The Creative Process

I remember the first time I did something crazy like this. I was in the final few months of my PhD.

My PhD was in computational algebra, or “mathematics” for my family. I was finishing my thesis — a monolithic computation where I had to convince the reader that a) I knew what I was doing, and b) they would know what I was doing, amidst the vast edifice of bespoke computational widgets I had created and wired together. I had to think a lot about mathematics, about algorithms, and about conveying that effectively.

The standard way to produce a PhD thesis like this is to shun all of society, all hobbies, all fun, get the work done, and eventually emerge half-desiccated with a USB stick in your hands.

It so happened that in my spare time, I — amongst many things — was trying to write a novel. It was a novel about a young woman leaving university, and how her life falls apart but is rebuilt with the help of a startling stranger. The parallels with me finishing my PhD were purely coincidental. I had been working on the novel for many years, on and off. The end of the PhD was more a warning sign than a parallel. And I certainly didn’t meet an Australian Zen Buddhist who made me rethink my trauma.

It also so happened that I was a member of the local writing club. It appeared to be populated entirely by women in their sixties, but they had real impact on the city’s writing scene. They had a building near the city. They had programs and literary nights. They also had a competition for young (ahem) unpublished (ahehehehem) writers in the region. If you could submit your current work on your unfinished novel, you could win a mentorship with A Real Writer. Like one whose books were on shelves for sale for real money.

Entrants needeed to submit the first thirty thousand words of their novel for the competition. My novel was on its nth restart, so all I needed to do was write about twenty-nine thousand words. I had the characters and the structure, but just not the words to bring them from in here to out there.

The due date was pretty much the same as my PhD thesis. “No can do,” said the little angel on my shoulder. I sighed and turned to the guy on the other side. He just shrugged and said, “What do you have to lose?”

So I did it. I wrote the first third of my novel and the entirety of my thesis. And I won the competition as well as graduating. The results of both are a story for another time, but I managed to somehow pull a polymath miracle out of the air.

Fifteen years later, I’m attempting to do something creative even though I’m doing it in crazy circumstances. You may see a few parallels.

Turns out in a few weeks I’m going to be father for the second time. This will be a time of immense upheaval. The first time around the sleep deprivation was so bad that I don’t have that many memories of those first months.

When B-day hits, everything is discarded. All of society, all hobbies, all fun. Just survive and keep the baby alive. Everything else can be repaired later. It ends up being worth it, but you definitely learn things about yourself.

In my deep well of hobbies, I’ve long had an interest in Interactive Fiction (IF). It is a somewhat technical and creative genre, where you combine the wordsmithing of writing with the dynamic outcomes of programming. IF ranges from the old-school Zork to more modern works in Twine. I’ve made acquaintances in the community, beta-tested for many people, reviewed games, and worked on a number of projects.

Every year they have a competition called IFComp. Writers submit pieces and the public votes on them. There’s even prizes if you’re lucky. In 2005 I wrote a game called Mix Tape. It did both poorly and decently, simultaneously.

It did poorly because I rushed it but entered it anyway. It was incomplete and incoherent, and could have done with another few months in the polishing phase. Even the core idea of it — a post-mortem of a relationship by way of a mix tape structure — was of dubious design. There were reviews, some of them scathing.

I had messed up.

But it was a nominee for Best Writing in the IF community’s equivalent of a yearly awards ceremony. And there were some encouraging reviews amidst the “Meh”s. I had mixed emotions for Mix Tape and doing creative things.

In the wash, releasing such bad work embarrassed and haunted me. I abandoned writing IF for a number of years, scuppering a half-dozen ideas I had started or had copious notes for. I slinked away to move onto different creative projects.

A month or two before Baby 1.0, I somehow came to peace with Mix Tape. With the benefit of hind-sight and some better maturity, I could see what was done and how it wasn’t that bad. And I had a new idea. About a father and a daughter, and the creative process and what we do with all our time on this planet. I was going to write it for IFComp 2018. This piece is called Hand Me Down.

I didn’t finish it. But with Baby 2.0 on the way, now I want to. And if it’s ready — and only if it’s ready — submit it to IFComp 2022. Or 2023 perhaps.

In between these lovely babies, I’ve had to wrestle with the state of my creative pursuits. I have a full-time job. Creative projects are my night-time hobby, and my wife is very supportive of all that I do. But I have an unending problem of… well… not finishing projects. I go full burn on one until there’s an obstacle, either in the project or myself. Then I put that on the backburner and start a new one, promising to come back to the old projects when it’s time.

On finishing projects, I’ve often done better when there’s a deadline or an audience. My PhD. Two different, years-long D&D campaigns I created from whole cloth. Short stories I wrote for friends.

I haven’t got a full grasp of my creative situation and limitations, but they say the best way to learn something is to teach or talk about it.

So my crazy idea is this:

Every month I’m going to write an update on my technical creative projects. What I’ve been thinking of, my inspirations, my focus, my successes, my failures. Especially my failures. And from this, I’m going to finish projects.

If I have an audience, that’s great. They can keep me honest, and maybe be entertained or educated along the way. If I don’t, then at least I’m thinking about this problem of projects.

I’ve been driven by the deep belief that the world needs more eclectic zines, more shared experiences, more shared failures. Lynn Cherny’s “Things I Think Are Awesome” has been a particular inspiration of cool things shared regularly, as is a maths friend who has a long-running personal newsletter about their endeavours getting a job in Europe.

I want to start my Creative Process newsletter. And write a game. And welcome a baby next month. Wish me luck.

This is the first edition. Let’s move forward to the next one.

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