Nine: Ooh, Shiny!
Fending off the fatal allure of the new thing.
Welcome back to Finishing School - the newsletter about the army of goblins that seem to stand in the way of me finishing things, and trying to figure out what to do about those particular Dickenses.
Welcome also to those of you who are new subscribers…watch out for the things that live in the corners of the newsletter - they have been known to eat unguarded refrigerator leftovers.
Right then, to the newsletter!
Reader, it happened. Right as I was getting on a roll in writing/preproducing my new audio series, This Is Elderhaven, a shiny new concept hovered into view.
Just What the Hell Is Wrong With You?
Well…where do we begin?
That, said: cooleth them tits! I didn’t abandon This Is Elderhaven.
But, I thought this was worth exploring a lil’ further here. After all, this type of nonsense is one of the common reasons I’ve found finishing what I start has been challenging over the years. Second only to performing back alley surgeries in my ongoing quest to perfect the human form.
Maybe by poking at the guts of this situation a little bit, I (and maybe you too) can understand it and respond to it a wee bit better.
Alright, Let’s Hear It. What Was This Beautiful and Perfectly Shiny New Baby?
Ducks.
Rubber ducks.
Rubber ducks who are also pirates and take to the seas in a submarine.
A…rubbmarine.
That’s right, in the middle of developing a well-formed and deeply considered project, my brain got distracted by the potential of pirate rubber ducks.
This was purely accidental. I wasn’t fishing around for a new distracting idea to play with. I was doing one of the small projects that act as a creative palette cleanser but don’t distract from the big current work, which I blambled about in Six: Sweating the Small Stuff On Purpose. I wanted to draw something very quick and very silly, which saw me landing on a repeating pattern of pirate rubber ducks.
So far, so inoffensive, right?
Yeah, but that’s where things got tricky.
Problem 1: They Became Characters
Scribbling a bunch of weird objects is a lot of fun. Doing so with a vague theme can also be a nice lil’ design challenge without being overly taxing. The unexpected thing that happened was that, at some point, the goblins that live inside my brain pointed out that the rubber ducks I was drawing were no longer objects, but characters.
Before I knew it, I was going down a very silly rabbit hole of who each of these ducks were, what they did on the Rubbmarine, why they were in a Rubbmarine, the adventures they got up to on the Rubbmarine.
And yes, I can keep writing “Rubbmarine” all night until we all agree what a fine and punny portmanteau it is.
Problem 2: Other People Liked Them
I have become very…I don’t want to say comfortable, but perhaps accustomed to fact that the weird idea poots that drop out of my swollen storysac are largely interesting to a…limited audience.
This is fine. In fact, it’s probably normal. I’m not going to say it’s not frustrating, but the reality is that everyone has different tastes. Though it is very nice to think that this niche audience is clearly populated by excellent weirdos.
However, this also means that on those occasions I make something and a bunch of other people seem to connect to it, I feel encouraged. I start to wonder if this thing people liked is something I should make more of.
Yep, there’s a bit of ego in there, some people-pleasing, too. But I think mostly it’s about getting the rare sense that the weird things that occurred to me have somehow aligned with what other people like, too. As creative people, we can say the whole punk, “I don’t care what people think” thing all we like. But really, truly, a significant reason for sharing the things we make is wanting to feel a shared connection with others.
Also, other people liking this stuff is a source of sweet, sweet dopamine, ain’t it?
With these rubber ducks, other people liked them and liked the beginnings of the story I was suggesting about them.
The chance that I could make more of things that people liked was…a potential distraction.
Asserting a Little Discipline
It’s difficult, isn’t it? When you come up with a concept that you think might work while at the same time you’re trying to cultivate a habit of finishing what you’ve already started.
This time, I’ve tried to take a more disciplined approach to avoiding shifting my focus, while still recognizing that the duck thing is an interesting and promising prospect. This has involved:
Filing the Concept - One thing that tends to lure me to a shiny new project is the fear that I’ll lose the idea or what felt great about it if I don’t fully commit to it right now. Now now now! So, I’ve started to “file” such concepts into their own little cards on Trello. This includes the core idea, any “mood” elements and images I think are important, &c. I then have a list of things I can dip into when there’s time for a new project and can add little bits to the card when thoughts strike. So, there’s no risk of “losing” the idea down the back of my brain sofa, but I’m not actively working on it either.
Allowing Limited Exploration - This, in particular, is where discipline is really needed. I’m allowing myself space to do a little occasional exploration on the project, but limited only to times I can’t realistically work on This Is Elderhaven, or as part of the aforementioned shorter projects. For instance, I can draw a character for a couple of hours, or scribble some notes in a waiting room, but that’s about it.
Transferring Enthusiasm - I’m trying to recognize what it is I’m enthusiastic about when it comes to a new project and then “transferring” that feeling to the existing one I need to finish. What is it that excites me about doing the duck project and what similar excitement can be found in This Is Elderhaven? It’s actually a really useful thought process in rediscovering enthusiasm.
Like all such methods, though, their success really relies on my ability to wrangle my attention and point it in the right direction. At the same time, I think this is an approach that doesn’t put toxic productivity ahead of the joy of creativity, while still being conscious that there’s joy and enrichment in finishing shit.
So, No More Ducks for a Bit?
That’s incredibly unlikely, isn’t it? Going for absolute prohibition on anything is a stupid idea because…well…I’m human and I like the damn ducks. So, the more gentle approach I’ve started with seems like a good way to go. It might work, it might not. That’s sort of the point of writing Finishing School - it’s not about me giving advice or telling other creative people what they should do. It’s more a log of the stuff I’m trying so I can get better at finishing what I start.
Also…I already did another duck picture two days ago, damn it!
But, this feels within the rules and as long as I’m still moving forward with the big project I’ve started, that’s progress, right?
I’m really interested to see what your thoughts on this are, reader. What’s your relationship with the shiny new stuff like and how do you handle setting it aside for a while? Throw your thoughts into the comments.
In the meantime, thanks for reading and…yup…I’d really appreciate it if you followed the Victorian hand to the subscribe and share buttons!
