I’ve worked in a wide range of jobs, from bussing tables and making coffee to developing video productions and marketing strategies. 

Each kind of work requires unique skill sets to do it effectively, and the breadth and depth of the skills required vary between jobs and tasks. 

When you’re bussing tables or making coffee, the job and skill set is relatively narrow in focus and you can more or less operate on a linear framework to get things done.

Creative work is interesting because there isn’t a definitive guide to correctly doing it. There are frameworks or guidelines people might use, but mostly, you’re starting from scratch to make something that solves a problem.

 I find that kind of work rewarding and terrifying because success is never guaranteed. It can be a very vulnerable place to operate from. 

It’s commonly said that the blank canvas is an artist’s worst nightmare, and to some degree I agree with this statement. 

When doing creative work, you’re not uncovering something that’s already there. You’re making something from nothing using your skill, experience, insight, and sometimes luck in hopes that it will be what you need it to be when you’re through. That can feel pretty nightmarish.

Any time I create something, I don’t know exactly what I’m going to make. I don’t always have a crystal-clear vision of what the end product is going to look like. All I have are ephemeral concepts and ideas I want to encapsulate.

Every time I stare at the blank canvas, I wonder how I’m going to create something from this empty space. It’s scary when you don’t have the answers, and it’s scary when the muse refuses to pay you a visit when you need her most. 

There’s only one solution, one model I’ve found thus far in my journey that has helped me stave off this feeling of dread, the inner self-critic, the remnants of our lizard brain warning us and bullying us to keep us safe – that is to suck early and often. 

This might sound counterintuitive coming from someone who’s made their living off creative work, but I believe in it wholeheartedly. 

I don’t think I’ve ever in my entire life created something great on the first try. Everything I’ve ever made has started off as this amorphous, ambiguous shape, an embryonic image of the idea taking form from my brain into reality. And god is it ugly. 

A crucial lesson I’ve had to learn is to embrace the ugly. 

Love it, care for it, nurture it. As you continue working, it’ll begin to change, thrash, rip itself apart, and reshape itself into something better. And of course there are times when you really do need to throw the baby out with the bathwater and start over.

If I stood around waiting for inspiration to strike me to create something, I’d be waiting all day and completely broke. 

Instead, I need to actively force inspiration’s hand by spewing out as much garbage as I can in order to sift through the dump to hunt for hidden treasures. 

Does it sound unprofessional or uncouth to say I create garbage to play with? Perhaps. But the reality is that great work seldom stems from an artist on the first try. You have a better shot at getting struck by lightning than capturing lightning in a bottle.

My approach is what I would consider “creative vomiting.” A gross visualization, but I think it accurately describes the process (which never starts off very pretty). 

When writing a blog post, for example, the best way for me to get started is to silence the lizard brain, squelch the self-critic, and write without value judgment, corrections, or editing. It’s a very messy process, but at some point, inspiration starts to creep into view (though I never look right at it; it’s easily startled). 

When we vomit, there’s this agonizing discomfort the moment up to and during the process. But when it’s over, how much better do we feel to get all that stuff out of us? 

I really do wish there was a less disgusting analogy here, but I think it describes the creative process accurately. At least I didn’t use diarrhea for my model!

Afterward, we begin the process of cleaning things up. Pulling things together, tightening ideas, getting rid of things that don’t work, and giving shape to this lumpy mass we’ve willed into existence. 

I’ll admit that I’m not always the best at this. Sometimes, my willpower is so low that I lose the fight with the self-critic.

The lizard brain uncoils from its slumber, spreading its massive wings screaming “You will fail!” in my face and freezing me with its terrible presence. 

But eventually, in the face of creative destruction, I draw forth my Vorpal blade and drive this Jabberwocky back into hiding, snicker-snack!

It cannot be entirely defeated, but I’ve found you can drive it off for long enough to claim your prize before it returns.