Managing Creativity - Stage 2 THE EDITOR

I am pleased to discuss with Ann Cefola the second stage in her strategy to manage the creative process:

Frank: Ann, you’ve given us permission to play unencumbered. I imagine a child finger painting. But I want to create something professional to communicate with other people. How do I get from here to there?

Ann: Your challenge as an artist is to access that child-space where you can have fun, create new worlds and—as you say—get your hands messy. Once you have exhausted yourself that way, you need to back off from the work. Even the subconscious—the inner child—needs a break, nap time, milk and cookies, whatever!

Once you’ve guided that child, whom I call the Wunderkind, out of the room, it’s time to invite in the Editor. The Editor loves to create order out of chaos. The Editor will sort, select, try out, rearrange. More adult than the Wunderkind, the Editor is also playful and daring: like a teenager with some knowledge and the adrenaline to try something new.

Frank: I’m glad that I can still play. I thought the Editor was going to be a taskmaster and I’d have to be clear-headed and detached. I’m not sure I am capable of that.

What does the Editor look like at work?

Ann: When you get tired after sustained creative activity or don’t know what to do next, that’s time to call in the Editor. You may have a longing for order—to rearrange dishes, sort through clothes, or clear the basement. Those transition activities can help summon your Editor. They create time and space for a shift to occur in both your brain and environment.

There’s a definite shift. To create a manuscript, I may spread poems on the floor. My Editor will quickly select and group them, put them together and pull them apart. It feels fun and intuitional—I have no idea where my Editor is leading. Days later, I may move several poems. My Editor is fine-tuning. I trust her completely.

Another way to invoke the Editor is before sleep. I can think, “I need help editing this poem.” It’s like placing an order: I go to sleep while my Editor turns on the lamplight and gets to work. The next day there may be some new ideas.

What would you ask your Editor for help with?

Frank: I want to know if my work makes sense, communicates, engages – in short, is it any good?

Ann: You would ask, “Is there anything I need to do to improve the film?” You might live with that question for a week. Step away from the creative churning for a while.

Frank: I am curious how your Editor interrelates with other Editors—in workshops, writers groups and with writer-friends?

Ann: My Wunderkind loves workshops and sharing work with others. She enjoys seeing what other people are doing. She finds inspiration and challenge among other artists.

Editing, however, is a solo practice. If a document is circulated, edits input by each person require quiet and focus. In graduate workshops, when 15 Editors suggested edits, I never knew which had the most merit; many were contradictory. My Editor felt overloaded and overwhelmed.

Teachers encouraged us to find two or three people we could turn to over a literary lifetime. Integrity is crucial here: Editors who constantly applaud work are useless. Similarly, Editors who do not understand the poet’s intent offer no value. I am blessed to know two award-winning poets whose Editors love to work with my Editor. We know we are there to support, challenge and promote one another’s work.

Frank: I learned something about giving feedback from my film class. For the first five years I taught it, I critiqued students’ one-page scripts. One semester, I got two scripts, one well written and the other—an incoherent script.

While the good writer made a so-so film, the incoherent writer created a spectacular one. I realized their scripts could not wholly convey their ideas; furthermore, my criticism could have been destructive. For 25 years now, I haven’t critiqued student scripts. I find what is good in them and bring that to students’ attention. This unconditional love works wonders—their film quality is much better.

Ann: Your story illustrates the interplay between the Wunderkind and the Editor beautifully. That student with the tidy script allowed her Editor to participate in her project too soon. Sure, she could hand in a great script—but the Editor’s continued presence created a less than adventuresome project.

The second student, with the crazy script, allowed her Wunderkind to be in control—its incoherence shows that a preverbal Wunderkind was guiding her project! That audaciousness and playfulness continued into the film.

Here’s the lesson: The Wunderkind and Editor cannot be in the room at the same time. The Wunderkind thrives on creative chaos and the Editor on patterns and order. If the Wunderkind is playing, the Editor will say, “What on earth are you doing? Here, let’s clean this up now!” And the Wunderkind looks around meekly and shrugs, “Okay.” Editors by nature are authoritative and that’s intimidating to the Wunderkind.

I once coached a man who could not get started writing his manuscript. I explained that his Editor was in the room. “What will you say to your Editor to make him leave?” I asked. He thought and said, “’I value you and will need you later. Right now, I am asking you to leave.’” After that, his manuscript poured out in a matter of months.

It takes 10 years for the Editor to learn his or her chosen craft. And, once we learn those rules, we can break them. That’s the Editor’s choice too. That’s why the Editor can end up being just as playful as the Wunderkind—but in a more adult, conscious, deliberate way.

What does the Wunderkind feel like to you? Your Editor? When do you know they are battling?

Frank: My Wunderkind is fear. When I explore a project, I feel it’s good it if it scares me. For my last documentary, “A Perfect Stranger,” I would go to Starbucks or Washington Square Park, find someone that interested me based on their appearance, then ask if I could do an in-depth profile on them.

Approaching strangers is scary. So is pushing them to reveal who they are. I paralleled the idea with an attempt to find out who I am. Now that’s really scary! (see the doc at: http://www.vitaleproductions.com/-/frank_vitale_new_work_%26_projects.html )

I like walking on the edge. To me, art is on the edge.

Ann: Georgia O’Keeffe spoke about walking a knife’s edge, knowing she will probably fall off, but being compelled to do so anyway. If you think about it, a kid would never have any problem walking up to a stranger and saying, “I want to make a movie about you.”

When the Editor is in charge, make sure the Wunderkind doesn’t sneak back in. The Editor needs solitude. If a novelist is putting final touches on a book, the Wunderkind might say, “Let’s have aliens land in Chapter 3,” or “Why can’t the main character live happily ever after instead of dying?” Sometimes there can be valuable insights but mostly it’s an attempt to derail completion.

In the final moments of completing a project, stay tuned with that energy that brought you to this point. Say, “I still don’t know where this is going, but I trust the outcome.” If you are picturing reviews, visualizing the audience, take a break. Do what you need to do to get back in your zone—whether saying a prayer, doing a little writing, or going somewhere for a walk. Art is a spiritual practice and any background noise needs to be addressed.

Frank: That is really useful and I know it will be to others as well.

Thank you, Ann. This has been great. I look forward to the final character in your triumvirate, the Advocator.

Ann: My pleasure, Frank! Next time we’ll talk about getting our work out in the world.

The WONDERKIND: license to breath.

Ann Cefola, creative strategist and owner of Jumpstart, LLC, is a multitalented wellspring of thought and energy. I attended her workshop on creativity at the Manhattanville College writing program. She gave us a very workable strategy to manage our creative process. Ann divides the process into three stages. In her words they are, "The first stage is the ‘wunderkind’ stage, which means play and sometimes chaos; the second stage is ‘shaping,’ where we call upon the inner editor to make sense of the creative mess we've generated; and the third stage calls for ‘advocating,’ where we summon our inner concierge to go into the world and find opportunities to share our work." Here is an email interview with Ann on the first stage of creativity: The Wunderkind.

Frank: What is, in your opinion, the essence of creativity?

Ann: The essence of creativity is intuition, the ability to listen, follow and act on inner cues and nudgings.  Once I was sorting through tubes of oil paint at Pearl—hefting them in my hand, reading them, considering what I needed to paint.  I apologetically explained to an employee, a young man, that I had no formal training.  "That doesn't matter," he said.  "Eventually you come to realize that your greatest teacher is your intuition."  I marveled at the rightness of his words.

Frank: Those “inner cues and nudgings,” they sound ephemeral, delicate, fragile, scary. How do you manage them effectively?

Ann:  Most artists have a rich inner life—it’s a way of being that processes the world in terms of messages, symbols and metaphor.  When something is appealing or intriguing, we make note of it—even if only on a subconscious level.  Writers have many journals and artists sketchbooks.  My uncle, an architect, advised his daughters to always carry a sketchbook. How do filmmakers collect and record the primary material that inspires them?

Frank: For filmmakers there must be many different ways. For me, I carry most of in my head until there comes a point when I need to make it more concrete and put it down on paper as an idea or an outline or a script. Once on paper it is never as amazing as it was in my head. And then there is the process of actually making the film that is full of heart-breaking compromises. The film can turn out great, but getting there is torture.

Let me go back to the incubation stage and ask you about the emotional part. It is so hard to take those “inner cues and nudgings” and expose them to the light of day by writing them down or drawing images and then, oh God, sharing them with other people who might judge our work or judge us and trample our delicate fragile imaginings. It’s a very vulnerable time in the process. What are your thoughts about dealing with the fear and natural insecurity that is part of the creative process?

Ann:  Mark Twain said, “Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear—not absence of fear.”  It never goes away.  What is a greater fear, however, is never acting on that glimmering inspiration.  Once a coworker said to me, “Oh you write?  So do I:  I’ve written hundreds of novels in my head.”  That still gives me chills.  The insecurity is always there—in the poem “Berryman” by W. S. Merwin, Merwin asks the elder poet:

[…] how can you ever be sure 
that what you write is really 
any good at all and he said you can't 

you can't you can never be sure 
you die without knowing 
whether anything you wrote was any good 
if you have to be sure don't write

Being a creative person in this world, on a feeling level, makes no sense:  I have to embrace the secret calling without wasting time questioning it.  And you’re right, the first inklings of creative pursuit are delicate.   Wasn’t it Hemingway who refused to say what he was writing about?  That’s a practical choice—to hold the work close until it feels like it is ready to debut.  Anxiety is part of the creative process and, if embraced, turns into energy and wisdom for the work itself.

Frank: That’s powerful, Ann. There is fear and uncertainty, yet great possibilities. In your Stages of Creativity, the first stage is the Wunderkind. What is it and how does it get us to move beyond the fear and uncertainty?

Ann: If you look at a cut tree trunk, you see all the circles as the tree grew outward. Humans are like that too—we have every life stage within us, despite our advancing years. The child within is the source of all creativity. The child is at home with the imagination. The child knows no rules or bounds. A child will say she’s going to build a tower to the moon. And most adults would respond, “Of course you are!” or a more skeptical “And how do you plan to do that?”  There is also a saying that all children are poets—it’s just some of us never forget it.

The child loves creative chaos. Here’s an example: My husband dropped by the neighbors after the holidays.  The mother called everyone into the kitchen to see the baby, who had emptied multiple bags of cups from a discount store onto the floor.  “This baby has gotten all the gifts in the world for Christmas, and look what she prefers!” Everyone had a good laugh. That’s early creativity—cups and cups and what to do with them! Not yet one year old, the baby had created a fascinating landscape. Whether using mud, plastic cups or finger paint, kids go with their instincts. You probably know the famous Picasso quote—when he saw some four year olds’ drawings:  “It took me a long time before I could draw that way.”

The Wunderkind is that inner child who knows that it’s okay to take risks, think big and enjoy the adrenaline of a visualized new adventure. That child knows how to play and how to play seriously. Somewhere between the sandbox and the laptop, many of us lose touch with the Wunderkind. He or she is still there, waiting to be invited to play. How I choose to interact with my Wunderkind may determine whether I produce anything creative as an adult or not.

Frank: How do you invite the Wunderkind to play? How do you interact with it?

Ann: Say a parent notices a child loves to garden. Maybe the grandparents hear about this and buy their grandchild a little hoe and watering can. Maybe the neighbors pass along an envelope of zucchini seeds.  Maybe the parents take their child to the local botanical garden and nature center.  The parents know that their child loves spending time outside and learning about plants.  At the holidays, they may buy books about gardening.  They give the child the time, space and tools to explore this passion—which seems to increase the more they support it. When we discover our passion, our curiosity, our instinct—even if only a beguiling direction or pull—we need to be like those attentive parents. We need to give our Wunderkind the time, space and tools to explore.  As a poet, I need lots of time just to be, to reflect, to hear lines that come to me.  I also need a laptop, and a beautiful pen and colorful notebooks.  I need great writing to read to inspire and challenge me.  I need other poets to share my work with, and to encourage me to continue.  I know I am being a good parent to my Wunderkind when I feel connected to my work and have a sense of playful intrigue.

Is it hard to make time for a pursuit that has no promise of outcome or profit— when I have to earn a living and attend to the everyday details of life? Yes, it is a challenge: Here is the daily, weekly or monthly choice we must make—to  live the path we've been given, or walk away from it.

Frank: Thank you, Ann. You have given us permission to play. That’s a great gift.

 

Television Interview Techniques

The Heart of the Matter

I was recently watching the Middlemarch Films production of "The New Medicine," which aired on PBS. I was struck by the quality of the interviews and wondered how Muffie Meyer and Ron Blumer (director/producer) achieved their results. 

I do a lot of video interviewing at the March of Dimes and have evolved strong ideas on how to get good interviews. 

The mistake I often see, and one I used to make myself, was knowing too clearly what I wanted the subject to say. It is common to write the interview sound bites in a documentary script before shooting and then try to get the subject to give those quotes. I have seen directors, out of frustration for not getting the words, give the subjects the exact lines and ask them to repeat them. The result is usually stiff and embarrassing. But that's the extreme case. A slightly more benign transgression is to keep repeating the question and reframing it in order to get the pre-ordained response. That approach often makes the subject uncomfortable which is game over, as far as I am concerned.

One important aspect of evolved interview technique is that it is more important how a person says something than what they say. For example, if a person says the exact words in the script: "The March of Dimes saved my baby's life," in a straight forward, maybe stiff manner, it won't be effective. It is much stronger if they say, "Wow.... (shaking their head) the March of Dimes!" The enthusiasm in their voice conveys the emotion and I can get the information across by putting the sound bite in the appropriate context.

There are a few techniques I use to keep the subject relaxed and spontaneous. The main idea is to make it a conversation and to listen. 

If you can engage the person in a conversation, they will be less distracted by the crew and camera because they will be involved with their ideas, thoughts and feelings. When they start thinking about what they should say, about what they think the interviewer expects them to say, the interview becomes deadly.

And, the most important thing is to listen, to hear when they are excited about something, when they are touching on what's important to them. That's where the gold is. What I want, as the interviewer, is the person, I want their heart and soul. They usually give me a clue. It's quiet and subtle but if I'm attentive, I can hear it. Then I tease it out of them. Not with a question but with an "Oh?" or a look, like 'tell me?' They want to talk about it because it is important to them. That is when they are their most animated, their most real.

The Story Corps book is entitled, "Listening Is an Act of Love." I enjoy listening to people, enjoy finding out what's important to them and enjoy the pleasure they feel when they are being listened to.

So, tell me, what do you think...?