Golden Rules, Part II: The Creative Law of Continued Growth

I’m making up my own law.  It probably already exists in other places, and if it does, don’t tell me, because I’m still reeling over how much of a genius I am.  One time, when I was 15, I wrote Fur Elise.  I thought it was pretty good – and it was pretty good – but then my Dad told me that Beethoven wrote it first.  I was shattered.

Anyway, my law, which I’ve aptly named the Creative Law of Continued Growth, is this: Creativity grows in one’s mind like snow grows on the ground.  With continued application, the amount of creativity will build; but left on its own, the creativity will melt away, leaving you starting from scratch the next time around.

Last Friday I worked on Charisma in the morning, and later that evening, warming up for our improv show, I felt a remarkable strength that I hadn’t felt in a while.  Our show was awesome, and when we got our notes at the end the instructor called me out for coming up with the big payoff moment.  I was, needless to say, busting with pride.

Looking back to my most recent post, on the Golden Rules of Writing, I realized that this plugs directly into two of them: rules #1 and #9.  Writing every day isn’t just a good idea; it flexes the creative muscles, so that next time you write it’s a little bit easier.  Being in a creative environment – regardless of the type of creativity – does the same.  Your brain, just like a bicep or a calf muscle, increases its strength, endurance, and muscle memory, so that next time you work out, you can lift more weight, recover quicker, or run further or faster.

An interesting idea to ponder is that in exercise, cross-training is critical.  Marathon runners don’t just run 26 miles a day: they lift weights, they interval-train, they cycle, they stretch, they do situps, they work on treadmills and run around tracks … all of these are important aspects of the marathon training regimen, to say nothing of weight and diet management.

I’ve found improv incredibly helpful in developing my skills as a screenwriter.  Reading and editing plays and short stories is helpful, too.  All of these, I think, can teach us something about our particular craft, and are a valuable part of training.  And I’ll definitely be writing before my next improv show.

10 Golden Rules for Writing

About five years ago I was in a college playwrighting class and at some point we read an “essay” called “The 10 Golden Rules of Playwrighting.”  I don’t remember what most of them were, but I do remember our discussion afterward – that the person who wrote this list must have been a jilted writer, because man, her rules sucked.  It always pisses me off when artists say that this is THE ONLY WAY to do things.  This was my biggest beef with Blake Snyder: a well-paid screenwriter, maybe, but just because your method has worked for you doesn’t mean it is THE ONLY WAY.  This writer did the same thing.

In retrospect, I’d like to see her list again, because they may have had some merit.  One of the rules I remember was that your play had to be about one person – which is definitely a widely accepted rule of screenwriting today.  But at the time we thought she was just a miserable curmudgeon of a failed writer because of the tone with which she insisted that her rules must be followed.  We, as a class, suggested an extra credit assignment of writing our own 10 golden rules, which I did.

David Kassin Fried’s first (2003) edition of the 10 Golden Rules for Writing:

1. Write every day.
2. Write for yourself, not for anyone else.
3. Keep a pad of paper on you at all times. Write down anything you see, hear, or think, that is even remotely interesting, theatrical, or related.
4. Eavesdrop religiously. See rule #3.
5. Read. Remember what you read. If you like what you read, buy it, so you can refer to it later.
6. Write about your life, not about yourself. The character that the author models after himself is quite often the dullest in the play.
7. Don’t’ listen to anyone’s advice while you’re writing the play. After you’ve written it, listen to everyone’s advice, but ignore most of them. Remember, it’s your play, and you have the final word, even if everyone else disagrees.
8. Don’t write plays that explain themselves. If you have to, you can explain it later.
9. Take a class. When you’ve finished it, take another one. When there are no more classes to take, teach one. There is no breeding ground for creativity like a creative environment.
10. Figure out what you want to say, and figure it out as early in your career as possible. Once you’ve figured it out, write about it until you’ve said it successfully. If, once you’ve said it successfully, you don’t have anything else to say, say it in a different medium. If, once you’ve exhausted all media, you still don’t have anything else to say, you are either a genius or a miserable excuse for an artist. Only time will tell.

It’s kind of neat looking back on old assignments like this.  I wonder, now, if I’d change any of these in light of my five extra years’ experience.   There’s probably one in particular I would expand; it’s the one I plan on discussing in my next column, and is what had me think of these rules in the first place.

I’d love to get your feedback if you agree or disagree with any of these, or have your own golden rules you follow.