The "Floating Idea" Theory of Creativity
There might already be an accepted name for this but I ain't reading all that
I’ve heard Rick Rubin, Rosanne Cash, and Elizabeth Gilbert all talk about the magic of creativity, how a song or story floats, looking for someone to capture it. The idea being that if the thing comes to you and you don’t snatch it, if you don’t create that which wants desperately to be created, then it will leave. It will haunt others until someone is brave and persistent enough to birth it into the world.
There’s something lovely about this idea—that art is an invisible force in the world, like gravity or magnetism, that has tangible results. It suggests that stories want to be told and that it is our responsibility in life to capture them lovingly, like lightning bugs cupped between your palms. It suggests that the creator is part mother, part midwife.
There’s also something about this that fucking terrifies me, to be honest, and I think it’s because I have captured An Idea. I’ve been gripping it for a year and it’s not a passive gripping, either. I’ve put work into it! I have an outline, I have character sketches, I’ve done research (I’ve even gotten help with the research!), and I—crucially—started writing it. I know that this novel is something and I want desperately to continue working on it. The world of it feels like it is mine, it belongs to me.
2024 has utterly sidetracked me, however. Moving, dragon boating (more to come on that soon!), work, my little vegetable garden…not to mention that the post-treatment fatigue is real, my god.
If they’re right, if the story is already its own entity with its own pursuit of being transcribed, then maybe this story will get tired of my life’s many interferences. Maybe it has already grown impatient with me and is being written by someone else. Maybe she’s in Michigan right now, typing away at her dining room table. Or worse, maybe there’s a man in New York who’s already pitching to agents. (I swear to god if this story is ever told by a man…!)
I cannot stress enough the dread this makes me feel. I have no doubt whatsoever that I would actually weep if I saw this story on a shelf at Powell’s with someone else’s name attached. And I’m sorry to say that I don’t have a grand finale here. I don’t have a promise to make about committing to finding time for it this fall or a feel good ending about how—surprise!— I’ve picked it up again already. I’m still just as swamped as ever. All I can say is that I want to devote myself to this novel that wants out and I really hope that I can, somehow. I want life to slow down so that I can breathe, and write. (Even saying this makes me nervous because I have a real fear of monkey’s paw-ing myself into some horrible circumstances.)
I suppose I can end this by saying that if you’re rich and you want to fund me taking a few months off work so that I can spend time with my novel, my partially-born baby, then I will unequivocally accept. hmu platonic sugar daddies or any other kind of wealthy benefactors.
I’ve dealt with a gnarly depression funk this summer, so forgive my silence. My instinct is to say that I plan on being more consistent or whatever but I can promise nothing of the sort to you, darling reader, and it isn’t personal. Who am I to bare knuckle fight my depression for a stray, desperate promise? I will try to write because I love to write. That is all.
Some Things I’ve Been Into Recently:
Smitten Kitchen’s shakshuka still hits. I’ve been making this regularly since 2010 or 2011 and it’s just one of the very best meals on the planet. And of course, as an Albanian-American, I am legally obligated to beg that you buy whole feta in brine instead of crumbled feta.
Josh borrowed seasons 1 and 2 of Halt and Catch Fire from the library and it’s so goddamn good. Because media conglomerates are stupid shitheads, they actually never put the last two seasons on DVD or Blu Ray. This means I’m going to have to SUBSCRIBE TO A STREAMING SERVICE just to finish watching this. UGH. Anyway, Lee Pace! Mackenzie Davis! The rest of them!
Podcast I’ve been digging: Reading Writers. It’s two writers talking about what they’ve been reading and then they have a guest to talk about a book. Sounds standard issue but it isn’t. It’s exactly what I’ve always wanted out of a literary podcast—it’s not interviews with writers who are on tour for their newly published book, it’s not genre (or anti-genre), and the books do not need to be the current hot topic. For example I just listened to an episode where someone came on to talk about a book published in 1894, and before that one of the hosts was talking about reading Jane Eyre for the first time. Great pod for folks who enjoy meandering conversations about books.
As I mentioned above, the dog days of summer really sunk my ass into the Depression Sea. As such, my reading has taken a hit. I did recently finish The Librarianist by Patrick DeWitt, though, which was one of the novels I selected for book club. (In our book club, the host selects several options and the entire group votes, and the winning book is what we read for the next month.) I really enjoyed French Exit a few years back and wanted an option that could be read pretty quickly, and this fit the bill. It lacked a coherent throughline, in my opinion, but it was often delightful to read. I kind of wish that DeWitt had just scrapped all of Bob Comet’s story and wrote about June and Ida instead. They were absolutely charming—someone in book club said they reminded her of the aunts in Pushing Daisies and she’s right! (Also: second Lee Pace reference in this post. Lee, call me.)
My annual oncology MRI is coming up soon so I would appreciate your good vibes and prayers or whatever it is that you’re into. Love you all, and sending hopes of clear air and crisp autumn weather your way.
xox,
Lena