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 sirius scene in Truman Show:


What can we learn?

Keep them happy and ignorant. Truman literally lives in a constructed reality. His life is broadcast around the clock to billions of people across the globe. But once he gains sufficient awareness of his condition, the movie starts to take a strangely psychological, even political turn. Truman is waking up and stumbling towards salvation. Hence the falling light and shattered glass. Symbolically, it couldn’t be more appropriate. It’s a reminder of how the powers that be will always try keep us small, scared and dreamless; dissuading our sense of exploration, preventing us from discovering our false realities. Because the last thing they want is for us to activate our imaginations. To become suspicious of our perceived reality. Fortunately, humans created art to combat this battle. To embark on a quest to discover the truth about our lives. To give ourselves a slant on the game that’s being played on us. Truman represents an awakening that’s possible in every one of us. Whom are you allowing to soften the fibers of your spirit?
Readiness to wreck everything. Truman is stepping into a more mature and authentic identity. Every scene becomes a chisel with which he chips away at the sculpture inside the stone. And by the time he reaches the end of the known world, you can’t help but cheer him on. It’s a powerful meditation for artists undergoing the process of reinvention. But it’s also a warning about the slings and arrows that accompany it. Truman may be waking up to what’s true about himself, but not everybody wants him to be successful. They’re too invested in keeping him where he is. They want him to remain frozen in the position they met him in. That’s why they feel disenfranchised by his awakening. And so, as they feel the foreign nature of his behavior, they start to attack like white blood cells fighting an infection. Funny how reinvention elicits that reaction from people. But it’s human nature. Other people have no incentive to see you change. And once you do, they almost don’t even know how to relate to you anymore. Who is resisting your journey to explore new ways of being an artist?

Try thinking your own thoughts. Peter Weir famously said that The Truman Show was a dangerous film to make because it couldn’t actually happen. Little did he know, his movie was disturbingly prophetic. It premiered in the late nineties, when reality television was on the rise. And yet, two decades later, the film doesn’t seem like science fiction at all. It could just as easily be another reality show we fetishize. But what bothers me the most is, television is the polar opposite of creativity. It’s leading someone else’s life for a short period of time. And yet, millions people live this way. They spend thirty hours a week thinking other people’s thoughts, walking through someone else’s museum. Meanwhile, recent research reports that the number of non book readers has nearly tripled since the late seventies. This isn’t good for our brains. My mentor once said that the purpose of books was to trap your mind into doing its own thinking. But nobody seems to care anymore. Too many shows in the queue. And my fear is that we’ve literally become zombies. We’ve forgotten how to think our own thoughts. Are you joining the playing field of creation or the smorgasbord of consumption?

What’s your favorite 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 jump to conclusions scene in Office Space:
What can we learn?

The attraction of working, the arrogance of waiting.Every creator is looking that one big idea, the one that earns millions and changes the world and sets them up for the rest of their life. But while it’s fun to fantasize about, it’s ultimately a waste of time. Most of the crazy ideas that changed the world actually started out as mistakes, accidents, coincidences, serendipity, jokes or experiments. The guy who invented the pet rock wasn’t tinkering at his workbench all day, searching for his ticket to riches. He was sitting at a bar listening to his friends complain about their pets, which gave him the idea for the perfect pet that would never need to be fed, walked, bathed, groomed and would never die, become sick, or be disobedient. That’s the way creativity works. The more you tighten your grip, the more it will slip through your fingers. The more you chase it, the more it will elude you. It’s more like a zen koan than a scavenger hunt. And so, if we have any intention of making art that lasts, better to keep focused hand on the present than a compulsive eye on the future. It’s all there in front of us, but if we try too hard to see it, we’ll only become confused. How can you invite creativity to come and sit softly on your shoulder?
Tone your hot body. Tom doesn’t realize that creativity is about having one big idea, it’s about sustaining a steady stream of ideas. Nothing against one hit wonders, one idea does not a career make. Prolific creators have an entire mountain of gold to mine, not just nugget to milk for a lifetime. In fact, what most people don’t know about Gary Dahl, the guy who invented the pet rock, was that he was also an award winning copywriter, creative director and advertising agency owner. Meaning, over the course of his career, he probably had tens of thousands of ideas. Many of which were bad. But he kept producing, every single day, because he knew that the best way to see a good idea was to stand on a compost pile of bad ones. Prolificacy then, is the intentional goal; but innovation is incidental result. Truth is, I may have made my career as the nametag guy, but only because I left behind a wake of failed attempts at dozens of other quirky identity experiments. And so, creativity is often a matter of volume plus time. Building a product that sticks out by being a person who sticks around. How hot is your body of work?
If you are only creating for glory, you have already failed. Tom isn’t trying to change the world with his invention, he just doesn’t want to work ever again. That’s no reason t make art. No wonder his idea is doomed from the beginning. Not only because the product trite and useless, but also because there’s no substance behind it. I’m reminded of poet laureate James Dickey, who said that the most important thing is to be excited about what you are doing. To be working on something that you think will be the greatest thing that ever was. Because the difficulty in writing poetry, he said, was to maintain a sense of excitement and discovery about what you were working on. Tom could have used some of that juice. We all could. Considering the inevitable doubts and setbacks and failures of the creative process, there’s no chemical substitute for enthusiasm. If we have enough horsepower under the hood, we can usually get ourselves out if the mud. How are you investing your passion and bravery where there previously was none?
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 pigeon scene in Indian Jones & The Last Crusade:


What can we learn?
Everything is grist for the creative mill. In the problem solving process, our first instinct is to look for answers externally. But in most cases, the answer lies within. Something we already know is precisely what we need to find the solution. It’s simply a matter of trusting our resources. Believing we are well equipped to handle our creative challenges. Henry, a lifelong scholar of history, suddenly remembers an inspiring quotation from a famous historical figure. And so, he bridges, seeking connections and noticing natural relationships between that reference and his current situation. That’s what gives him the idea to take down the nazi airplane with an umbrella and a flock of pigeons. And as the propeller shreds the birds into a feathery white puree and clogs the engine, it all makes sense. Henry’s entire life has prepared him for this very moment. His expansive landscape of interconnected knowledge and experiences has made him a powerful recombinant thinker and inventor. All he needed was the right moment into which he could compress that training. What do you already know that will help you solve this problem?
Create without a crutch. Henry is a scholar. A man who fights battles with his mind. Someone who doesn’t require an automatic weapon or a custom retractable hang gliding spy gadget to defeat the enemy. Just an ordinary umbrella and a little help from nature. That’s about as low tech as you can get. It’s a humbling reminder that creativity isn’t always about having the right equipment. In fact, there’s no historical relationship between technology and innovation. That’s like the amateur golfer trying to buy a lower score with a titanium driver. The reality is, if you really had an amazing swing and a deep understanding of the game, you could shoot par with a rusty set of rented clubs. Real artists work the same way. They can create anytime, anywhere. People who refuse to go to work unless the have the right tools are unprofessional hack procrastinators. True art is equipment agnostic. Which of your own excuses are you falling in love with?
Walk with the wise. Indiana wears a proud expression as he sees his father in a new light. Even he can admit, that was pretty cool. And as he watches his father’s cheeky stride on the beach, using the very umbrella he just saved their lives with to shield the sun, he realizes how inspirational this moment truly is. In fact, the actual meaning of the word inspiration is to arouse reverence. And one of the ways we do that is to surround ourselves with people who challenge and inspire us. To play with those who raise our game. Because there are three kinds of people in the world: Those who make us less than we are, those who keep us where we are, and those who push us to what we might become. And so, next time we’re wondering why our creative output is lagging, it’s often because our human input is lacking. Perhaps it’s time to prune the hedges. Are you willing to personally amputate anyone who doesn’t believe in or support you?
What’s your favorite movie moment of conception?

In the past several months, I’ve shared various pieces of The Prolific Framework, a new program that guides people through the art and science of collecting, creating and communicating their ideas.
A key component to that system is learning and employing a robust vocabulary of creativity. It’s a language that permits you to communicate with yourself and others about the creative process, helps you make sense of the otherwise ambiguous world of creativity, empowersyou to speak a language that supports your intentions, and allows you to conceptualize and describe your experience of creating.

Ultimately, I want you to build a lexicon of words and phrases that allow you to converse about creativity. By building a working vocabulary of being prolific, you significantly better your chances of managing the creative process. 

So far, I’ve already shared two extensive lists of useful phrases to guide yourself through the creative process, which can be found hereand here.But as I continue to publish my moments of conception case studies, each of which deconstruct an inspiring scene from a popular movie, the glossary continues to expand.

Here are about twenty new words to add to your creative vocabulary. 

Flash cards ready?

Aggressive pondering. Deliberately creating a situation or framed experience in order to have an arena in which to work out an unresolved issue.
Artist debt. Periods when we become disconnected from our primary creative joy and fail to achieve our quota of artistic usefulness.

Bridging. The art of making connections and noticing natural relationships between seemingly unrelated ideas.
Containment. The balance between safeguarding your artistic vision to protect intellectual property and passionately sharing your ideas with the world.
Creative uniform. A wearable identity totem that prompts a work mindset and sets a tone that says to your brain, work happens now.
Critical number. Objectifying your work by boiling it down to one thing that’s clean, simple and easy to calculate, something that functions as a proxy to do the heavy lifting for you.
Domain transferring. Bringing ideas from one field of knowledge into another by asking, what else is like this?
Eventfulness. The decisive interaction in which a trusted friend compels an artist to make a key change or take a massive risk in their creative life.
Filter. A small, repeatable and portable filter that helps you make sense of the people you meet quickly and accurately.
Good low. When life hands us a pile of shit, we strategically convert that experience into creative resources of energy, fertility and happiness.
Homebase. A place or community where you can commune with your your fellow artists and lock into the historical, societal and institutional frameworks of your creative world.
Intrinsic triggers.A unique set of inputs that stoke your creative fire. Little moments that let you clothespin a piece of stimuli onto your psyche for further evaluation.

Kindred spirits. Fellow creative people with resonant identities who maintain a shorthand for a shared culture.
Neighbor. Something that already exists the audience’s head that becomes a mental hook upon which you can hang future ideas.
Operational farsightedness. Due to our utter dedication to wider market demands, we fail to note the needs of our intimate ecosystem.
Outofstepness. A sense of feeling unhoused and not fully at home in the world, but a desire to make art to make sense of that world.
Paper thinking. Experiencing your ideas kinesthetically by writing down whatever is rising up from within your depths, saving judgment for later.
Placeholder. A surrogate piece of content that helps budget time and keep production going until a better idea comes along.  
Preliminary trigger.A simple, easy and incremental tool that activates the creative process and grows your executional victory bank.
Stalling maneuver.Buying yourself time in group meetings, interviews and presentations, so that you can collect your thoughts and build anticipation around your message. 
Timing. When luck takes the form of a confluence of events, including the right person, the right place, the right time, the right product, the right audience, the right context and the right leverage.
Wherewithal. Everything creator need to buttress the opportunity to make art, including knowledge, resources and courage.
Whitespace. Defining yourself by the work you decline, so as to avoid the erosion of your time, the decay of your focus and the meaninglessness of your work.
Happy creating!