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!

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 running scene in Forrest Gump:

What can we learn?

Necessity carries a whip. This scene reads like a page out of Woodrow Wilson’s inspiring book, When a Man Comes to Himself. It’s about wholesome regenerating change. A full realization of a person’s powers. A man’s discovery of the way in which his faculties are to be made to fit into the world’s affairs. Forrest, as the president wrote, learned his own paces and found his footing. He initiated the process of disillusionment. Clearing his eyes so he could soberly see the world as it is, and his own true place and function in it. Had the bullies never thrown dirt clods at his head in the first place, his leg braces never would have broken apart, and he never would have discovered that he could run like the wind. And so, in this moment, necessity isn’t so much the mother of invention as it is the illuminator of identity. Gump’s difficult situation didn’t prompt an new innovation, it destroyed an old one. His magic shoes, as he called them, were only magic insofar as they housed and nurtured an immense spirit that ultimately broke free and helped create a truly charmed life. Is your current life situation going to limit you or liberate you?
Punch windows in the wall of the self. First he hobbles. Then he gains speed. But when the braces shatter, sending steel and plastic flying into the air, the boy looks down at his legs in surprise. Well I’ll be a squirrel in a skirt. Guess he never realized how fast he could run until running was his only choice. Yet another case of trial by fire. What a potent illustration for the creators of the world. Artists, after all, have a set of preexisting beliefs about their talents. But unless they’re tested in the crucible of everyday life, they never expand to their full capacity. Forrest spontaneously did something he didn’t realize he could do, and the experience sent him on a trajectory of fame, success and adventure. In the same way that a virus can lie dormant in your body for so long that you forget you were ever infected, a talent can also lie undernurtured in your life for so long that you don’t realize you have it. That’s when it’s useful to have someone you love whispering, or in Jenny’s case, shouting, words of encouragement to keep your legs in motion. Who do you have in your life to make sure your potential doesn’t go to waste?
Tie a rope around your heart. Gump’s legs were as strong as any the doctor had ever seen. His spine, on the other hand, was as crooked as politician. And so, he was forced to wear the orthopedic shoes and metal leg braces for three years. But despite constant ridicule, name calling, even getting his legs caught in gutter grates, the braces turn out to be a blessing in disguise. In my book on creativity, One Smoking Hot Piece of Brain Candy, I introduced a technique called tourniquetting. This is when an artist creates a healthy sense of distance from their work by damming up the creative flow, compressing the circulation and applying enough pressure so there’s an explosion waiting for them when they’re ready to return. Gump’s braces were the tourniquets. They blocked the flow. The constricted his power. And after a few years, once the pressure reached its threshold level, there was no stopping that train. Momma said those magic shoes would take him anywhere, and she was right. That’s the power of creative tourniquetting. It requires a significant amount of delayed gratification. And it requires having enough discipline notto have discipline. But it’s a hell of a way to get things moving. Are you willing to tie a rope around your heart just to let the blood build up?

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 bar scene scene in Rango:

What can we learn?

Filling in the identity lines. This movie is terrifically clever, but it’s also a powerful meditation on identity. Rango is a chameleon, both literally and figuratively. With a little mimicry, bravado and improvisation, he presents himself as tough drifter who will blow the ugly right off your face. And the townsfolk believe him. They have no idea he comes from a domestic terrarium. Rango is a blank sheet of paper, in his minds and theirs. And this scene is him filling in the lines. We’re witnessing the conceptual beginning of a man’s identity. Rango’s history and beliefs are awakening in him. His narrative is beginning to assume a definite form. And his personal mythology is burning itself into people’s brains. If you’re an artist, there were probably moments just like that your career. Starting from scratch. Filling in the identity lines. Consciously deciding who you’re going to be. It’s an exhilarating experience. Especially since most of the world isn’t lucky enough to become who they are. What where the sudden but seismic shifts in your sensibility and persona that became foundational in your work?

We each see what we need to see. Dirt is a town of deep faith. A loyal, tightly knit community who needs something to believe in. Rango, on the other hand, is a loner and a complete fraud. He’s not even supposed to be there. But as the spirit of the west advised him, no man can walk out on his own story. And so, he doesn’t have a choice. Rango raised his hand. He became the hero they were looking for and. And from this point on, that’s who he is. If you’re a veteran creator, this lesson is particularly useful. Because over the long arc of an artist’s career, people often take detours off their main line that they’re not initially thrilled with. But that doesn’t mean the experience isn’t worthwhile. Creative people must always allow for the possibility that new meaning will arise in unexpected places. As my mentor once told me, when you think you know your destination, you’re on the wrong path. Are you willing to lean into a different future?
Mighty oaks from tiny acorns grow. Rango’s entire future was predicated on something he read on a bottle of cactus juice. That seemingly innocuous detail was the divergence that resulted in a significantly different outcome. It’s chaos theory at its finest. Sensitive dependence. Initial conditions in which a small change at one place in a deterministic nonlinear system can result in large differences in a later state. Sound like quantum physics? You’re right. But it also sounds like the creative process. Because the obligation of an artist is to always be on the lookout for that divergence. That tiny detail that triggers a whole world. Every creative person has their version of it. Fifteen years ago, I decided to put on a nametag. And out of that moment, I built a brand, a business and an entire career. That was my first experience chaos theory. But what’s interesting is, now I notice those innocuous details everywhere. To me, everything is a nametag. Everything is a bottle of cactus juice that could change everything. What do you see when you see people?

* * * *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 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!

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 candy shop scene in Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory:


What can we learn?

Expectation unconsciously influences inspiration. The creative process is simultaneously mechanical and metaphysical. It’s a function of toil and time, but there’s also an equal measure of intention and attention. Charlie wanders around the street, finds a coin in a sewer grate and digs it out. That’s attention. By introducing it, he created his own opportunity to play the game. Then, when he walks into the candy shop, he buys a chocolate bar for his grandpa. Charlie wasn’t trying to win the contest, he was trying to do something generous for his family. That intention. By introducing it, he activated the infinite field of correlation. And the combination of the two changed everything. The lesson, then, is that focusing on a goal changes the person doing the focusing. It’s similar to the observer effect of quantum physics, which states that the act of observing a system inevitably alters its state. And so, if an artist expects to find ideas in her environment, she will cause an improvement in her ability to spot opportunities when they materialize. But if that same artist lets her attention and intention slip and slide all over the place, she’ll miss her moment of conception. Which of your ideas arrived as responses to attention and intention?
So shines a good deed. In the original candy scene, the crooning shop owner throws out tons of free candy to all the eager, wealthy children. Meanwhile, the poorest kid in town can only watch longingly from the window. Now, here’s the interesting part. Charlie walks into the same candy shop only few weeks later, hoping to receive the same treatment as the other children. But the moment he starts stuffing his face with chocolate, the owner clears his throat and holds out his hand. Almost as if to say, I’m not running a soup kitchen here. But he’s happy to pay for the treat. Charlie’s a good kid. This is a fair transaction. Besides, the candy isn’t even for him, it’s a gift for his grandpa. Meanwhile, a major scandal breaks out across the globe. Newspapers report that the multimillionaire gambler actually falsified his winning ticket. He had the nerve to try to fool the whole world. Which means, the fifth golden ticket was still out there somewhere. Waiting to be found by the right person. The honest person. The deserving person. After all, that was the whole point of the contest, we later find out. It wasn’t a golden ticket, it was a morality test. Wonka needed an honest child, worthy to be his heir. So shines a good deed in a weary world. How are you branding your honesty?
Work perpendicular. Charlie is devastated when the news breaks about the final golden ticket being found. The boy has nothing in the world to hope for now. Of course, his mother reminds him that he’ll get his chance. That one day, things will change. Probably when he least expects it. For now, he just needs to keep his dream in view, and pretty soon the sky will clear up. Which doesn’t put the delicious chocolate bar in his mouth, but it’s start. And that’s the spiritual theme embedded in this scene. It’s a lesson every artist has to learn. Because in the creative process, sometimes the best way to find something is to stop looking for it. The best way to accomplish something is to try less. Taoists would call this concept paradoxical unity. Which appears vague and esoteric and wholly unsatisfying in its practical application, but it’s actually a helpful approach in becoming prolific. As I’ve mentioned before, sometimes the best strategy is to work perpendicular. To intentionally walk away from our current work and engage in something unrelated to the flow of activity. Charlie did just that. He went out for a walk and found exactly what he has stopped looking for. Which of your ideas have come when you least expected them?

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 plate scene in Chocolat:


What can we learn?

Channeling personality in the service of creativity. Vianne is a creative, friendly, nonjudgmental, atheist single mother with an illegitimate child and a provocative wardrobe. That’s one hell of a combination. But what’s interesting is, so is her chocolate. Her confections use cacao, chili powder and other exotic ingredients. Which, in a town where abstinence is king, her chocolate wins over the closed hearts of the stuffy petite bourgeoisie. This movie, then, is a case study of identity based creation. Vianne integrates the whole of her personality into every piece of chocolate she makes. She taps into her instincts for matching the perfect treat to each customer’s need. And ultimately, that’s how she’s able to find a home for herself and her daughter in the village. It’s an inspiring tale of social acceptance and individuality. As one reviewer said, apparently chocolate can cure mental illness, restore marital passion, unite feuding relatives, assuage anger, defeat oppression, inspire art and get you a date. Good enough for me. What if your creative process was a game to see which part of yourself you could bring to work every day?

Cross my palm with silver.Artists are notoriously poor businesspeople. We’d rather be heard than paid. We’d rather make history than make money. We’d rather change the world than charge a fee. But the reality is, every product must be sold. Every artist must go out and meet marketplace and ask customers for money. Even if we feel guilty about demanding compensation for our work, even if we experience anxiety when we assign monetary value to our intellectual property, if we don’t admit that we’re in business for ourselves, we’re finished. The secret is to enlist the unique aspects of our personality to enhance our ability to sell. To make the dreaded commerce component easier to swallow. Vianne uses the mosaic wheel. It’s essentially an ink blot test for chocolate. Patrons give the wheel a playful spin, say what they see, and she identifies the perfect chocolate for them. It’s playful, alluring and unexpected, just like her. It’s a device that surprises and delights and intrigues customers in spite of themselves, just like her. Most importantly, it’s an effective tool for driving sales. Period. Vianne poured her heart into this chocolate to make it great, and she isn’t afraid put a price on it and ask people to buy it. How are you exercising your personality in the selling arena?
We can smell our own. There’s a powerful thematic undercurrent of community in this movie. As it says in the original screenplay, if you lived in this village, you understood what was expected of you. You knew your place in the scheme of things. And if you happened to forget, someone would remind you. Belonging, after all, means having people expect something of you, and caring about what that expectation is. Which isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Especially for creators who tend to live inside their own heads. Vianne’s journey as an artist, then, is more than just designing her own kind of chocolate, but also discovering her own kind of community. At the end of the film, just when she resolves to move to another village, the townspeople who have come to love her, convince her to stay. Because her work is needed there. Vivian is the enchanting rock people can count on. Her value is desirable to the point of absolute necessity. And so, she takes up permanent residence in the village. Emerson was right. Make yourself necessary to the world, and mankind will give you bread. To whom is your art essential?

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 shanks scene scene in Tin Cup:

What can we learn?

Avoid the cold start. Your brain is a machine. And like any mechanical device, you need to bring it up to operating temperature in order to run properly. Without that crucial warm up cycle, the motor is vulnerable to errors, misfires, wasted energy, toxic emissions, even full blown system failures. And so, when you sit down work each day, consider using a centering sequencebefore pulling out of the creative driveway. A ritual that keeps you from doing things that you regret, things that come from the shadowy parts of your personality. For many years, I’ve been using a tool from a program called Ten Zen Seconds, which is an approach to mindfulness and an invitation to live a more centered, grounded, and meaningful life. The way it works is, you use a single deep breath as a ten second container for a specific thought, matching the rhythm of your respiration to the symmetry of your words. Every morning when I sit down to write, this centering sequence brings my brain up to operating temperature. It’s how I avoid the shanks. How are you warming up your mental system?
My brain burns with their color. Roy was so in awe of the golf legends lined up on the driving range, hitting beautiful shot after beautiful shot with graceful ease, his brain got in the way. But once he got out of his head and into the present moment, once he reconnected with his body and accessed his authentic swing, he hit a perfect seven iron into the trees. Creators could learn from this experience. We’re a group of people with notoriously racing brains, and we have to be careful not to do too much work in our heads. The goal, after all, is to relieve ourselves of the necessity of remembering, not to add more mental bricks. To help our minds peacefully return to their natural state, not strain the brain. That’s why the tradition of making mental notes is a terribly unhealthy, unwise approach for organizing ideas. The mind is a terrible office. We don’t need to make mental notes, we need to make notes. Writing everything down relieves us of the necessity of remembering and opens our mind to receive new ideas. Writing everything down directs the traffic flow of our overcrowded minds. Without adopting this habit, our brain will be too overwhelmed to keep the ball in the fairway. Are you prepared to kill the virus in your brain?
Getting ready for the job of creating. Golfers go to the driving range to work out the shanks. To loosen the lid on the pickle jar of peak performance. To flush the bad shots out of their system before hitting the lynx. It’s a practice that takes discipline, but one that also takes humility. Notice the golfers at the range are daring to do their work poorly in the beginning. They’re allowing themselves to be bad. And they’re accepting failure as a necessary part of growth. Artists should be no different. Even if our first ideas impress us so little that we see no good reason to continue, we should never stop ourselves from hitting those shots. When we practice forced vomiting, for example, we release our thoughts without committing to keeping them. We create off the record, making things without the burden of evidence, following our most impractical curiosities. It’s the work before the work. The driving range of creativity. And we find our rhythm, our groove, the tempo of our creative nature, by hitting enough balls until meaning and truth finally manifest. Do you have a daily psychological holding environment?

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!