Where's the Line Between "Work" and "Just Work?"

As you likely know by now (follow the very-cleverly-concealed clues, Sherlocks), in my spare time, I like to write.

I'll admit it: I just wanted to throw some Cumberbatch on this post.

That's not true, in my spare time I write. "Liking" it doesn't really seem like accurate terminology. Maybe  "I feel compelled, as in OCD compelled, like if I don't do this, the inside of my skin will itch, to write" is closer to the mark.

And of course even that only makes me churn out so many words a day. Unless it's a really NICE day and a friend wants to wander. That's important too.

Unlike many of my other addict friends, though, writing is also my day job. Some of it is mildly creative, some of it is deathly boring (that's day jobs, right?), but upwards of 90% of what I do relates pretty directly to the written word.

As I mentioned recently, it's pretty much the only skill I have.

But there's writing and there's writing.

Leaps of Faith

So here's a question for you creative-types: do you trust your talent?

Do you even trust that you HAVE talent?

I feel like there's a conundrum at the heart of any creative endeavor: on the one hand, we're profoundly fragile people, sculpted out of spun sugar and butterfly wings, ready to fall apart at the first breath of whispered criticism.

A portrait of the artist.

On the other hand, we're arrogant enough to try to create something in the first place, assuming people will want it, even (maybe) want to pay us for the privilege of it.

Sure, there are folks who walk around telling you what an amazing talent they have, and how they just refuse to waste it on less-worthy forms, and how everyone is dying to work with them, and how they would never get out of bed for less than $Large#.

But I'm not those people. I don't even like to be AROUND those people.

"The Artist's Temperament?"

I should probably recall many significantly more important things about the class I took on Vladimir Nabokov, my junior year in college, but the detail that has stuck with me the most wasn't about his expert use of language, or his uncanny ability to get us to sympathize with monsters, or even his amazing adriotness with puns (though that obviously stuck with me too): it was about his family life.

"Perhaps the most remarkable thing about Nabokov," my professor said, quieting the room with an intense gaze (side-note: GOD was he beautiful--my entire love of literature may just be a displaced crush on this professor), "the most unexpected, the way in which he is most unique among writers of his caliber, is this:

"He was happy." 

Let's be honest: I just wanted an excuse to put up a picture of David Tennant 

What's Best for Creativity?

This morning, I woke up extra-early for work, like I do everyday, so I could spend at least a few precious minutes staring at my computer, working on the next novel (I obviously find plenty of time to do not-work at my job, but the kind of focus that I need to work on a novel vs. an essay or a blog is just...different).

Feel free, at this point, to pat me on the back for being saintlike in my devotion to my craft. That half-hour of zombie-staring at a screen, then frantically typing a few sentences I'll fiddle with, slowly, the next morning is pretty much heroic.

But since today is Friday, and my body clock just doesn't want to be in bed before 12 or 12:30 most nights, I was extra tired.

Stupid tired.

So of course I thought it would be a good idea to introduce a second maybe-love-interest to a story in which I intend there to be zero actual romances.

Terrible idea? Or best idea ever?

That depends on me, of course, and whether my skepticism towards teen romance (which I maintained EVEN AS A TEEN) will win this fight; but it did get me thinking (slowly, thickly, rusty-gears style): when do you get your best ideas?

There are a lot of tired maxims about creativity: "you'll get great ideas in the shower," or "the best ideas come when you least expect them," or "write drunk, edit sober."

Is there any truth to any of them? Is my brain's being so painfully tired that I think, right now, I can actually feel it throbbing, a good reason to trash everything I wrote this morning...or to trust it? Should I start pulling out my computer around the start of cocktail number two?

What's the best state to be in to GET ideas (obviously this is all personal)...and what's the best state to be in to execute them?