I’ve created products, illustrations, and now stories. Those who have hired me, referred me, and beta read with me may have some choice words to say about my bold demeanor, but they will all say that my strongest quality is my creativity.

Sometimes I think that’s a wonderful thing. Other times I think I’d rather be a bit more in check–more able to hold my tongue, or less passionate in my opinions. But we are what we are. My husband brought a speech to my attention last week that is perhaps the VERY BEST speech I have ever heard on creativity, where it comes from, and how to cultivate it.

Who gave this speech? Why, none other than John Cleese. He’s the only guy who could make a hundred light bulb jokes while giving a serious lecture on the nature and basis of creativity. Plus fart noises. I’m serious, you have to watch it to believe it.

As some of you may know, I’m still new to this whole writing thing. Granted, I wrote my first words at four years old, but it wasn’t until nine months ago that I started writing my first novel. So I consider myself still very much in the learning, growing, creative phase of a new endeavor. This phase is riddled with anxiety. Fuzzy uncertain moments. Flipping stomachs. This is a state of being I’m well accustomed to.

As a product designer, I lived in the flux of creative decisions. When you design a product, you do not run with the first idea that pops into your mind. Well, some people do, but unless they’re narcissistic billionaires you are unlikely to find their product on the shelf. When you design a product, you need options. The skill is in generating alternatives at every single step of the process. Only by generating alternatives can you arrive at the right mix of qualities, features, materials, and manufacturing processes.

A Product Development Board

Cleese discusses this process in hilarious detail. In his words, “Having a new idea is about connecting two separate ideas in a way that generates meaning.” What he’s referencing is the concept of lateral thinking, a creative thinking technique heralded by Edward De Bono , one of the great teachers of creative thinking. If you haven’t read his books, do yourself a favor and grab them.

Lateral thinking is all about generating alternatives. One of my favorite techniques is random word stimulation–sounds fancy, but really it just means shutting your eyes and flipping to a word in the dictionary. Use that word to solve your problem.

A product design example: How should the toothbrush flex?

Random word: Carrot

Solutions: Maybe there are multiple flexible strands between the handle and the head, like greens atop a carrot. Or maybe there are rubbery ridges ringing the handle, acting as a spring, like orange carrot flesh. You can see how I could go on and on here, I’m sure. Granted, not all words are awesome fodder. I recommend using a children’s dictionary to remove the odd words. Use the definition as well as the word to spur ideas.

The same method for generating alternatives applies to writing. You can use random words to generate solutions for plot holes, character traits, setting details, descriptive phrases, etc. Thinking laterally keeps you from trudging down the same straight path with no success. It keeps you from thinking linearly, and lets your brain hop to the solutions hiding off in the bushes.

An Ideation Map

These techniques are part of my creative process. My husband often laughs about the way I write–he says it’s unlike any writer he’s known. I write the same way I design. What matters is arriving at the solution. Words rise and fall along the way. I’m not particularly attached to them at the letter-level. I’ve been known to chop more words than I write in a day. The feeling is exhilarating. Yes, of course it makes me anxious. But I know that nervous feeling means I’m on to something. The good work is coming.

John Cleese talks about this feeling how it’s essential to creativity. I’m paraphrasing here:

The most creative people are prepared to tolerate that slight anxiety that we all experience when we are facing a problem . . . an internal agitation that makes us just plain uncomfortable. And so in order to avoid it we make a decision, not because it’s the best decision, but because taking it will make us feel better. Well, the most creative people have learned to tolerate that discomfort.

So if you have that sick feeling in your stomach, good for you. Stick it out. The good work is coming. You can watch a complete video of John Cleese’s speech here:

So, I just finished up my first beta read for another writer. For how many bazillions of books I have read, this was the very first time I made editorial notes on one. I’ve made notes for book reports and term papers, but never in an editorial mindset. In the past, the idea that the words on the page could change never crossed my mind.

Beta reading was a different experience than I expected. At first, I stopped every time I needed to write a note on something, even trivial things. Then I kept having to back up and re-read in order to recapture the pace and premise of the story. Which kind of sucked. In order to truly form an opinion on the story, I needed to let it wash over me. Beta reading was getting in the way of my beta read.

I took a break and looked for some advice. Did you know even wiki has an entry on betas? Well, I found this excellent blog entry by Corrine Jackson on How to Beta Read, and it confirmed many of my suspicions. First, I needed to plan to read the MS twice–once as a reader for story, plot and pacing, and a second time for more detailed feedback. I compromised by highlighting anything that caught my eye in the MS, and then going back to make all of the actual notes at the end.

One bit of advice I’d read repeatedly was not to offer false praise. I think my problem runs in the opposite vein–I give too much criticism. I’m very quick to read something someone else wrote, and then change it into what I would write. That’s not the most helpful thing for the writer. I’m beginning to think the real expertise in beta reading is understanding what the author wished to achieve, and pushing their writing towards their goals. It’s very hard not to write for yourself, but after all betas are reading for someone else, and their writing must be respected.

I’m looking forward to the next beta read I have coming up in another week. I’ve been super fortunate to connect with great betas right out of the gate, and it is only now as I attempt to return the favor that I realize what a gift a good beta read truly is. Hopefully the 10 page feedback doc I emailed was seen in that light, but I’m not sure. It may take me a little practice yet.

Before you have a heart attack, I’m not suggesting that you turn off your email forever–or even for a full day. But for me, turning off my email for an hour or two at a time is like taking a vacation these days. In fact, I’ve grown to love the feeling. Now I close out my email every time I write something other than  . . . an email.

Before I started writing, my email was often like a lifeline. I needed that ding every few minutes to prove I existed–that I was alive and someone needed me. Even if that someone was Old Navy telling me about a sale. But now, the connection and satisfaction I get from writing  a scene far outweighs the email buzz. I don’t need it anymore. In fact, I don’t want it anymore.

So, if you are rarely without your phone or email window, I recommend ditching them for an hour a day. Much like the shoes you stuff in a closet to “throw away later”–after a very short while, you won’t even notice they’re missing.

• Unsubscribe mercilessly. You are not going to miss any sales or coupons or whatevers.
• Don’t subscribe to Dailies. That writing prompt arriving in your inbox every morning might as well delete itself, am I right?
• Use an Alias. Set up a trash account on google, yahoo, whatever. Use this for everything you need to supply an email addy for but never want to hear from again.
• Use Folders. If you take a few minutes to set up sorting actions to filter your email into folders, you will save yourself hours. When everything’s sorted to a folder, you know if you have anything important to look at right away.

That’s a line from a Better Than Ezra song, in case you’re one of their fans too. If not, they’re an oldie but goodie.

So, last night I spent a good portion of the evening trolling blogs, as I’ve been doing for endless weeks now, sucking up every little thing I can learn about writing and publishing. In the process I ended up with five hundred tabs collected in my window, waiting for me to freeze time so that I’d actually have enough time to read them all. As I flipped through the windows, admiring and learning, something else happened.

I got an awful feeling in my stomach. It was like homesickness, only I was already home so I guess I’d call it more like . . . destinysickness. Covetous-future-envy-sickness. If you’ve never felt it, good for you, and let me explain. Destinysickness is equal parts yearning, disappointment, jealousy, impatience, and vigorous creative energy. It occurs from viewing what other people have accomplished and letting yourself feel envious. When I feel like this, I’m likely to either:

I try to end up at C, because it’s the only useful outcome, but sometimes the Destinysickness makes me crazy, and I pile one envious feeling after another on top of the pit in my stomach until I can’t sleep and get nothing productive done. Why do I do this to myself? It’s not nice. It doesn’t make me happy. It’s such a strange thing, this mixture of impatience and energy. I’m more accustomed to sketching the energy out of my system in mere minutes, rather than enduring the lengthy process that writing requires before you reach a moment of closure.

At these times, I’m so grateful for my husband. I blah, blah, blah at him about this stuff, and you know what he does? He asks me how long I’ve been writing books. Which is six months. Then he just looks at me and shakes his head, and I laugh and laugh and get back to writing.