Making it Matter—P5

6 steps to creating something that matters: Be patient: Rome wasn't built in a day. In elementary school, you are given a project that may seem daunting, but you complete it by the next day. In actuality, it was fast, easy, and, even though you probably stressed about it a lot, it's likely it didn't take very long. Real life projects are not like that. Writing something worth reading takes a long time; even if you do the initial draft very quickly, refining something into a product (or a book, or a song, etc.) that's worth the consumer value takes time.

It's hard not to rush ahead and finish, and call a sloppy version complete because you're sick of it and you want to be done. But in the long run, it will be worth it. The better you make your work, the longer it will last. And when you're old and it's old, the more you'll appreciate having taken the time to make it good.

If it's worth doing, it's worth doing well. Even if it takes what feels like forever.

Making it Matter—P4

6 steps to creating something that matters: Create carefully: This is the internet age, the time that means you can write something, and less than 5 minutes later, publicize it so that anyone in the world can see it.This may seem like a dream come true to the masses, but is it really? It used to be a rigorous process to publish (and not only in the writing sense) anything at all. You couldn't record music in your home, you didn't just walk into the museum and hang your painting on the wall next to Van Gogh's (of course you can't do that today either), you couldn't bind together pages by hand, call them a book, and start selling it to the entire country. The standards were high. Creating took time, patience, and lots of hard work. Getting published by a publishing house meant months of revisions, discussion, communication, and sometimes scrapping your entire piece and starting over (this is a great article about that process with someone famous.).

Now, getting published is as easy as making something and posting it for the world to see—and before long, you're a sensation. The standards seem to be considerably lower now; but are they really?

Years ago, consuming art was a commitment. If you wanted to read a book, you had to buy it from a bookstore, or at the very least, request it from the library. Sometimes you had to wait, while they ordered it and it came in. In almost every case, there were less books (pun *relatively* intended), making the ones that you did acquire highly valuable. Getting a book was like finding an oasis in the desert.

Now, the commitment level for art intake is minimal, at most. I have access to most books or articles (or as many other written works as you can think of) on my computer. I can read them whenever I want, pull them up and comment on them, expressing my opinions. It is instant gratification, instant satisfaction. I don't have to wait for anything—if I want a hard copy of a book, Amazon will ship it to me, guaranteed delivery in two days. I have whatever I want.

This may seem nice, but underneath the cream cheese frosting, the carrot cake has a bitter twist. The old fashioned high standards were set by experts in the field, as they moderated content and searched for good value. Now the standards are set by... Me. And you. And your uncle, and my neighbor, and the man who cleans the gum off the sidewalk. We decide what we want (we always did that), we decide if it's good or not (we always did that), and we decide that it's not worth it to keep reading (we didn't exactly always do that). People used to read books even if they weren't the best, because it was all they could get their hands on. Now, we can get our hands on whatever we want. There is no limit to the literature that we can access, and so if we don't like you, or we think someone else wrote a better book about it, we're done with you. We have rocketed the standards to out of the atmosphere, because in becoming more eclectic, and having access to whatever we want, we've become literary snobs.

So create carefully; make your writing good, make it the best. Do your research, your homework, edit carefully, ask intelligent opinions and experts in the field. Because we're a tough crowd to please, and we want the best. And if you don't deliver, we're clicking the next link we see, and moving on.

Making it Matter—P3

6 steps to creating something that matters: Create for yourself: When something matter deeply, it's hard not to talk about. The artists that make a difference (the ones who create things that last) do their best because they care. They write the song, but don't produce it until they've rewritten and sung it over and over and over, to catch the tones, the pitch, the melodies and harmonies, to perfect the riffs and all the minute details that make a good song great.

At the end of the day, the first (and really only) person who needs to like your piece is you. If you're creating for meaning (not to get rich quick), you are the one who makes the decisions, who puts the finishing touches on it, who creates it as the master (even if you want to get rich quick, this is recommended). If you don't like it, even if the entire world does, you'll have the nagging voice in the back of your heart telling you it could have been better.

Writing is used for all kinds of things; catharsis, communication, and entertainment are the big three. Writing for catharsis is almost entirely for self. Writing for communication is two-fold, both for your good and for others, and writing for entertainment is mostly for the audience. When you're writing for catharsis, you're not thinking about the reader—in many cases, it's likely it won't be read by anyone besides yourself.

What if all of the writing we did was catharsis style: honest, open, genuine. Rather than trying to be something or impress someone, it is just simple communication of ideas that mean something to you. Then, if your life work fell into the ocean tomorrow and all the ink washed off, though it would be a terrible pain and travesty, you would still have written. And that is the goal (also, be sure to back up or copy your writing, just in case of force majeure).

*Note: This would seem to disagree with the previous point about writing to your audience, but it's really just capturing two different stages; write for yourself first and foremost, always. But, after you've established writing something that's your passion, then consider who you're writing to, so that they can also benefit from your work.

Making it Matter—P2

6 steps to creating something that matters: Look at who you're creating for: Teaching a five year old how to drive a car is ludicrous. He doesn't need to know that yet—it doesn't matter to him. You'd be better off teaching him how to ride a bike, or showing him how to tie his shoes. The same goes for creating: if you're going to bake cakes, don't feed them to someone on a low carb diet. If you're going to write music, don't play it for someone sworn to live in silence.

If you're writing to writers, use words and concepts they'll understand. If you're writing to engineers, tailor your language to them. In order to keep your audience, you have to care about them. You have to listen to them. You need to talk to them and know what they want and know what they're watching and listening to and reading, because then you can make what will interest them.

If your audience knows you care about them, they'll care about you.

Making it Matter—P1

6 steps to creating something that matters: Create by passion: If you are passionate about what you're making, it will matter. If you're passionate about coffee, become a specialist and learn to create the best cup of coffee you can. If you're passionate about carpentry, practice, tirelessly and endlessly until your reputation precedes you and people can't stop talking about your work. If business is your passion, never stop researching, learning, innovating, growing. Often it isn't the passion alone that brings the meaning—it's the repeated practicing, learning, and growth, over and over and over again.

What's even better is, that if something is your passion, you don't lose it. Don't confuse losing it with the burn outs, dry outs, and disillusionment that come with creativity. Low spells happen to everyone; without them, we'd have no fuel. In the dark times, in the low times, in the hard times, keep track of them—how you feel, what you see, what it's like.

Then, when you wake up one morning and the passion has woken up too, create with the hard times in mind. The depth of feeling and emotion is what gives art the extra fuel, what brings it from good to great. And your passion is what makes it matter; first to you, then to others.

Write to Your Audience

Language is given meaning by context. We've all heard that before, it was a drilled and repeated point in high school english, college writing, and every linguist will have an opinion about it. You will likely understand the people who you spend the most time with.  Another aspect of this is situational. If it's your birthday, and someone says, "Haps," to you, it means the same thing as if someone said, "Happy Birthday" to you. But if it's three months after your birthday and you fell into the water at duck pond because you tripped over a tree root, and someone says, "Haps," to you, it most certainly won't mean happy birthday. This is why it's important to write to your audience. Obviously, if you're writing a book, you need to understand the individuals you want to reach. The same goes for other publications. Blogging, advertising, newspaper articles; if you're writing to baristas, use their lingo. To talk about horses to a rancher, don't call then all ponies (unless he breeds ponies, then call away).

Use words your audience will understand—but in order to do that, you have to know you audience beyond just 'intended target audience.' You have to meet people who read those books, who watch those movies. You have to go to coffee shops and talk to baristas; and cattle ranches and meet people who work with horses, who understand them and breed them and who can tell you all about them.

If you can communicate with your audience on their level, your work will actually mean something to them. And, after all, creating something that has meaning is what we're all aiming for.

The Importance of Creating Curiosity

A writer's main goal is clear communication. Even if you have the most excellent point in the world, if you can't communicate it clearly, no one will understand it. Writers will intentionally leave some things bare, so that it can be clearly understood the first time, and strikes up a healthy desire to do further research. Belaboring a point doesn't provoke deep interest with the average uninterested target.

Promotional writing is a good example of this. An advertisement is not supposed to be a long explanation of every facet and value of a product. The potential buyer doesn't want to know everything about the product in the 'information collection' phase. One of the most enticing pieces of product advertisement for the consumer is the option to do his or her own research. An advertisement is simply the enticement to learn more, the invitation to be curious.

If you bore your audience with details, their curiosity has nothing to latch onto. Over-explanation is the death of wonder, and the birth of boredom. And a bored audience doesn't buy your project (or support your kickstarter, or subscribe to your magazine), they look for something else that better entertains them (or interests them, or validates them, or just isn't boring).

It isn't always easy to write clearly and provide adequate information while still provoking interest and curiosity, but if writing weren't a challenge, there would be no satisfaction in the victory of success.

Doughnut. Doughnut. Doughnut.

The desires of an audience are always changing. In some cases, they want you to be intentionally vague: "Core speed 5x faster than before."

"Packed with twice as many nutrients as our previous version."

"Tomorrow, fly to work."

They don't want to know right upfront, really, about the processors that make the speed faster, or the chemicals that brought out the nutrients, or what and how you're going to fly to work tomorrow. It's the idea that if you give the general picture, people who want to know more will do the research, and everyone else will be content with what they've been told.

In other instances, though, it's not helpful being vague. Imagine going to the doughnut shop to buy a doughnut (without knowing what flavor you wanted), and when you arrived, every one was labelled:

"Doughnut."

"Doughnut."

"Doughnut."

It would be ludicrous (especially now, in the age of 'if-you-can-invent-a-flavor-we-can-doughnut-it'). People would complain, because even if it was clear what they were from looking at them, there is a certain amount of comfort in the over-explanation when it comes to making choices that directly effect you.

When you're writing, figure out how much information your audience wants, and provide them with exactly that. Not more, not less. Not only does it streamline your writing for clarity and purpose, but it also makes it much more enjoyable to read.

Jim Beam—Part 2

See yesterday to understand today. ... People are usually partial to their own. Therefore, in asserting superiority or quality, it's wisest to start from the bottom, and let other people make the discovery that what you have is great. This is an aspect of humility. It's not self-degrading, or sloppy; it quietly recognizes quality, and lets everyone come alongside at his own chosen pace. And while you pay attention to other people, and don't aggrandize ourself, soon they'll be more willing to listen to what you have to say in return.

What does this have to do with writing? In writing, there are choices: You can write with little or no opinion or feeling, keeping your offensive line so far back it's almost invisible. You can write with extreme opinion, guns blazing before you wake up in the morning, and long after you've gone to sleep at night.

There is a middle ground; one that embraces the value of having opinions, without making them paramount or prisoner. Blunt, badgering dogmatism that's not backed up well rarely convinces anyone—then, neither does lackadaisical laissez-faire. Have good reasons for your opinions (awards, global recognition, multiple experiences and certifications), but be kind about them. Don't pin people to the wall until they agree with you, and if you don't agree or care about something, don't malign those who do. People will listen and endure those who are well-educated geniuses, authorities, and wealthy, even if they are belligerent, malicious, and despicable; but people will respect someone who is kind.

Bolstering your image with sarcasm, dogmatism, and pedantry doesn't work in the long run. Not only do you lose respect (if you even had it to begin with), you lose the possibility of mutual care and relationship (not necessary in many occupations, but always nice). Respect, you can live without; lots of people do. It's a lot harder to live without friends.

Write with humility, earn yourself respect. Don't make claims that aren't supported—have reasons for what you say. And next time you read (hear) someone claiming that "My ______ is the best," think about Jim Beam and his award and smile silently, because you know that just saying it doesn't make it true, but you don't have to fight it.

*Note: there is a difference between opinion and belief.

Jim Beam and Writing—Part 1

There's a billboard in Chicago that  millions of people see daily. It's on the entire side of a several story tall building, located at the on ramp for the interstate in and out of Chicago.  It's for Jim Beam's bourbon. It's simple: on the right side side is a bottle of Jim Beam's. On the left, in large cream-colored letters against the dark background, it claims, "The best in the world." And near the phrase is a seal from the contest or convention (the light turned green before I could read it) that chose it as the best. Without the seal, the words would be mere conjecture. Someone, somewhere, picked up the glass, took a sip (or a swish, or a taste, or a swig), slammed the glass on the counter, splashing little droplets everywhere (classy whiskey drinkers everywhere shudder), and said,

"This is the best d*** whiskey in the world!"

But that wouldn't actually mean anything to anyone besides him. To make a statement that bold that means something, it must be backed up by more than solitary opinion. If you call your horse the fastest—it needs to have won gold in every race since it started running. If Grandma June 'makes the best chocolate cake in Missouri,' everyone in Missouri must agree. And when your clothing label is more durable than all the other leading brands, go ahead and tell people. But only if it's been tested to be absolutely true.

It's a quick way to lose your credibility—because everyone has "the best" cake recipe, the "most durable" clothing, the "fastest horse" (or car, or train, or internet speed). If you are quick to make claims about your product (animal, clothing, recipe) being better than everyone else's, no one automatically believes you. They are instead instantly on guard, thinking of their own amazing thing. It's not to say that yours isn't wonderful—but people are usually partial to their own.

Come back tomorrow to see why it matters in writing.