I was once called a “creative genius.” Not by myself. Not by my parents. It was a random comment from a complete stranger on the other side of the globe. He’d read my work online, perused my portfolio, and looked through other tidbits of miscellany that I’d scattered about the Internet. I tried my best to play the compliment down at the time, but really, it made me feel good.
Lately, though, I feel like I’ve done nothing worthy of even a passing glance. My “creative genius” has waned somewhat of late, and I place the blame on the circumstances of my career and my inability to recognize the ebbs and flows of my real-world education.
In high school you’re taught to write based on research supplied by the instructor. They put in the time and energy to properly vet sources and prepare material, then you consolidate that material into an expository paper on penguins, get an A, and move on. In college, you’re taught to write an opinion based on research you collect on your own. You put in the time and effort to vet sources that back up a claim you’re making, pull everything together, write a persuasive paper on why penguins should be a protected species, get an A, and move on.
Most of us stop there. We’ve learned how to cobble together facts and figures that have already been written into a detailed exposition on a topic. From time to time, we might even string together three or four arguments made by others and create an argument to call our own – but still heavily littered with references to lend it credibility. But our work needs that credibility. It can’t stand on its own otherwise.
In graduate school, you’re taught to write based on original research. You do some background work to come up with a hypothesis, conduct some kind of experiment in the real world, and piece together your observations into some conclusion on that hypothesis. You are an authority in your own right. Your conclusion, while still founded on the work of others, can stand on its own two feet because you’ve got an opinion that holds water and is grounded in academic rigor.
But really, as a graduate you’re creating. You’re making an argument based not on lists of facts or the tired opining of literary strangers but on your own original thought, analysis, and expert position.
I’ve been to graduate school. I’ve learned how to speak as an expert and supply original thought and insight in several arenas. As a result (and partially due to this blog) I’ve held higher-level positions and consulting assignments at various companies on the West coast. To quite a few, I’m an expert – a “creative genius” when it comes to marketing.
But over the past 2 years I’ve lost my edge. I’ve taken positions based on my expert-level credentials and been told I’m not really “that good” on the basis of my age and perceived inexperience. Rather than possessing the latitude with which I can create exciting new products and marketing collateral, I’ve been told to rehash existing copy because it’s “safe” and has already been vetted by those with “more expertise” than I.
My original work has been revised and edited so many times I fail to recognize it – one brochure went through 17 drafts with 4 different “marketing advisors” before it was finished. I lost all sense of ownership of the material and just assumed that my work wasn’t good enough to begin with. Ironically, the version that finally shipped was my original draft – revision “0.”
The problem is that I’ve been hired to tell stories in a unique way, and then forced to follow someone else’s script. As a result, I’ve forgotten how to tell a story in my own voice! I’ve spent the last 2 years building every piece of marketing collateral I’ve made based on work someone else has done. It’s been uncreative, suffocating, and has made my overall ability to be creative suffer. Today I started to question whether I could really be creative at all.
I tell stories. I write fiction, I write non-fiction. I narrate horror stories and heroic epics around the campfire. I interview people on the street and communicate their needs, wants, and dreams to the people best suited to satisfy them. I’m a marketer – not just by vocation but through a deep passion and drive for the field. I don’t know how to not be a story teller … but it frustrates me that the learned behavior of my life has been to silence my muse and focus on regurgitating someone else’s story rather than write my own version.
I can argue that “I really am creative” until I’m blue in the face. But actions speak volumes while words are impotent without them. So rather than tell you I’m creative, I’m re-dedicating my work to actually being creative. I’m going to focus once again on my creative writing. I’m going to dust off my sketch book and draw something again. Most importantly, I’m going to start telling stories again – even if only to the guy behind me in line at the coffee store.
Creativity, like any muscle, needs to be exercised religiously. Otherwise it dies … and a marketer’s career, livelihood, and happiness hinges on the health of his creative muscle.
