read up on Twitter etiquette and recommendations. I learned one tweet a day is too few, two is mediocre, and three is “just right.” As a tweeter, my job is to engage my followers (I had three at the time), find my niche, and talk more about other things than myself. Also, one should tweet a picture periodically. Under no circumstances is the picture to be of one’s lunch unless it’s mega unusual or food is the tweeter’s niche.
What could be simpler? Right? Wit, charm, humor, and newsworthy posts in 140 characters or less. My first tweet took me a few minutes to write and an hour to edit. Condensing 280 characters into 140 that still make sense is nigh impossible. As Pascal said: I would have written a shorter letter, but I did not have the time.
As I became more adept at briefer tweets, I feared my Twitter cupboard might soon be bare. What if I were reduced to snapping a picture of my lunch? Tweeting was new to me, but the feeling of scarcity was uncomfortably familiar. To help assuage my worry, I started a Twitter file to stockpile newsworthy items for future tweets.
It doesn’t take a therapist to see that this urge to stockpile tweets reveals an overall lack of trust in abundance. It’s as if I think the universe is a finite place where creativity runs dry, news becomes extinct, and epiphanies disappear, leaving me—horrors—destitute and tweet-less.
One glance into the natural world reveals that the universe is a virtual stockpile of abundance. How many people, seeds, stars, galaxies, grains of sand and butterflies exist? Should I rush out to collect sand from the beach today because it might be gone tomorrow? Of course not. But if the sand were exchanged for creative ideas, I might start hunting for a jar.
As unlikely as it seems, tweeting, for me, has become an exercise of trust in creative abundance. Creativity, like the beach, cannot be hoarded or stored. Our job as writers, tweeters and lovers-of-life is merely to show up each day trusting that the beach is still there.
Writing in the Shadows
It's near the end of January and I have one chapter, 16 pages, of my novel completed. My sister Joni made me laugh when she said 16 well-written pages are a lot better than 100 badly written pages. Very true! My lesson this month has been learning the importance of "massaging" my material--my first draft of the chapter was only four pages long; it was but a shadow of the finished product. Shadows are good--they prime the pump--but the key is to flesh out the shadows until you have a living, breathing piece of work. Hopefully, I've accomplished that. Today, I'm in the shadows of Chapter Two.
Get-lost Days, Good for the Soul
In our fast-paced, information-age society, setting aside chunks of time to reconnect is becoming a lost art. While I envy Thoreau’s year in the woods, my nurture and nourishment have, by necessity, been parceled into smaller increments—mostly in the shape of days I call "get-lost days."
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
The premise of a get-lost day (or a get-lost afternoon) is to block out time to dawdle, explore and connect with the world. Get-lost days fuel my creativity. I often back out of the garage not knowing my destination. The mystery of where the day's current will lead is part of the fun. Years ago, my husband waved to me and my daughter from the garage and called out: "Don't forget your map."
My daughter Mandy, a veteran of get-lost days by age ten, rolled down her window and yelled, “Dad, you don’t use maps on get-lost days.” For the most part, she was right.
Over the years, we hiked Thoreau’s Walden Pond; stained our fingers blue picking wild blueberries; slurped fresh watermelon under various oaks; and bought antique china cups for a tea party. We discovered new trails, tucked-away restaurants (yes, a few dives) and quaint neighborhoods. Once, we even stopped by a roadside stand advertising "Piglets for Sale." I'm happy to report we didn't buy any piglets, but the fresh vegetables were divine!
I have celebrated get-lost days for forty years, and I have never returned empty-hearted. Truly, none of us knows how a given day will unfold. Get-lost days merely celebrate this mystery and create a space for the soul to loiter and revel in the unraveling of time.
