I’ve been waiting my whole life for people to start emailing me questions like “What advice do you have for people wanting to emulate your success?” or “What’s your creative process?” or just “HOW CAN I BE MORE LIKE YOU?!?!”
The answer to that last question isn’t really long enough for a blog post (start eating unholy quantities of chips and drying your laundry by flinging it at random around your living space and you’re most of the way there). Nonetheless, I’d like to get an early start on answering at least one of these questions so that I’m not woefully unprepared when I suddenly become disgustingly rich and famous, so let’s talk about my creative process instead.
Step One: Have Idea
This idea is literally the best idea anyone has ever had ever. You’re the Queen of Ideas. No, to hell with that, you’re an IDEAS GODDESS and very soon people are going to start building temples and sacrificing goats to you and you’re going to feel kind of bad about that because even goats should get to bask in the radiant glow of your brilliance and how can they do that if they’re dead?
Anyway, pushing thoughts of goats aside – at least your stunning creativity is a cause worth dying for – you set about creating your masterpiece with energy and enthusiasm.
Step Two: Discover Flaws in Idea
You pause to look over your drafts and realise that this idea is as solid as a house. A house that’s missing a couple of supporting walls. And a roof. And a floor. Now that you think about it, it’s not so much a house as a drawing of a house, and not even a very good one. You’re even starting to suspect that it’s not even an original drawing of a house and you might have subconsciously plagiarised it from a kid you hung out with in playgroup when you were four.
You’re still creating, but it’s not fun any more. You’re forcing yourself, trying to think about how good you’ll feel when it’s finished.
Step Three: Stalemate
You really put in the hours today. Lesser minds might have made excuses to leave their desks and go and do some household chores or run some errands or otherwise get something useful done but not you. You stayed at your desk until the bitter end. Your commitment to your art is inspirational.
It’s just a shame that all you actually achieved was a full and thorough appreciation for the art of the autocorrect.
Step Four: Crying
IT’S NOT FAIR WHY COULDN’T I HAVE WANTED TO BE SOMETHING EASY LIKE AN ASTRONAUT OR A BRAIN SURGEON WHY MUST I WANT TO DO SOMETHING I’M OBVIOUSLY TERRIBLE AT I JUST WANT TO CRAWL INTO A HOLE AND BE ALONE WITH MY SELF PITY
Step Five: ??
I don’t know what happens next. I’ve never got past Step Four. I bet it’s good, though.