Decision-Making and Creativity

When I was twenty-four, I spent six months trying to write a novel. I had the concept, I had the characters, I had a detailed outline. What I didn't have was a first sentence. I kept waiting for the right one to arrive, as if the perfect opening line would descend from somewhere and give me permission to begin.

It never came. Eventually I typed something terrible and kept going. The novel didn't work out -- it was a mess, and I abandoned it around page 120 -- but I learned something from the experience that I've used in every creative project since: the decision to start is separate from the decision about what to start. You don't need to know where you're going. You just need to agree to go.

Aspiring creators get paralyzed at the starting line because they're waiting for certainty. Experienced ones know that certainty comes during the work, if it comes at all. Starting something isn't a promise to finish it in its current form. It's a promise to explore far enough to discover whether there's something worth finishing.

Constraints are creative decisions in disguise

Dr. Seuss wrote Green Eggs and Ham using only fifty different words, on a bet with his editor. The Beatles recorded Sgt. Pepper's on a four-track machine. Twitter's 140-character limit spawned entirely new forms of humor and political commentary.

Constraints sound like the enemy of creativity, but they're actually its engine. "I'll write using only four chords." "I'll paint using only blue." "I'll tell this story in under 500 words." Each constraint eliminates infinite options and forces creative problem-solving within boundaries. Freedom is paralyzing. Limits are generative. Choosing your constraints might be the most important creative decision you make on any project.

Killing your darlings

William Faulkner's famous advice -- "kill your darlings" -- is about the hardest ongoing decision in any creative process. You've made something you love: a perfect paragraph, a gorgeous melody, an elegant design element. It's beautiful on its own. And it doesn't serve the larger piece.

Cutting it hurts because it is a genuine loss. But the willingness to sacrifice parts for the coherence of the whole is what separates good work from finished work. Attachment is not a reason to keep something. Contribution is.

Knowing when it's done

Perfectionism has killed more creative projects than lack of talent ever has. At some point you have to decide the work is finished -- not perfect, not everything you imagined, but complete enough to exist in the world. That decision is an act of courage. It's also an act of respect for your own creative energy, which deserves to stop polishing and move on to whatever's next.

Done is a decision. Make it, and then make the next thing.