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The Blog

Are YOU Easily Distracted, Too, Or Should We Go Get Gelato Instead of Writing?

Steven Luna

Are You Distracted.jpg

I was on a roll with this author thing again...REALLY. I was. I was writing every day, and I was making progress on Handelman, and little Sid was talking to his Uncle Morty, learning about an illusionist from the old days who had real magic, too, and then...and then...


And down the rabbit hole I go. (That’s what the image above is supposed to be…a rabbit hole, with a dizzy-spinning starfield sky in the background…looking at it as I write this, I can see where maybe that isn’t so clear, so. Now you know.)

Maybe I haven’t told you recently since I only just started updating this site again in the last few weeks, but besides writing novels, I have a podcasting company too, called Media Empire Media, and this whole AVALANCHE of ideas for new podcasts just sort of slid down the mountain of my brain and filled in all the spaces where my writing stuff is and just COVERED it all in...sound.

Weird image.

But it’s totally true!

It sort of broke open a truism about me and how my creative cha-cha happens, too: There’s no such thing as one idea; there’s only IDEAS. (The editor in me is dying to change that to “there are” but that wouldn’t be right, because THERE’S ONLY IDEAS, people.)

Creatives are like this: when you shake the idea jar in your own head, you don’t usually get one idea rolling out of the spout (yes, idea jars have spouts...also: ideas exist in jars), because a lot of times one idea is really a series of little ideas. And hey, if one idea made of a bunch of little ideas is going to roll out, then other ideas made of little ideas are going to roll out right along with them—and sometimes, it’s just a bunch of little ideas that shake out onto the table...suddenly you have, that’s right, an avalanche of ideas.


My pattern has always been LOOK AT THEM ALL! AT THE SAME TIME!

“But you only have so many eyes, Luna!” is what you’re thinking. And I’m thinking it, too. But they really ARE so pretty. How do you choose? And more importantly, if you were already working on an idea when you shook the jar, how do you make sure that idea doesn’t get lost in the landslide?

No...really. I’m asking the question.

I don’t have an answer.

I know that I had all the best intentions of working through the fall on Handelman. I know that a podcast about what’s involved in being an indie author is SO SHINY, and OH MAN – I’m already BEING an indie author! A podcast can only reinforce that! And a podcast about being creative SPARKLES LIKE THOSE STRIPS YOU PUT ON YOUR LAWN TO SCARE AWAY BIRDS SO THEY DON’T EAT THE GRASS SEED YOU JUST SPRINKLED ALL OVER, but instead of scaring me away, it makes me come closer. HA HA, BIRDS…you’re really missing out! And how many other podcast ideas shake out of the jar now that I’m listening to podcasts and I finally understand the thrill of making them? And even if I find a pattern that I can follow through the lather-rinse-repeat method to knock out a bunch of episodes in a few weeks, there’s a lot of work to be done—writing scripts and composing theme songs and recording take after take until I get it right and editing it all together and mixing it so the sound is sweet and happy so they can sound like the podcasts the big guys make (another version of self-publishing!) and making logos and uploading to iTunes and Stitcher (which I don’t actually do…thanks, Duke!) and setting up social media and promoting them and...


And that’s just ONE idea. Made of a dozen smaller ideas.

And there are about six or so of these in the pile of idea rubble, scattered among the story ideas that need to be turned into books. Also: this blog, and another blog, and a few art projects I need to finish up...

AND POOR SID! He’s been shoved aside unceremoniously by all of this. Unintentionally, sure, though I’m sure that’s no consolation. But he needs to be back in the rotation.

So guess what my next new creative endeavor is?

Making a schedule.

Don’t laugh. I’m serious.

I’m going to try (try) to make a schedule, in which I have time designated for each of these creative endeavors throughout the week so I can address them all without losing track of any of them for very long, if at all. HOW ANTI-CREATIVE, you say...HOW UNSPONTANEOUS.

I said the SAME THING.

But the ideas aren’t going to stop coming, and I’m trying to conduct all of this creativity in a way that feeds into a business structure (yes, Media Empire Media is a full-on business, with a license and a ledger and everything, and I treat my publishing like a business, too), and clearly I am incapable of doing that without imposing some sort of order on myself. The hope is that this will force this avalanche of ideas into arrangements—little piles on the table that have boundaries and order—so that I CAN lather-rinse-repeat all of it and not miss anything. It’s a tall order, right? And I stand a great chance of falling on my face and not being able to do anything but eat vanilla maple Halo Top out of sugar cones while bingeing old Parks and Re episodes. Which I would gladly do, by the way.

But the idea jar won’t let me.

So I’m going to try scheduling, and I’m going to see how well it goes. And I’m going to share my progress with you, in addition to sharing the progress on Handelman AND all the podcasts. And whatever else rattles out of the jar and joins the landscape in the interim (BOUND TO HAPPEN). The podcast about creativity is going to really interest you, I think.

And if not, the other ones will.

And once those are all in motion, we’ll find something else to do.

In fact, we’re probably going to do that either way.


Creators, Consumers, and Critics

Steven Luna

Post 3 - Magic Hands.jpg

So I’ll let you in on a little not-so-secret about people who make stuff that people who don’t make stuff might not realize: we hear things in our head. Things that other people apparently do not hear. Not in a dangerous or unstable way. Mostly. Though sometimes, it can make us feel a little anxious. It goes sort of like: Why is this imaginary person speaking to me—NO WAIT, not to someone else, who is speaking back. They’re insulting each other now...they’re clever, too – hahaha! Nice one, voice number two! Oh man...this is great. And their brisk English accents are pretty slick, but seriously. What is HAPPENING HERE? Wait a minute...this is good stuff! I’ll go get a pen and write it down. Don’t go anywhere, voices! And then, sometimes we start seeing these people and their back-and-forthing, and we make a book out of it. Or a script. Could be both. Maybe it’s a picture. Sometimes it turns into a sculpture made out Lucky Charms and Fimo clay. That’s fine, too.


Yes, we hear things, and we see things, and then we make things out of *all that*. And it makes us feel good for the most part, and our biggest wish, our highest pie-in-the-sky hope is that it makes whoever might encounter it feel good, too. 

Easy, right?



Aside from the interior voices dictating our Lucky Charms sculpture-novel-screenplay-art installment, there are voices floating above those voices. And these voices actually do belong to us. Sometimes, there’s not enough room in our heads for all of it, so we take a nap.

Now you know TWO secrets about creatives.

Our own psychology intrudes on the process and weighs in like Statler and Waldorf from the balcony of Muppet Theater watching Fozzie tell knock-knock jokes. Those miserable, hilarious old coots! Psychology maven and notorious pipe-smoker Sigmund Freud had names for these voices...not as fun as Statler and Waldorf, but he tried. There’s the id, which says “GO FOR IT!” the superego, which says “ARE YOU CRAZY??” and the ego, which says, “Chill out, kids; I think there’s a way...” (I know, I know...psych 101 stuff, but Sigmund wasn’t wrong, and this blog is totally free, so it’s not like I’m wasting your money, just your time, it's all gonna be okay.) From a maker’s perspective, these take the form of archetypes, which is a Jungian thing, not a Freudian thing, but because they were buddies, we’ll let it slide for the sake of this metaphor. 

Digression much?

In the head of a maker, the id, the superego, and the ego put on uproarious costumes and become the Creator, the Critic, and the Consumer.

The Creator says, “You should TOTALLY make that Lucky Charm sculpture!”

The Critic says, “What are you thinking, you goon? This is never going to work!”

And the Consumer says, “You know, if you stick with just the marshmallows, I think you’ll have a winner here.”

When we do our little dance of creativity, we’re trying our hardest to indulge the Creator, entice the Consumer, and quiet the Critic. But Critics are noisy little buggers, and they like to have their say, even when the Creator is fully engaged and riding the lightning of a Grand Idea. And the Consumer can be a little too accommodating at times, goading the creator into pulling back on the magic to keep it bland-ish and middle-of-the-road; this guy is swayed very easily by the Critic, which can leave the Creator stranded on a feisty island of “OH, I’LL SHOW YOU!” that leads to an isolating work made out of the not-marshmallow parts of the Lucky know, the parts you eat around or leave in the bowl. Then dump down the drain. 

I am REALLY getting some mileage out of this Lucky Charm sculpture analogy, right?


When I'm working on any storytelling thing, my Creator fights my Critic 1000%, with an eye always on my Consumer. My main point in making anything is to fulfill the circuitry of idea-to-completed work, and when writing a story, which is such an involved process to both create AND consume, the balance is incredibly tricky to strike. With Handelman, I’m walking a particularly wiggly line: the voice is whimsical and coy, a marked departure from anything I’ve used for a full-length work before; it’s proven worthy in short form, but this is...a whole bloody novel. It could trip over its own shoestrings and fall on its face very easily. And the subject matter is literally magic, which of course works in a story-for-adults format...but the main character starts as an 11-year-old kid and ends as a 26-year-old young man, which can throw the book into young adult territory if I’m not careful enough with the maturity of the telling. And the story is centered on Sid growing from an awkward boy with few adults in the world to depend on, into a confident, self-invented guy who's weathered the pain of loss and betrayal and found himself stronger and more fulfilled for the journey. WHILE DOING ILLUSIONS. So the emotional track has to sell the ups and downs without lingering too long on either, and without having one negate the other, lest it turn overly maudlin or become too zany to keep the underlying ties to reality. Because in the end, the Creator and the Critic are going to have to agree that the Consumer will be fairly dazzled by what all three (four?) of us have made together.

See how it works now?

See why it sometimes feels like a form of madness?

Add to all of that the necessity of keeping the idea solid and maintaining the energy required for the actual creation process, and you have a fair understanding of exactly what’s happening in the head of the author who wrote your very most favorite book. Or your very LEAST favorite book. Because guess what? 

It takes the same amount of everything to make something people love as it does to make something people hate.

And guess what else?

Critics and Consumers aren’t just in our heads; they’re out there in the world, too, either happily digesting all of our creative works and throwing us praise, or coming at us with hammers and knives to tell us how our stories ruined their lives and burned their retinas to the point that they only use their Kindles for solitaire and checking Facebook now. 

That’s on the extreme end.

But still.

It turns out that the voices in our head that guide us when we make our creations transfer to the voices in the real world whenever anyone consumes or critiques them, which is why it’s so important for us as makers to get our own balance right, so we can merrily engage the Creator on autopilot for the creation part without worrying so much about the Consumer or the Critic that we forget the reason we create in the first place: because it makes us feel good and whole and purposeful, and without it we reduce—ourselves and others around us who consume our creations, whether they’re waiting to love it up and recommend it to their friends, or slice it to ribbons and pound the stuffing out of it.

So to the creators out there: Go wild, kids. It’s your show!

And to the critics within and without: Pipe down a little, huh? We’ll be just fine.

And to the consumers everywhere: Be gentle with us, please.

We’re working with Lucky Charms here.