creativity – Page 2 – Deborah Makarios

April 8, 2016

Are You An Eccentric?

We’ve had Ethic, we’ve had Æsthetic; now we’re back to the Eccentric, viz. Are you an eccentric? ~~If not, why not?~~ Are you sure?

To save you expending your little all on proper certification from suitably qualified psyche-specialists, allow me to proffer the following quiz, based on the work of David Weeks (author of The Gifts of Eccentrics and co-author with Jamie James of Eccentrics: A Study of Sanity and Strangeness). Loosely based on. Inspired by. Which is to say, extrapolated from an article which refers to his work, without actually quoting him.*

Consider the following statements, and give yourself one point for each you agree with – two if you agree strongly.

I refuse to let the world squeeze me into its own mould (as Paul recommended to the Romans). I don’t conform to the expectations of others, or society at large. (Sorry, no extra points for being a Nonconformist.)
I enjoy indulging and exercising my creativity.
I am insatiably curious: I just have to know. (Famous last words: I wonder what happens if I-)
People sometimes call me idealistic – apparently not meaning it as a compliment. As Brooke Fraser so memorably put it, “It could be fun to try / I think that I’ll save the world… as a fun afternoon activity.”
I love my hobbies! You call it obsession; I call it passion. And why limit myself to only one? (Weeks suggests five or six is the usual score.)

Speaking of scores, how are you doing so far? Most eccentrics have all five of these traits. But don’t worry, we haven’t finished yet. Moving on!

I have always known that I was different, even when I was just a little kiddy.
I have an above average intelligence (say, IQ over 110).
I hold strong opinions and I don’t have a problem expressing them. Other people disagree, but that’s their problem. Lots of people believing something doesn’t make it true.
I can’t be bothered competing with other people – I don’t need to compare myself with others to know where I stand.
It has been suggested that the way I live (or eat, or dress…) is weird. Whatever.

I don’t particularly care what other people think, although obviously it would be better if they all agreed with me. I don’t even need their company: I’m happy by myself.
My sense of humour could be described as puckish or mischievous.
I am not married, in law or any other way you care to look at it.
I am the eldest child of my parents/an only child.
I’m rubish at spalling.

How did you go? If you scored 30, you may well be the most eccentric person now living on the face of this planet. If you scored 20-30, you’re pretty darn eccentric. 10-20, you’re fairly eccentric; 5-10, you’re a little odd. Under 5, you’re not really an eccentric, but we’re happy to have you here anyway. If you scored 0, you scare me.

I myself scored 17: fairly eccentric. Well, that’s fine by me. I don’t need to compete 🙂

*Disclaimer: credit for the identification of the fifteen traits of a healthy eccentric** goes to Weeks; the expression thereof and the extremely unscientific scoring system are all mine.

** Contrary to popular belief, eccentrics are less prone to mental health issues than the average person. Weeks also notes that people with mental health issues actually suffer from them, whereas eccentrics are having a ball. Eccentrics: Odd, But Not Insane.

August 28, 2015

Dr. Jeeves and Mr. Hyde Wooster

We are all, to some extent, Jekyll and Hyde. I don’t mean to suggest that we all make & take potions and turn into insane murderers (I feel sure I would have noticed), but we all have different sides to our selves. Not good vs evil necessarily, but, say, left-brain vs. right-brain.

The writing teacher Dorothea Brande suggests that in order to make the best use of these different elements of ourselves – she is speaking of the creative and critical functions – it is best to consider and develop them separately.

“By isolating as far as possible the functions of these two sides of the mind, even by considering them not merely as aspects of the same mind but as separate personalities, we can arrive at a kind of working metaphor, impossible to confuse with reality, but infinitely helpful in self-education.”

To arrive at the working metaphor: that was my goal. As I have mentioned before, there are few things I enjoy more than a really good metaphor.
Left brain / right brain, however, isn’t much of a metaphor, and it’s hard to visualize for someone who has never seen her brain (and doesn’t much want to).

The next classic metaphor is the “inner child” – which didn’t really work for me. While my creative side is frequently childlike, it isn’t like a child – and my “adult” self is frequently less than adult!

The thing is, in order to make the best use of the two sides, they need to work together; there needs to be a kind of equality between them. Adult/child is not a relationship of equality.

Yes, the creative side needs to submit to the ordered side’s discipline, or nothing would ever be achieved; but the ordered side’s authority is exercised solely to create the best conditions for the creative side. (Or at least it should be.)

I started considering relationships where this is the case.

The Governess, I decided, was an excellent metaphor for the ordered side: she governs, she educates, she assesses, she provides encouragement and rebuke as necessary, and she wields her authority for the good of her charge.

The only downside is that governesses do all this for children, and my inner self, etc etc. I suppose it is possible to have a governess for a lunatic (seems like something Chesterton would write) but I’m not sure that I’m that far gone.

Then I had a brain-wave: Jeeves and Wooster. Bertram Wilberforce Wooster is the immature undisciplined creative all-over-the-place person par excellence, and Jeeves’ whole raison d’être is to provide for his every need (if not want) and keep him out of prison, matrimony, and unsuitable apparel.

As mentally satisfying as that metaphor was, it still wasn’t quite ‘me’. My ordered side is more a Miss Silver than a Jeeves, and I’d like to think my creative side is less clueless than a Wooster. The Great Metaphor Hunt went on.

Eventually I realized that the metaphors for the two sides don’t have to ‘belong’ together, as satisfying as it would be if they did. I could pair the Governess metaphor with a non-child metaphor. But what?

The creative side really was much harder to pin down, which is fitting, I suppose. After some thought, I settled on the Jester – one of those simple souls who capers about singing songs of joy or sorrow and saying the sorts of things that reasonable people get their heads chopped off for. This is the side of me that laughs at toilet humour and howls at the moon. (I think it is best for everybody if I don’t sing.)

Interestingly, I’ve noticed a difference in what I like to wear, depending on which aspect is in the ascendant, or in use, whichever way you like to look at it.
The Governess side of me likes to wear 1930s style clothes: tailored, smart and tidy. The Jester, on the other hand, has a more medieval aesthetic: flowing garments one can move freely in, preferably topped with a funny hat of some sort (with or without bells).

Perhaps I can use that as a way to toggle the two sides. The Governess makes the plans for the day’s work, and then on go the ancestral dressing-gown and the funny hat, and the Jester comes out to play. When it comes time to review and edit, off with the funny hat.

Do you have recognized sides to your self? Do you have metaphors for them? I’d love to know!

January 10, 2015

O For a Muse of Fire – or Not

The last thing I need is a chamber-pot of burning coals dumped on my head every time I get a bright idea.

There are two broad schools of thought when it comes to muses, which one might call the Pooh and Rabbit Schools. (See this quote post for the difference.) Which do you belong to? Do you wait for the muse to descend, or do you go out and hunt the fickle wench down?

Some creatives swear by the former (“I’m not in control of my muse. My muse does all the work” – Ray Bradbury) and some by the latter (“I don’t wait on the muse, I summon it at need” – Piers Anthony). Some just don’t believe in muses at all (the Eeyore School of Thought?).

Earlier this year I went to see Plum at the Court Theatre in Christchurch. P.G. Wodehouse’s muse appears as a dapper if dissolute young lady in waistcoat and trousers, and she is, as one would expect, as much fun as a barrelful of monkeys.

Naturally, being a writer myself, I started to wonder whether I had a muse, and if so what she/he/it looked like. Of course, writing isn’t the only muse-related area. The Greeks had Muses for everything from history to dance to astronomy. Perhaps one could have a Muse of Housework, who frolics about the house with a frilly cap and feather duster, singing forbidden songs.

But what exactly are we talking about when we say “muse”? Someone who inspires us? An anthropomorphic representation of inspiration? Our own self or variant thereof when the creative juices start to flow? Well, judging by classical depictions, the only qualification for being a muse is an ability to look classy while leaning on something, wearing nothing but a sheet.

See what I mean? Anyone could do it! Sheet, piece of furniture – voila.

Not all muses are the lady-in-a-sheet sort, though. Kerry Greenwood (author of the Phryne Fisher mysteries, among others) says “If I ever saw my muse she would be an old woman with a tight bun and spectacles poking me in the middle of the back and growling, ‘Wake up and write the book!’” Like this, perhaps:

Stephen King seems to have a male muse, judging by this description: “There is a muse, but he’s not going to come fluttering down into your writing room and scatter creative fairy-dust all over your typewriter or computer station. He lives in the ground. He’s a basement guy. You have to descend to his level, and once you get down there you have to furnish an apartment for him to live in. You have to do all the grunt labor, in other words, while the muse sits and smokes cigars and admires his bowling trophies and pretends to ignore you.”

Definitely not as cute as Jubilare’s fuzzy little muse, despite the pointy teeth.

I like the idea of a chic waistcoated muse, or a savage little fluffy one, or even a plain old draped version. But having thought about it, I’m afraid my muse is kind of a cross between Hamlet and Cookie Monster.
“Words, words, words – om nom nom nom!”

Difficult to illustrate, particularly without running into copyright or trademark issues. Something googly-eyed and berserk with a mouthful of sentences and the occasional stray crumb of a letter dropping to its furry tum? With inky paws, I suspect.

What’s your muse? I’d love to hear!