Despite five years of plugging away on a new book, I still feel tongue-tied whenever anyone asks me about it. Here’s my usual elevator speech: “The Release helps writers navigate the period after they finish a project with integrity, creativity, and grace.” Adequate, except the book likely will not be called The Release and most …
A spark of life or inspiration sounds through us into our creations and sounds through our creations into other living, breathing creations who are also sparks of life and sources of inspiration.
What I find remarkable about Wallace’s story is how he saw creative potential within a relationship comprised of rejections.
In our product-driven, results-oriented culture, we like to think creative work gains worth by its impact on an audience. Liz’s story illustrates that who we become for having done the creative work is an equally important “product” with significant “results.”
The unpublished memoir definitely exerts a subtle but important influence on me.
Annie Dillard once said that an unpublished, unread manuscript gathering dust under an attic bed still exerts its influence on the world. Is this true? Can we pin our faith and our work’s worth on this hidden, immeasurable impact?
What if the new life we look for (in publication, in success) might also be found elsewhere?
Writers who long to communicate need readers, and readers have particular needs that writers can fill. The small ways we find to close this circle are beautiful works of art in their own right.
The story itself—the emergent life inside the inspiration—is a dynamic participant in the creative process.