All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the Finkle scene in Ace Ventura:


What can we learn?

Prolific thinkers are prodigious linkers. Ventura may have overdue rent, a battered clunker of a car and an eccentric sense of style, but when it comes to the skill of bridging, he’s undeniable. The art of making connections and noticing natural relationships between seemingly unrelated ideas is what makes him successful as a detective. And so, he executes every strategy in his playbook to solve the case. Gazing out the window, replaying voicemail messages, staring at the clues, jumping up and down, pacing around the room, talking out loud to himself, even having conversations with his pets. Anything to get blood to the brain and get the intuitive juices flowing. But as the night progresses, he’s still firing blanks. And by the time morning breaks, he’s totally spent and on the verge of tears. Of course, that’s precisely when the muse shows up. She makes herself known at just the right time to give him just the right insight. Inspiration is a tease like that. Only making herself known when we’ve reach the end of our creative rope. Frustrating, but inevitable. How will you beguile inspiration?
We need you to be you. Wiggles is the hero of the final act. Thanks to his dark haired floppy ears, we get a vision of the killer in a transgender disguise. We realize that the football player and the missing hiker are actually the same person. Finkle is a man. Einhorn is a woman. It all makes sense now. This is the eureka moment that changes everything. Coincidence? Not at all. The pet detective was simply doing what he did best: Looking to animals for answers. As he states early in the movie, he feels a kinship with animals. He understands them. And if that makes him the laughing stock of the police department, so be it. That’s how he’s wired, that’s how he works. And so, it’s a gentle reminder to all the creators out there. We need you to be you. To know your flow. To have an exquisite understanding of what sends you into that accelerated, highly spiritual state of creative awareness when you do what you do best. Are you currently operating out of your passion?
Sounding board, sounding boredom. Ventura is an independent contractor. A freelancer. An artist and entrepreneur who runs his own business. And with the exception of his pets, jungle friends and other four legged companions, the man is essentially an island. This an occupational hazard. Because no matter how adept you are at problem solving, it’s hard to play basketball without a backboard. Solitude is a nice place to visit, but you wouldn’t want to live there. And so, in a time where loneliness has become the most common ailment of the modern world, we ought to be careful to avoid prolonged isolation. In fact, if I were starting my business from scratch today, one of the first things I would do is secure a desk at a coworking space. I was just reading a global study about how the number of coworking facilities has more than doubled in the last two years. Turns out, those people are actually more creative and productive and satisfied compared to working from home. It’s the energized environment and added accountability of having people around. Artists and creators and entrepreneurs are finally getting the message. It’s hard to be creative alone. What interactions give you confidence?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the car scene in Wonder Boys:


What can we learn?

Matching footprints with heartspace. Grady teaches creative writing at the university level. But in the process of trying to repeat the critical acclaim of his first novel, he becomes sidelined by a severe case of writer’s block. Shocking.It’s a classic case of the cobbler’s kid syndrome. We neglect those closest to us. Due to our utter dedication to wider market demands, we fail to note the needs of our intimate ecosystem. Because nobody wants to hire outside help in something they’re supposedly experts in. There’s too much cognitive dissonance. And so, the kids go barefoot. What’s interesting is, this phenomenon of operational farsightednessis extremely common. Especially with creative types. It’s almost comical. You don’t need a supreme sense of irony to see the humor in the blocked creative writing professor. But it is a pointed reminder that what we’re good at, we’re bad at. Nobody is impervious to the peril they advise others against. Are you smoking what you’re selling?Recognize when life is giving you a gift. Grady just watched two thousand pages of his latest manuscript flutter out of the window like a flock of white doves. Seven years of work, down the tube. What a profoundly sad, sinking and searing pain that is. It’s like Hemingway’s wife, who famously misplaced and lost a suitcase filled with her husband’s manuscripts. Ouch. If you’ve never had the pleasure of losing everything, of laboring in vain, wait a while. It’s only a matter of time before the delete button depresses. But as the book agent suggests, it’s for the best. It’s a sign. In fact, the benefit of burning everything to the ground is, you get to salt the earth and see if you can do it again. You get to test how much faith you have in yourself. And you get to start from scratch, letting go of everything except the person you’ve become, and reinvest that into something new and better. Grady’s loss of the manuscript, devastating as it is, forces him to rework his second novel into something even better. At the end of the movie, we watch as he finishes typing his new book, now using a computer rather than a typewriter, of course. What’s your secret for finding the silver lining in every situation?
Practice aggressive pondering. Crabtree suggests that subconsciously, a person will put themselves in a situation, perhaps even create that situation, in order to have an arena in which to work out an unresolved issue. It’s a covert way of addressing a problem. Love this idea. In fact, the process can even be more deliberate. Often times when I exercise, right before I step into the gym or the yoga studio or the running trail, I set an intention. I plant a seed in my brain. I take a particular thought or problem or issue that I’m currently struggling with and use that as a framing device to guide my experience. And by the time I’m done, the mental prompt I’ve layered on top of the rhythmic, repetitive action will produce an insight I wouldn’t have discovered otherwise. It’s the same reasoning behind traveling with your romantic partner within the first three months of the relationship. The road, after all, is the ultimate testing ground. The arena where the truth surfaces. The wringer through which successful relationships endure. How will you use your situation as a catalyst to grow and evolve?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the Dracula scene in Forgetting Sarah Marshall:



What can we learn?

Paint yourself into an accountable corner. Rachel forces her lovelorn friend to perform a song from his unfinished rock opera, right there, on the spot, in front of dozens of strangers. Peter is given no choice. He has to get up there. There’s too much build up and too much social pressure to back down now. You can see it in his eyes. He just wants to run away. It’s an awful feeling. But what he doesn’t realize is that having an audience changes the way you experience your art. He’s been working on his musical for five years, but now he’s finally given the chance to see it through other people’s eyes. Even if it’s just scattered applause or sporadic laughter or a few heads nodding in the distance, he’s still receiving witness to his work. And that’s all he really needs. Rachel, the real hero of this scene, has createD something called a momentum device. It’s an elegant excuse, physical tool or memorable experience that builds confidence, reinstates commitment and reinforces competence. It’s a powerful practice for any artist looking to generate real movement in their work. Where do you need to plant the seeds of momentum?

Art is subordinate to life. Peter has been on a downward spiral ever since he met his last girlfriend. And now that they’ve broken up after five years, he’s really hit rock bottom. His apartment has become disgusting, his diet has become pathetic, his attitude has become hopeless and his personal appearance has reached an all time low. For god’s sake, the man wore sweatpants every day for a week. Is it any surprise, then, that his creativity has plummeted too? Of course not. Every artist draws a line from their life to their art. Whether they know it or not. And so, the real job is working on the project of building a life. Otherwise there will never be a self to express. This situation, known as artist debt, is a common struggle among creators. It’s when we become disconnected from our primary creative joys, failing to achieve our quota of artistic usefulness. And unless we start depositing credits back into our account, creativity atrophies. What does it take for you to be optimally creative?
Be a surprise, not an expectation.  Peter has an idea for a rock opera. It features sad vampires who smother the women they care about with love, and it’s performed with puppets. Huh? Even he admits, the idea is dark and weird and emotionally overwhelming for most people. And yet, when he shares it with the patrons in the bar, the audience can’t help from laughing. The song is strange, but also funny and cute. And in this moment, a light switches on inside of him. Peter realizes that his musical is actually comedy. And that opens the whole project up. Who knew eternal love could be so hysterical? It’s a good reminder that the human brain loves surprises. Surprises set off chemical cascades that rearrange our inner landscapes, affecting our view of ourselves and of the world around us. In fact, the word surprise originated six hundred years ago, stemming from the verb surprendre, meaning, overcome with emotion. And so, the element of surprise is an asset. It’s the art of doing what nobody expects, but everybody remembers. What could you do in your work that would be a welcome surprise to your audience?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the opening scene in Sahara:


What can we learn?

Echoes the habits of action. Sahara was a box office failure. The critics skewered the film in the media. Even the original author disowned the project once the movie premiered. So what. This montage is the most compelling opening credit sequence of any movie in years. It’s a beautifully executed single take motion control camera that details the hero’s history, but also alludes to the soon unfolding story. The room we see is more than just an office, it’s an archive, a command center, a war room, a laboratory, a playground and a creative sanctuary. You can’t help but want to jump inside the screen. Particularly because of the substances. There’s just something romantic about the bottles of whiskey, half smoked cigars, cups of coffee and snack wrappers strewn about the room. Not to endorse any one of those substances as magic bullets for creativity, but moderate amounts of alcohol, tobacco, caffeine and protein have been clinically proven to be helpful for certain types of tasks. The point is, you get the feeling that whomever works in this space, knows how to slide into their working day before their procrastinatory urges kick in. What triggers get you working before you’ve had a chance to protest?
Create a progress rich environment. Look around. There isn’t a square inch of whitespace left. The office walls are plastered with awards they’ve won, maps they’ve conquered, articles they’ve written, projects they’ve led, even dignitaries they’ve met. But these decorations aren’t there to stroke their egos, rather, to stoke their creativity. Truth is, every artist needs to surround themselves with concrete evidence of progress. Doing so saturates their consciousness with victory, triggers their creative focus and makes them more inclined to take further action. I used to write a monthly column for my local business journal. Published for about six years. And although they didn’t pay me for the work, the dividends of visibility, credibility and accountability were more than enough compensation. I even had ritual on the first of every month. I would run to the newsstands and pick up a hard copy to hang on my wall. Because surrounding myself with those achievements was emotionally invigorating.What’s on your wall?

The outward expression of inner stirrings. What I love most about this scene is, the room is literally alive. Computers are humming, beakers are boiling, fans are blowing, cigars are burning, experiments are running, faucets are dripping and molecules are dancing. Appropriate, considering the office belongs to a maritime archeologist. And that’s the whole point of a primary creative environment. To craft a setting that reflects who you are and what’s important to you. To create an space that sets a tone that says work happens here. That way, inspiration can flow as a natural consequence of the surroundings. In my current workspace, everything is an associative trigger. I immerse myself in a thicket of visual inspiration, tools, and materials. From decorative patterns to physical objects to customized playlists to olfactory stimulation to desk style, everything is in its right place, everything is right with the world and everything helps me enter into my zone. It’s the perfect user interface for my brain. What things make your creativity feel at home?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the studio scene in O Brother Where Art Thou:

What can we learn?

Dishonesty is underrated. Everett and his friends lie about everything. The name of their band, the location of their hometown, the color of their skin, the genre of their music and the number of players in their ensemble. And it was worth it.Their single became a hit and their sins became pardoned. All because they lied. The question is, where does an artist draw the line? Spielberg famously snuck onto the lot of a major movie studio, commandeered an empty office and worked there for months until producers and directors noticed him. Universal just assumed he belonged there, so they checked out his first independent short and the rest was movie history. That was a lie. The greatest director of all time, whose films have grossed over eight billion dollars to date, told a lie. But does that make him a badperson? No. It just makes him a person. Steven did what he had to do to make his dreams come true. Because there’s a time to be honest, and there’s a time to sell cars. Sometimes you have to tell people what they need to hear to get what you want.How could you make something just true enough not to be a lie?
Let your why drive. Look into the lead singer’s eyes. He has no idea what the hell he’s doing. Everett isn’t a blues singer, he’s an escape convict in search of buried treasure trying to get back into good graces with his estranged family. And yet, he confidently plunges into the vortex of uncertainty. He pulls the band together, pulls the engineer’s leg and pulls the song off exquisitely. Everett may be a man of constant sorrow, but he’s also a man of solid execution. This scene reminds me of a mantra that’s guided my creative work for more than a decade. Don’t be stopped by not knowing how. How is overrated. How is a dream destroyer. How has no bearing on whether or not our dreams become realities. It’s just a matter of will. When I wrote my first book, I didn’t know what I was doing. When I gave my first speech, I didn’t know what I was doing. When I launched my online training network, I didn’t know what I was doing. And when I began preproduction on my first documentary, I didn’t know what I was doing either. But what I did know was why I was doing it. That was enough. And I trusted that the how would come in time. What event will serve as your catalyst to start a favorable chain reaction?

Counting your creative chickens. This movie contains multiple levels of spiritual symbolism, cultural allusion and ancient mythology. One of the themes that particularly resonates with me is expectation. How life is under no such obligation to make us happy and grant us what we want, only to give us what we need.In fact, early on in the film, a blind man driving a trolley prophesizes that the three convicts will find a fortune, though it will not be the fortune they seek. What a perfect message for someone pursuing a career in the arts. Never count your creative chickens before they hatch. It’s not healthy when your work depends on things out of your control. The reality is, the drug of choice most dangerous to artists isn’t heroin, it’s expectation. Because despite your best laid plans, best deployed efforts and best held intentions, your career as an artist will probably feel like the movie you never saw the trailer for. Which doesn’t make it a bad move, it just not the fortune you sought. Being okay with that is difficult.How are your expectations helping or hindering you in accomplishing your artistic purpose?

What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

The word projectcomes from the word proiectum.
It means “something thrown forth.”
This is the core of what it means to be prolific. Throwing things forth. Melting the glaciers within you. Finding a productive obsession that galvanizes you and serves your meaning making efforts. Brainstorming and creating and organizing and executing ideas and enlisting smart people to help you fulfill your vision. Not to mention, discovering the ecstasy within the process of the work itself and experiencing sublime joy of seeing things come together to produce an artistic whole.
That’s a project.
The best part is, we respect ourselves when we do something we said we wanted to do. After all, one of our goals in life is to make ourselves proud. And we do that through endeavors that define our time on earth.
In celebration of my five thousandth day of wearing a nametag, I wanted to share a collection of the projects I’ve worked on in the past sixteen years. 

More importantly, I wanted to share the stories behind them, the lessons attached to them, and the questions you might ask yourself because of them.

Hope they inspire you to throw something forth:
1998 – Spare No Heaven: Recorded my first album in our basement on an eight track digital audio tape recorder. Enlisted my dad to engineer audio production for the master. Found the only guy with a compact disc burner on his computer and paid him five bucks per copy. Sold the product to my friends and family. The songs weren’t great, but they were mine.
What if there were bigger creative fish to fry than quality?
2001 – The Comfort of Discomfort: This album had significantly more production value and instrumentation. I did all the audio engineering myself, this time on a sixteen track digital recorder. Paid my graphic designer buddy two hundred bucks to design the album cover and linear notes. Snuck into the design department computer lab to print out a hundred booklets in full color. Irritated a few teachers, impressed few girls.
What are the exceptions to the rules that helped you succeed?
2002 – HELLO, my name is Scott: Written during my senior year of college. Edited by my friends. Cover photo shot at the family portrait studio at the mall. I ambitiously printed three thousand copies on the first printing. Hand glued two free nametags on the back inside cover of every book. Gave almost every copy away for free. Totally worth it. Because my first book wasn’t a book, it was a brand. It went viral before viral was viral.
Are you worrying about being the finest, or being the first?
2004 – The Power of Approachability: Got the idea for this book while sitting on an inner tube in the lazy river. Researched my face off. Fell in love with the production team I still use to this date, including my art director, cover designer, editor and printer. Learned just how obsessive compulsive I truly am, and that the occasional book typo is actually a great marketing strategy to connect with readers.
Have you learned how to live with imperfection?
2005 – Rent Scott’s Brain: Nobody really knows what coaches and consultants do. Because of low barriers to entry, minimal training requirements and mass market saturation, these are poorly defined service offerings. I launched this program as a radically honest, contrarian answer to that problem. Highly profitable. Plus, it allowed me to set a boundary to keep the bloodsuckers and timewasters away.
How explicitly are your service offerings defined?

2006 – How to be That Guy. My best selling book to date, and yet, the most polarizing title. Interesting. Either way, this book was an early turning point in my writing style. I started to feel like the me I always wanted to be. What’s more, I learned which corners in the book production and marketing process were worth cutting: Most of them.
Are you willing to polarize to monetize?

2006 – NametagTV: Back when I thought online training was the future of corporate learning and development, I invested massive amounts of time, money and energy building my own production studio and proprietary video platform. Never made a dime. Barely broke even. Officially a failure. Then again, did build something I was proud of and that I can point to. So not a total loss.
Have you accepted that failure is what makes life a story?
2007 – Make a Name for Yourself: Only full color book I’ve ever written. Weighs twice as much as the black and white books because of paper and ink weight. Expensive as hell, but it’s a gorgeous product. Always been one of my favorites. On a side note, I stole the cover idea from an early edition of one of my favorite books, Velvet Elvis.
How much energy are you investing in being a beautiful organism?
2007 – Sun Sessions: After taking a tour of the legendary Sun Studios, I had no choice but to record my next album there. The nostalgic energy in the room was palpable. The spirit of the blues was alive. And the barbecue afterwards was delicious. It was a rite of passage and one of the great creative experiences in my life.
What happens to someone like you at your spiritual best?
2008 – The Approachable Series: The sole purpose of this book trilogy was to create a licensing and certification program. My vision was to scale my brand without the need to physically be in the room. Unfortunately, that process required way more legal, organizational and managerial wherewithal than I could muster. So while the books ended up selling pretty well, but the bigger idea died on the vine. Oh well.
What are the key capabilities and resources required to execute your strategy?
2009 – Live Your Name: I wrote this book because I was angry, needed to blow off some emotional steam and wanted give myself permission to be radically honest. More of an therapeutic exercise than a project, but it sure felt good to get all that darkness out of my system.
Are you willing to selfishly create?
2009 – Search Scott’s Brain: In an effort to create a destination, not a website, I hired a development team to create a custom search engine for my entire body of work, including all my writings, videos and other media. I was never more excited about a feature of a website in my life. Turns out, I was the only one who was excited. Nobody cared. God damn it.
What happens if you build it and they never come?
2009 – Stick Yourself Out There. Not a book, a symphony. Structured with movements, codas, interludes and the like. So much fun to write. Two books in one. Engaging cover in an innovative flip flop style that several other authors subsequently stole from. Absolutely drove my design team crazy. Total pain in the ass to produce. Then again, it’s hard cover, and it feels super fancy and credible.
Are you creating something you would put in your coffin?
2010 – Able. Another concept book. Most people didn’t get it. But composing the chapter titles at my weekly sushi club with my two friends made it worth the price of admission. Funniest table of contents of all time. No regrets.
Are you focused on the creative process, not what the creating produces?

2010 – Ideas Are Free, Execution Is Priceless. I wrote this book because I was tired of hearing people complain about how they had ideas, but never did anything with them. It became the first of many daily devotionals, which became my trademark book style. Strong content. My dad gave me the idea for the title.
What emotion is the ember of your initiative?
2010 – The Approachable Leader: This was a book about yoga disguised as a corporate leadership text. At the time, I had just begun practicing yoga, but it had already changed my life in myriad ways. And so, I took the principles of breathing and flexibility and vulnerability and applied them to the business world. My spirit animal made the cover.
Are you keeping all your passions in play?
2011 – Brandtag: One of the most exciting and risky projects I’d attempted thus far. Much of my inspiration for this project can be attributed to Hugh Macleod’s cube grenade. Learned how to infect people with a vision. Learned how to diversify my service offerings as a business. Learned how to contain an idea before it was ready to hatch.
How much longer will you allow feedback to bounce you around like a pinball?
2011 – Heartbreakthrough: Every songwriter does a breakup album. It’s in the job description. The process was painful and bloody and liberating and confusing. And although I can’t bring myself to listen to or play any of those songs again, I got it out of my system and moved on. Good riddance.
Do you have a creative gasket to purge everything?
2011 – The Nametag Manifesto: I heard an interview with an award winning novelist who said American writers were afraid of imagination. That really bothered me, so I write my manifesto, which reads like utopian narrative. More difficult and fun that I expected. I plan to use it as the foundation for a novel and/or screenplay in the future.
Are you starting projects that can kick open creative doors to other artistic worlds?
2011 – The Nametag Principle: I only carry one book in my briefcase when I travel, and this is it. Perfect design. Perfect content. Favorite book I’ve written. Problem is, I’m scared that I may never top it. Woops.
Are you always on the lookout for flaws to be improved on?
2011 – Watch Scott Write. People often ask me about my writing process, but instead of trying to explain it, I thought I’d just show it. I hacked a video screen shot software and created this series of time lapse videos of my daily writing process. Didn’t make any money, didn’t get any attention, but it’s really, really cool.
How could you make the invisible inescapable?
2012 – Let the City Crumble: My dad, once again, gets the credit for title of this record. The cover photo is especially meaningful to me, as it’s a picture of the two lovebirds my wife and I encountered while on vacation in Mexico. They’ve become a symbol of our relationship ever since.
What is worth blowing up for love?
2012 – Sentence Junkie: I’ve been categorizing and indexing the record of everything I’ve done for the past twelve years. The problem is, I feel unarmed without it. And so, I created this online database and search engine to give myself access to my creative inventory when I’m away from my primary writing environment.
What’s your intellectual inventory system?
2012 – Thinkmaps: During my fifteen month stint at a digital agency, I invented an accelerated strategic framework called thinkmapping. It’s where research, narrative, strategy and insight collide. I wore an orange jumpsuit and looked like an escape convict.
How are you enlarging your concept of work?
2012 – Adventures in Nametagging: When I was a kid, I wanted to be a cartoonist. Ironically enough, I ended up becoming the character of the cartoon, not the creawtor. Funny how life works out sometimes.
Are you living a life worth writing about?
2012 – The Kindle Series: I released eight digital books in one day. The goal was to flip the digital bird to the mainstream publishing industry. Unfortunately, nobody paid any attention. Or money. Which really upset me. Interestingly, on the walk over to the chicken wing bar to eat my feelings on the day of their release, I bumped into one of my readers. She thanked me and said she downloaded every one of my new books.
How many audience members do you need to feel okay with yourself?
2013 – Let Me Suggest This: I’m really proud of this book. Didn’t sell very many copies, but it marks a new level of maturity and insightfulness in my writing, and that’s all you can really ask for.
Are you playing in a manner that creates growth, no matter what the score is?
2013 – Zen and the Art of Wearing Nametags: Before writing this book, I spent about six months researching the hero’s journey, mythology, narrative structure, screenwriting and the like. Then I sat down and hashed out my nametag story from a cinematic perspective. The process was challenging, fun and inspiring. Be ready for the movie.
What are you doing research on?
2014 – TEDx: A career highlight, no doubt. Spoke in my hometown to all my friends and family in my favorite local venue. Turns out, it’s surprisingly hard to prepare an eighteen minute speech. Especially when the countdown clock of death is staring back at you the whole time.
When was the last time you introduced constraints into the creative process?
2014 – Moments of Conception: I heard an interview with an actor who mashed up three bad movies into one great movie. That inspired me to being deconstructing moments of conception from my favorite films, along with a series of creativity lessons we can learn from the characters. It’s like reliving my childhood.
What was your creative moment of conception?
2014 – The Prolific Framework. This project originated as a course curriculum for the continuing education program at a local university, but later evolved into an intellectual property development system. What I love most about this project is, it’s highly research driven and very left brain. That was hard for me.
Are you elevating, or just executing?
2014 – Tunnel of Love. We officially started production for my documentary this past weekend with a live concert. I’m the writer, producer, director and star of the film. It’s the most ambitious and expensive and expressive art project I’ve ever undertaken. Premiering this fall.
Once you find a home for all your talents, what will be possible?
Five thousand days. Those are the projects I’ve thrown forth.

What’s your list?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the construction scene in Good Will Hunting:



What can we learn?

Love people enough to upset them. Will is has a genius level intellect, a gift for mathematics and a rare eidetic memory. And yet, he insists on wasting his time working mindless manual labor jobs and drinking with his buddies. Chuckie refuses to accept this reality. He might be boisterous, but he’s not blind. Will’s failure to find a home for any of his talents is an insult to his friends, his community, his identity and his potential. And that’s the beauty of this moment. Because every artist needs someone in their life to initiate the shove, meaning, a delightfully disturbing moment that compels you make a massive change in your creative life. Will doesn’t realize it, but this conversation is his moment of conception. There may be a brief incubation period to follow, but it’s only a matter of time before he cashes in that winning lottery ticket and steps into the light. Do you have a figure in your creative life who’s willing to shake up your situation and keeps things in proportion?

Creativity exists at the intersection of belief and alienation. It’s the strangest thing. On one hand, you have to trust that there is a place for your gifts in the world. That you’ve been given your own plot of soil to cultivate, and there’s only so much available light to grow something meaningful. That’s belief. On the other hand, if someone feels fully at home in the world, they don’t need to make art. Life has to generate a certain amount discomfort and hunger and ache to get the pen moving. Without that thick layer of outofstepness, of feeling unhoused in a sense, what’s the point? That’s alienation. Andrea Barrett, the award winning historical fiction novelist, famously said that she writes about the world because it doesn’t make sense to her. That through writing, maybe she can penetrate it, elucidate it and somehow make it comprehensible. Will has the alienation part down pat, but he doesn’t realize there’s a missing piece of belief. He’s almost too smart. Too proud to realize the opportunity right in front of him. Chuckie simply holds up the mirror. What will you channel your contradictory feelings into?

Let the city crumble, but come home together. Creative personalities are hypersensitive to geography. Consider the lyrics of Angeles, the song playing the background of this scene. “I could make you satisfied in everything you do, all your secret wishes could right now be coming true, and be forever with my poison arms around you.” Elliot Smith wasn’t singing about a beautiful woman making love to him, he was singing about a big city making promises to him. That’s a different kind of relationship. One in which the physical landscape influences the mental landscape. I remember when wife and I first moved to a big city. Our friend who grew up here said, this city will feed you things that make you feel bigger than you are. She was right. Over the next few years, we saw firsthand how easy it was to fall into those kinds of identity traps. It could happen to anybody. Geography is seductive in that way. But the secret, I suppose, is setting boundaries. Deciding which parts of the culture are worth participating in, and which parts aren’t. What expectations are you precariously surrounded by?

What can we learn?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the singing scene scene in Saving Mrs. Banks:


What can we learn?

Ideas are riders and need a horse to get to us. Travers is a financially struggling author with deep disdain for animated movies. She’s proper, formal, conservative, and her novel’s main character is enemy of sentiment and whimsy who doesn’t sugar coat the darkness in the world. As she says early in the movie, what horrors have you in store for my beautiful characters today? Tough crowd. Good luck pulling an idea out of that cranky, stubborn dame. Disney, on the other hand, the ultimate symbol of magic, the paragon of innocence and joy, has been courting her for twenty hears. He’s not giving up in his quest to acquire the film rights to her novels. You have to appreciate that kind of persistence. But it’s a reminder that creativity is a negotiation. A conversation between art and artist. A battle between resistance and expression. And it’s an exchange that requires a certain amount of coaxing. Because matter how swiftly and frequently inspiration shows up, many of our best ideas need to be massaged into shape. How will you prevent your ideas from getting steamrolled?

Inhibition is an endangered species. Travers is attempting collaboration with the creative team, but has become increasingly disengaged. The work is bringing up too many painful childhood memories. But somehow, the music composers soften her. The song reawakens her imagination and enthusiastically engages her. Pamela’s body language says it all. First, she raises an eyebrow. The involuntary indicator of interest, intrigue and curiosity. Next, she taps her foot. The basic tool for keeping time and connecting with rhythm. Finally, she starts waltzing, laughing and singing. The mark of a fully engaged audience member. This scene is a perfect illustration of what happens when an artist tastes the sweet nectar of pure creation. When someone feels what it feels like to have no creative restrictions. To be, as the song says, where the air is clear. Because even if that happens for only a moment, it’s amazing what kinds of creative doors start to open up. Travers isn’t singing a song, she’s signing a permission slip. She’s giving herself the freedom to live a life that isn’t dictated by her history. Are you allowing the pain from the past to numb the pleasure of the present?
Align yourself with the flow of process. Travers didn’t believe a film version of her books would do justice to her creation. Little did she know, the movie would receive widespread critical acclaim, win tons of awards, inspire a long running musical, even break the world record for the world’s largest umbrella mosaic. That’s the beauty of creativity. You have an idea for a treehouse and end up building a skyscraper. Woops. But isn’t that what makes life worth living? The surprises. The unintentionals. The strange evolutions that turn seeds into forests. Isn’t that why you get into the idea business in the first place? Because you never know. All you can do is trust the creative process. All you can do is let go, allow your work to lead you and to believe in the dividends. Besides, the juicy stuff almost always happens in unoccupied channels. Travers never could have dreamed her books would have such a wide impact on modern culture. But had she never said yes to the mouse, none of that would have happened. What was your resurrection opportunity?

What did you learn?

* * * *Scott GinsbergThat Guy with the NametagAuthor. Speaker. Strategist. Filmmaker. Publisher. Songwriter. 
scott@hellomynameisscott.com
Never the same speech twice. Customized for your audience. Impossible to walk away uninspired.

Now booking for 2014-2015.

Email to inquire about fees and availability. Watch clips of The Nametag Guy in action here!

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the bathroom scene in Opportunity Knocks:



What can we learn?

Shift your body, shift your brain. I remember watching this movie in my high school marketing class. I loved it. Most of the other students else were either sleeping or doodling in their notebooks, but for some reason, I actually paid attention that day. Twenty years later, this scene is still one of my favorites. The boardroom, after all, has massive conceptual, contextual and cultural implications. It’s iconic. It’s a staple of modern business. It’s where deals happen and decisions are made. But the boardroom is also where creativity goes to die. And so, if we seek inspiration to help us think about our work differently, we have to practice a little physical displacement. It takes the pressure off, transfers the locus of brain energy and allows the mind to focus. That’s why we’re able to see patterns we wouldn’t have noticed otherwise. Creativity is fed by emotion, emotion is fed through experience, and experience is created through movement. What setting would be most inspirational if you were asked to come up with a really creative idea?
Don’t just inform, form. Jonathan knows he can’t make people listen to him, but he can raise their receptivity so his ideas have the highest probability of getting through. His strategy, then, is to be a sleeper. To come in under the radar and disturb the people’s worldview. That’s the only way to shift their position on the receptivity continuum from opposition to acceptance. And so, he introduces surprise into the equation. Because surprise creates anxiety in the air, and that’s the best time to give people new ideas. Forcing a group of stuffy corporate executives to hold their board meeting the bathroom might have made them uncomfortable, but it also made them more open to what he was trying to communicate. Whether or not this would work in real life is doubtful. But the general principle is indisputable. The theater of presenting the idea is just as important as the idea itself. How are you making your ideas more accessible?
Communication as a relaxing experience. Jonathan’s strategy of moving the meeting from the boardroom to the bathroom is a stalling maneuver, pardon the pun. It’s a way of buying yourself time in group meetings, auditions, interviews and presentations, so that you can collect your thoughts and build anticipation around your message. It’s a powerful way to let the room breathe. The problem is, as creators of ideas, our instinct is to go for speed and volume. To overwhelm the audience with our genius. To fill every second of dead air with words, lest we lose people’s interest. But communication can be a relaxing experience. It can feel more like a bathroom than a boardroom. It all depends on the leader in the room. Jonathan appears stifled and confused in the beginning of the scene, but once he finds his groove and gets the blood flowing, we see him start to have fun and smile and relax and enjoy the experience. He’s entirely present. The audience can’t help by follow his lead. And from this point on, they’ll never look at a bathroom stall the same again. How are people changed after having a conversation with you?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

All creativity begins with the moment of conception.

That little piece of kindling that gets the fire going. That initial source of inspiration that takes on a life of its own. That single note from which the entire symphony grows. That single spark of life that signals an idea’s movement value, almost screaming to us, something wants to be built here.

And so, in this new blog series, I’m going to be deconstructing my favorite moments of conception from popular movies. Each post will contain a video clip from a different film, along with a series of lessons we can learn from the characters.

Today’s clip comes from the firing scene scene in Up In The Air:

What can we learn?

The only choice is severance. Bob took a mediocre job out of college that forced him to give up on his dreams. To give up on doing what made him happy. But now, thirty years later, he’s given a second change. A new beginning. A fresh start. An opportunity to do his rightful work in the world, and finally become who he really is. The lucky bastard. I remember going through a similar transformation in my own career. It was beautiful. There was a profound sense of peace, stillness, possibility and liberation. Nothing to fear, nothing to lose, nothing to hide, nothing to prove. And as I stood on the precipice of transformation, being called to something different, I made choice to lean into a new future. And my work hasn’t been the same since. That’s the sign of a successful reinvention. When you feel like a whole new person, and yet, more like yourself than ever. Have you made peace with the mysterious ways in which you would up doing the things you were meant to do?
Freedom is the flame of admiration. What I love most about this scene is the concept of admiration. How kids look up to people who follow their dreams. And yet, it’s not just kids, it’s everybody. Nothing inspires the world more than a someone who acts from his own center and does work that make him alive in all his parts and powers. Louie, to use an example from the standup world, isn’t a comedy legend because he’s the funniest, but because he’s the freest. He writes, directs, produces and edits his own network television show, addressing topics most writers wouldn’t touch. He circumvents big ticket companies by performing reasonably priced concerts at alternative venues. And he has a no bullshit website that offers cheap standup specials direct to his fans. Don’t get me wrong. Louie certainly makes people laugh with his work, but the foundation of his artistry is the sovereignty he has over his work. That’s why people admire him. What are you trading your authenticity for?

With buried grievances and dreams unexpressed.It’s hard to resist the romance of running after your dreams. Especially in this country. America is the place where dreams are had, followed and fulfilled. The prospect of not having to die with your music still in you, the legacy of going to your grave with your life poured out, man, that’s one hell of promise. Of course, some say those who think that way need to be beaten with the practicality stick. And maybe they’re right. But the upside to following your dream is, it doesn’t have to be a binary construct. It all depends on how you define the word follow. Let’s say your dream matures into an exotic animal that you can’t afford to feed forever. Your artistic career path, dripping with risk and instability and blood and toil, becomes too high a price to pay. Does that have to knock you out of the game completely? Not necessarily. If there’s a dream in you, one that serves and helps others, one that would cause you deep regret if you never took the risk to at least try it, it shouldn’t matter how you follow it, only that you follow it. Even if it’s a subsidiary part of your earning existence. Even if money doesn’t have to go next to you when you act the way you act. Frankly, your dream will just be glad you showed up. How far do you have to follow your dreams to still be okay with yourself?
What did you learn?

* * * *Scott GinsbergThat Guy with the NametagAuthor. Speaker. Strategist. Filmmaker. Publisher. Songwriter. 
scott@hellomynameisscott.com
Never the same speech twice. Customized for your audience. Impossible to walk away uninspired.

Now booking for 2014-2015.

Email to inquire about fees and availability. Watch clips of The Nametag Guy in action here!