We are living in increasingly chaotic times. The impact of this seems to be everywhere and it certainly is charging through creative fields like a runaway locomotive.

I can’t really speak to the world at large, or even other professions, but I do know everything we thought about building, creating, art, and performance is less clear and more complicated. The challenges and uncertainty are a constant topic and that might be part of the problem.

We all know problems are not solved by worrying (although this is much harder to achieve than to write). I am wondering how much of our energy and creativity is now taking second place to our concerns about the state of things.

I just interviewed someone for a short documentary we are producing and he said there were three things necessary for a successful life; to be authentic, tell the truth, and be sincere. I secretly rolled my eyes because I am bored with the admonition to be authentic and the overuse of the word generally.

His comments continued to pop up in my thoughts for a few days and so I thought maybe a little more grace and contemplation was warranted. This led me to considering how authenticity and sincerity intersect and differ.

The distinction is clear if we take as a general definition that authenticity is being true to oneself and sincerity being truthful in our interactions with others. Obviously, these overlap and should seek genuine alignment by being authentic and sincere in all our interactions and endeavors.

Why is it this seems increasingly difficult or less obvious now? I can honestly say I spent my childhood, teen years, and early adulthood never being directly exhorted to be authentic.

Of course on the other hand, the idea is universal and wasn’t discovered in the last couple of decades. After all Shakespeare did write, to thine own self be true.

The full passage is more compelling:

This above all: to thine own self be true,

And it must follow, as the night the day,

Thou canst not be then false to any man.”

And from the Stoics, Epictetus states a close parallel,

First say to yourself what you would be, and then do what you have to do.

Why then does the modern world somehow distract us from these ideas? Perhaps more importantly, how do we return to them as first principles?

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I am particularly taken by the idea of sincerity. It contains so many other virtues: honesty, integrity, humility, consistency, vulnerability, courage and fidelity.

I work in worlds where I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone mention it and it is too rarely practiced.

Is it the antidote to overcoming the challenges of making creative work right now? That seems a rather extreme hope, but the absence of sincerity is undoubtedly a deficit and adopting it as a conscious practice a small rebellion.

So there it is. Sincerity in all things, one last good idea.

I’d love to hear about your work, both what works and what gets in the way. Looking forward to hearing about your work!

I absolutely can’t resist buying notebooks. I suppose we all have our weaknesses, and this one seems relatively benign compared to other choices, but it is a bit of an obsession.

I imagine notebooks as symbols of possibility. This probably stems from childhood when the beginning of the school year began with new notebooks, a new box of crayons, and pencils with unused erasers. I even love the small section of the grocery store with the generic notebooks, pens, and Post-it notes.

Pens are a semi-obsession, but notebooks are a magnet, pulling my hand toward them and then into my wallet without even a small measure of resistance or willpower.

I don’t consider myself a writer, although I have written and adapted play scripts and documentary film outlines out of necessity and I am excited about a feature film I am currently co-writing. We write in a film software program, but I still use a notebook for ideas.

I also just penned a book about building a creative life. It’s what I’ve learned on the front lines of making theatre and film, but not something I think makes me a writer and I am fine with this. I wrote every word in long hand in two notebooks which I made a special trip to buy. No doubt part of the disciple for finishing it came from wanting to hold the notebook and fill up the pages.

Last week I suddenly had the chapter breakdown for another book I’ve been threatening to write and the first thing I did was buy a new notebook for it.

I taught theatre at a college for almost three decades and somewhere around the twenty-year mark, many students no longer carried notebooks. They used computers or worse took notes on their phones.

There are numerous studies making the correlation between writing by hand and memory, but this seems overlooked in our desire to make all things digital.

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Directing a play a few years ago an actor asked why I had three notebooks open on the table. Obviously, one was to record notes for the actors, the second for notes for the designers and crew, and the third for notes on the play itself or any random thoughts that needed a place to go.

If I put them all in one notebook, my thoughts wouldn’t be organized by subject, and I would only get to buy one. It’s part of my system and I can’t really work effectively without it.

There is also a level of satisfaction at the beginning of each rehearsal to take out the notebooks and lay them out in the exact same order. Any therapists reading this are welcome to have thoughts about that.

Any chance to buy a notebook counts as a happy circumstance and a tiny life upgrade.

Some notebooks lend themselves to plans and organization, others invite storytelling, each one offering a place for discoveries. Every new notebook is a doorway for creating something not yet imagined.

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The concept of the spirit of the age keeps bursting into my thoughts from multiple perspectives and demanding my attention. So, alright, I surrender. What is the spirit of the age and why is it pestering me?

St. Augustine mentioned “We are the times, such as we are, such are the times” in the late 4th century, so it certainly isn’t a new idea. It is curious how we tend to think our times are special, unique and so are our problems. I am not going to get into the idea of human progress, but outside of technology, our times probably aren’t as novel as we think.

Although Plato doesn’t say this directly in his account of eternal forms, we can loosely extend his view to suggest that our ideas aren’t as new or original as they feel.

This seems particularly important right now in the arts, and especially for film and theatre.

The idea that learning is remembering goes a long way to explaining the idea that there really are a limited number of basic plot archetypes (thank you, Christopher Booker):

• Overcoming the Monster

• Rags to Riches

• The Quest

• Voyage and Return

• Comedy

• Tragedy

• Rebirth

Most films and plays can be connected to these plots although they can be mixed and blended. Not sure whether we should overthink these plot ideas, the more important relevance to film and theatre should be to simply tell good stories.

The stories we create and share will impact the culture, but we shouldn’t be so concerned that the spirit of the age influences what we create.

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The current moment seems rather chaotic and diffuse, so it seems a rather daunting if not impossible task to speak to the spirit of these times anyway. If we try, we probably are only speaking to a subgroup of people, probably our own cohort of the like minded and familiar. Our work can reinforce the beliefs of our groups, but is that really where the best stories will emerge?

We should all follow the rules when it comes to having integrity and being respectful, and that’s sort of where the rule following should end.

I want to suggest we should stop worrying about whether what and how we create speaks to our time and how audiences will respond to it. We should concern ourselves with telling stories that matter to us and share something of importance.

For right or wrong, I really don’t concern myself with wondering what an audience will think when I am directing a play. I spend countless hours both in and out of rehearsal trying to be sure we are doing what the story needs. I’ve always sort of believed that was the job and if I persist at it, the audience will have some sort of worthwhile experience. Whether they want to consider how or whether it speaks to the spirit of the age is perhaps their concern more than mine.

What if we adopted an approach to not be concerned about what others think? Yes, I do understand the reality of film and theatre financing particularly at this moment. I still think we should endeavor to tell the best story despite that reality.

There will always be a world in which a play or movie tries to emulate the success of another project in order to be produced. All sorts of work gets produced, and that’s fine. Someone cared enough about that project to make it, let’s not worry about that either.

We shouldn’t see other’s work as a competition or develop a scarcity mindset.

I wish we asked ourselves “If I could tell any story I wanted,

• Not to be liked,

• Not to fit in,

• Not to get festival buzz,

• Not to win the script competition,

• Not to impress people who might help with my career,

• Not to compete with my fellow artists,

• Not to make myself feel good,

but because that story matters to me, what story would I tell?”

Let the spirit of the age sort itself out, let’s share the stories we believe in.

I could start by listing all the artists throughout time who were discovered and gained popularity after their deaths, but that is rather depressing and hopefully not particularly relevant to any of our lives. No one wants to live a life without being understood and recognized for their accomplishments, but it seems the modern spirit of the age offers some distorted realities about attention.

One of the things I find most confounding on Substack, and I think probably other platforms, is the constant theme of gaining followers, attracting an audience, becoming popular. It must matter to a lot of people because there is no shortage of articles and authors apparently finding great success with accounts that promote his idea.

I am old enough to remember the expression, “fools’ names, like fools’ faces, are often seen in public places.” This could be because my mother was very fond of quoting it and so I was indoctrinated early. I always hoped she was referring to something like a “wanted poster” or writing your name on a public wall, but I am quite sure she was warning me against being attention-seeking. This expression now seems a moral relic harkening back to a time where drawing attention to yourself was seen as suspect or childish, unlike our current time where for some it borders on obsession.

The spirit of the age used to caution us to not “show off” and now suggests people should “build their brand.” And here I am writing on Substack as well, although I do wonder what my parents would say.

When my father died I found a stack of newspaper reviews he printed out of the plays I directed. He never mentioned them to me, but I learned he was quite fond of reading them to others whether they were interested or not. This seems attributable to his parenting values, reminding me that humility is more important than popular acclaim.

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I work in theatre where my work is public and has my name attached to it. I see that as a responsibility to the artists I work with and the audience I invite to participate, more than a call for attention, but that might be a slight distinction, as there is recognition as well. Also, I direct under a different name, so there’s that.

The topic of public attention does lead to the question, “What are we seeking?” Here on Substack many people are building an online business, sharing their expertise, offering support through shared experiences, creating an audience for their work, seeking connections, which all seems, while part of the spirit of the age, to be things of value.

We all recognize the feeling when we encounter someone seeking attention, fame, recognition without contributing anything or grifting off the work of others either here or too often posing as creatives (a name I really dislike for its self-importance).

I am not really sure I have deeper insights about how this reflects the spirit of the age other than to suggest we should all at least consider what we are asking when we invite others into our sphere here. We all live in public now, but we can still seek to live with humility.

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Do we really recognize our gifts? Do we even admit we have gifts? We tend to think in terms of talent or skills, and gifts are different.

We have all heard we are unique and special, and actually we should pay more attention to that and make less effort trying to be like others.

I view creativity as problem solving, not exclusively in the realm of the arts; designing a bridge, solving a mathematical formula, determining the best tires for a Formula One racecar, designing the order of a vegetable garden, even what spices to put in the soup, require creativity.

It ‘s one of the reasons I dislike the elitism of people defining themselves as creatives. I think everyone is creative, whether that leads them to the arts or to any other human endeavor.

I also believe we do have different gifts. And the good news is that everyone has gifts. The bad news is that most people don’t know what they really are. Discovering your gifts and how to best use them throughout your life is one of life’s biggest challenges.

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Our gifts may have been given to us, but to be fully realized also requires awareness and effort.

Think of someone you love and consider their gifts. My best friend of many decades passed away nine years ago, but I can name her gifts; generosity, unwavering commitment to her values, wry humor, and love.

She fulfilled many roles in her life and each of these gifts were tremendously beneficial to her success in them, but they aren’t the sort of things that go on a resume or a bio on social media. They are the gifts she shared with those closest to her. She was also practical, dedicated, and energetic. These lean a little closer to her actions and more toward her success in the larger world. She was self-aware and used her gifts both for her own and other’s interests.

We have our personal gifts and then we have the larger defining gifts which suggest how we should engage with the world.

My writing partner’s primary archetype is a creator. He draws, designs, builds (currently an outdoor theatre), writes scripts, edits films, and is happiest when he is creating something, which, of course, he always is.

Each of the things he does is a talent or skill, but each of his talents or skills doesn’t define who he is. We tend to spend too much time trying to reduce ourselves to a title or a description, rather than looking more broadly to see who we really are. He is a true creator, and that is his gift.

Of course, like everyone he has many other attributes and gifts as well, but his heart is most at home in creating. Doing creative work always has a unique set of challenges, irregular income, inconsistent opportunities, not to mention believing in yourself in the seasons of uncertainty. Knowing this, he is building a life that honors his gift.

Being able to recognize your gifts can be an arduous process, and it isn’t always clear how they translate into a profession or a path, but they should be something we actively include in our lives.

Someone recently told me they weren’t creative. It wasn’t the time or place to refute this, but maybe I should have. I think everyone is creative and too many are afraid to explore this aspect of their gifts.

Maybe some well intentioned adult told you as a child to give up your dream of being a singer to pursue something more practical or maybe your teacher said to stop decorating your spelling test and stick to the assignment.

Maybe they were wrong and it’s time to really consider your gifts, ask which of them are part of your creative self, and look for how you could revisit them and give them a more active place in your life.

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Professionalism is not usually at the top of anyone’s agenda for “most important things to consider on the road to success,” but it should be.

Too many people are writing about how to find success without really bothering to do the work, pretending that mastering the algorithm is a plan for creating the life of your dreams. A real, working understanding of professionalism, what it is and why it matters, is probably more on target.

It’s Always the Basics

I find it unfortunate that the idea of professionalism is now regarded with a bit of disdain and a sense that it is no longer necessary because it really isn’t true. The way people treat each other always matters. Not sure how we lost the plot on that.

At its core, professionalism is doing your work well while recognizing the behaviors and ethical standards of your job or industry. And every industry has specific expectations, even writing online.

I work in theatre and film. The theatre world has always had a really strong streak of professionalism at its core. That has diminished a bit in the last seven years, but mostly it is still evident. I was discussing a project with a filmmaker about two months ago and he said, “I don’t really care that much when I work on other people’s projects, I only really care about my own work.” Not sure what lessons and ideas he took from our conversation, but I know what I did. Of course, he doesn’t represent filmmakers, but he highlights my point that professionalism isn’t completely understood now.

What is always true, no matter the work, is that professionalism rests on two essential pillars, moral clarity and good manners.

Moral Clarity

Moral clarity is the ethical backbone of professional behavior, and good manners are the visible form that backbone takes in our interactions.

If we define professionalism as conforming to the ethical standards of an industry, moral clarity tells us what those standards really are. Unless you’re employed by a criminal enterprise, they always include integrity and goodwill. Without moral clarity, professionalism can slip into “looking good” without operating from a moral basis.

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Good Manners

Good manners are foundational for professionalism and show genuine respect for others. They build trust because our manners make clear we take ourselves and others seriously.

I don’t mean “just being polite” when I say good manners. Politeness, saying “hello” and “please/thank you,” is performative. Still important, but not enough. Good manners are about genuinely considering the other person and the work itself and connecting with them respectfully.

Obviously, manners without moral clarity can become meaningless or even manipulative. So while even the most basic level of professionalism demands politeness, there is the deeper level of connection, where behaving with integrity and with goodwill must be practiced.

Being Professional

To be considered professional, we are required to see and do what is right (moral clarity) and treat others rightly in the way we speak and act (good manners).

This combination is the formula for being taken seriously.

It is also essential to succeed.

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I would love to hear about your work and projects, what’s working and what’s not. Sometimes sharing a problem makes it smaller and easier to solve.

In my last article I suggested making hard choices. Afterword, I found myself wondering what I really meant by that.

“Hard choices” can mean so many things: something we are afraid of doing, something we dislike doing, something we feel obligated to do, something we feel unprepared to do, and the list goes on.

Obviously, what is hard for one person might not be hard for another, so our entire idea of whether something is hard is a matter of definition and perception.

Last month I went to Cannes to the film market. This was a hard choice for me because as an introvert I find meeting strangers difficult. And, it was hard. It was also necessary, so in one way it didn’t really matter whether it was hard.

We are all required to do hard things. What we can control is how we think about them.

Doing what is morally right often feels hard because it doesn’t always work in our self-interest in the short term. Those without a moral framework don’t find much difficulty in moral choices because they mostly don’t think about them or care about acting with morality.

For choices that have a moral component considering that factor alone usually helps make the hard choices clear, if not always welcome.

Many decisions are not significant enough to carry a strong moral dimension, and more than one choice is acceptable. Whether one choice is harder than another is governed by many factors.

I am not completely confident of this next sentence, but here it is.

Most of our problems are a matter of framing.

When we decide something is a “problem,” it becomes one. If we don’t frame it as a problem, but rather as something to fix or to address, it is reduced from problem status. So much of our experience is shaped by the names we give things.

Of course, some things are hard no matter how we frame them; the death of loved ones, betrayal, failing (only truly hard if we refuse to learn the lesson), again, an endless list.

Hard choices show up in in our creative work, and the way we frame them often is at the heart of why we feel stuck or full of self-doubt.

If your best friend told you they were stupid or unworthy, you would respond with all the evidence that proves them wrong. You might even point out they were creating problems for themselves with their negative thinking.

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Problematizing, labeling, blaming, these are easy traps. Reframing what is actually happening is the surest way to pull yourself out of the tar pit.

One of the best ways to turn your problems into fixable situations is to learn to talk to yourself as if you were your own best friend.

You don’t have to pretend things aren’t hard; you just don’t have to make them harder than they already are.

I would love to hear about your projects, what’s working and what’s not. Sometimes sharing a problem, makes it smaller and easier to solve.

I was fortunate enough to attend the 79th annual Cannes Film Festival. Well, not actually, the Festival because I spent all my time at the market which takes place simultaneously.

It wasn’t quite as bold or adventurous as it might sound since a friend arranged an introduction for me and I also knew other people who would be there I wanted to meet with again.

I went with three projects and it was an amazingly good decision to go. Of my three projects, I never even mentioned one because sometimes things get decided without our help.

Here’s the other discoveries, all of which I appreciate, even those that were a little harder as lessons.

-Cannes was a little overwhelming. I was unprepared for the crowds and so many tourists. The atmosphere was quite intense.

-Never forget there is a business side to all creative work. Whether you put it first or try to pretend it isn’t there, it is inescapable.

-It’s fine to see yourself as an artist or creator; also see yourself as an artist/creator who needs to sell their work. No audience, no project. Stop resisting this, it’s part of the work. “I’m not good at marketing and I don’t want to do it.” If you are a cook, there are dishes that need to be done if you want to cook again. Same idea.

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-Take the risk. What is the worst thing that can happen? You might feel stupid, you might waste time or money. Yes, but you will learn something about your industry, your project, yourself. If you do what is comfortable and safe, you will get comfortable and safe results.

-Need something to happen? Make it happen. All action leads somewhere, only inaction leads nowhere.

-People can be abrupt, rude, haughty, full of themselves, patronizing and more. No one needs to act this way, but people choose it, either to mask their own insecurities or because they think it is how you get things done. Resist being one of these people. Many people are also kind, engaging, and sincere. Create your life with these people.

-A single decision can change your life. Going to Cannes changed mine. Change is hard and intimidating. Seek the hard choices anyway.

Message me if you would like to talk about your creative work. Always interested in sharing and helping.

Last week I wrote about how trying to get what you want is not the point of a creative life.

So this week I am writing about how to build that life. Reading that sentence I am reminded I actually wrote a book about this, and recognize this topic probably cannot be brutally condensed into a Substack article.

Here is a short stab at it anyway.

Start by creating a personal mission or vision statement. Wandering has its place, but having a direction fosters clarity and purpose, both of which lead to meaning, your ultimate goal.

Don’t be silly and get a tattoo with this mission or vision statement because it will absolutely change and evolve throughout your life.

At the end of your life, and it is healthy to remember how this journey ends for everyone, what do you want people to say about you? It probably won’t include a list of your possessions or the size of your house, maybe if you do creative work it will include your films or books, hopefully, people will know you loved and cared for them.

Whatever has value or worth for you also needs to have integrity as its foundation. You alone can determine what has meaning for you. The answer to that question holds the direction your life should take. It will also probably take you a lifetime to figure out.

Learning to ask helpful questions is an underestimated skill. Too many people think they know the answers and so fail to see the additional possibilities a few good questions would open up.

When I taught theatre at the college level, I would encourage my students to write a mission statement, warning them not to say things like, “I want to be happy.” Yes, that probably is preferable to being sad, but it is too vague to really help guide you to where you will find meaning, which is often discovered in the hard times, not in the easy ones.

I am referencing Viktor Frankl, who I also mentioned last week, because his book Man’s Search for Meaning, is a definitive exploration of why finding meaning is essential to a fulfilling life. Based on his insights as a Holocaust survivor and psychiatrist, Frankl shares,

“What man actually needs is not a tensionless state but rather a striving and struggling for a worthwhile goal, a freely chosen task.”

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Building a creative life begins with a single decision, choosing goals that matter.

This means selecting work that pulls you forward, personally and creatively, even when the path is difficult. Worthwhile goals should be the North Star of your creative practice.

Explore and define what you consider worthwhile, and let that become the cornerstone of your creative life.

I’d love to hear about your creative process, both what works and what gets in the way. Comment or drop me a line.

Too many people are asking the wrong question.

After over thirty years directing theatre, and the last five in the independent film world,

I don’t know if what I’m seeing is a feature of my professional communities or something broader in the culture, but the number of people who are completely unaware of how good work actually gets created seems to be increasing.

A new operating principle seems to be a response to the question. “How does this benefit me?”

This is not the question.

Do you remember this idea from Trappist monk and writer, Thomas Merton?

“People may spend their whole lives climbing the ladder of success only to find, once they reach the top, that the ladder is leaning against the wrong wall.”

Using the question, “How does this benefit me,” as a foundational concept of your life and career will give you the same result.

The psychiatrist and Holocaust survivor Viktor Frankl said something similar about success.

“For success, like happiness, cannot be pursued; it must ensue, and it only does so as in the unintended side-effect of one’s personal dedication to a cause greater than oneself.”

Success is a by-product of meaning, not the result of asking how situations can be bent toward personal gain.

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Higher order questions sound more like this:

• What is being asked of me?

• What would serve the work, the audience, the story, my fellow artists?

People making private calculations are not making good collaborative and creative work.

If you come to take, you will fail. The only success worth having is reserved for those who come to give.

I’d love to hear about your creative process, both what works and what gets in the way.

Looking forward to hearing about your work!

Sometimes I almost miss my teaching career, twenty-seven years teaching theatre taught me so many lessons. I miss the interactions with colleagues and students and the feeling that you maybe made a difference in someone’s life.

Teaching theatre probably makes this easier than other fields because everyone who comes through the door of the classroom is seeking something. By the time I took early retirement too many students were seeking attention, fame, fortune, and wanted to be influencers. I realized I wanted to teach and work with people who loved their craft, not themselves.

In my early career I was struck by how many students lacked confidence. This is both the easiest and most difficult thing to help other people develop. It was a clear mission.

Creating theatre is a laboratory of self-discovery. The more students gained experience and insight into creating theatre, the more they discovered themselves. This process led to self-awareness which is essential for confidence. And the growing confidence was real because it was formed by making progress both creatively and personally.

There is a magical moment when someone steps outside of themselves and into the art itself. I loved being part of it.

I just directed a play and the generosity and humility of the actors formed a beautiful little community where we really shared something beyond what any of us could have done ourselves. This is, of course, the whole point of the collaborative process and when it works, it is a feeling like no other. Many productions don’t quite get there, but the work can still be rewarding and impactful. This particular cast managed to be confident in their ability to do the work, and curious enough to explore and engage with it.

This is getting increasingly rare. Fairly or not, I am blaming confidence. There is a lot of blather in the content creator community, and bleeding into the creative fields, about learning as you go which I question.

I think the better suggestion and the one that will build real confidence grounded in something, is to dedicate yourself to learning your craft. Is it okay to learn in public? Of course, we all are learning with every project. When you come knowing everything or not caring about what you don’t know, that isn’t real confidence.

This false confidence allows people to not really fully connect with the actual work they claim to want to do. I met so many students who wanted to “be” actors, directors, designers, but they didn’t really want to devote themselves to “becoming” those things. If you don’t develop real confidence by learning and growing, you will find yourself resistant to growth and feedback and stop moving forward.

The same confidence that helps people get started, take risks, be brave enough to try, can also make them resistant to developing.

People start to believe they know more than they do and that their choices are always right. They confuse criticism with misunderstanding and not feedback. They become convinced their work is stronger than it is, and they stop improving and learning.

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The line between conviction and blindness can be very thin. The people who work consistently in creative fields know when to trust their instincts and when to question it. This tension doesn’t always feel good, but it does feel right.

Two days ago someone told me I don’t really care about the film if I am on the crew, it’s just a job. Lots of things are just jobs, if you are fortunate enough to be part of a creative, collaborative project, part of your job is to care about it as if it were your own. Why? Because it is yours.

Maybe this isn’t exactly a confidence issue, but a humility or arrogance issue. I am not sure, and maybe the definition doesn’t matter.

Even the most talented people make mistakes. They are confident enough to say that didn’t work and change course.

Here’s me reverting to wearing my teacher hat and sharing a couple of thoughts for anyone starting out. Fall in love with your craft, not yourself. Treat every project as if it was your own.

If you do those two things, you will develop the true confidence you need to succeed.

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There were always gatekeepers in the creative worlds, but lately everything seems more aggressive and slightly out of control.

Almost from the beginning of time publishers determined what books were published, actors and musicians auditioned, and galleries chose which artists to exhibit. Audiences have always had the power to reward or punish creators, sometimes as mobs and sometimes passively. Who remembers the formative years of television with the Neilsen ratings where a select number of households were able to determine what was presented on network television? I repeat my point; there were always gatekeepers.

The thing that is different right now is creators are being cancelled and destroyed for the way they make their work. I think everyone should write and create their own work. I also am no longer exactly sure what that means. If you use an AI tool to proofread and it suggests a word substitution, are you unethical in claiming it is your work?

There have always been collaborators helping to improve creators’ work. The master artists in the Renaissance filled their studios with assistants and apprentices who helped create the grand masterpieces of the time. The credit goes to Botticelli or whoever, but it wasn’t a solo act. Should we think less of it because not every brushstroke is the work of the person who gets the credit?

You should create your own work because that is how you develop and grow as a creator/artist. The effort is the point.

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Artists and creators have always asked for guidance, assurance, support in whatever they create. I am very frightened about where we are now. I work in theatre and film, and theatre seems relatively safe for the moment. We are probably not going to replace living actors in the immediate future. Film, however, is another world and the encroaching threat of AI seems very real. I don’t know exactly where the line is between something being the artist’s work and AI generated. I think everyone will have to make this decision for themselves and let’s not be confused about whether it is an ethical and moral decision. It is.

Do I care that the set in a movie is not actually real? Sometimes, maybe. If that’s what I am noticing and thinking about, it probably isn’t a great film on other levels. Someone still thought of the idea and prompted the image. Is it “real” art? Is this the most important question?

I think there is nothing more interesting than human imagination. I want to watch, hear and read as much of it as possible. I want to create using my own imagination.

What I don’t want is for mobs to police other people’s work and tell them how to create.

My writing partner and I am currently working on a script for a Cold War spy/thriller set in Romania in 1958. There is exactly zero AI input in the script itself. The research has come from historical documents, internet searches and AI. That is our choice and we own it.

I know there are hundreds, maybe thousands of AI generated scripts being produced as I write this. Fine, we’ll see what gets filmed and what audiences want. Do I personally approve of AI generated scripts. I don’t, so I am going to write without it. Everyone has to make this decision for themselves, and everyone in the film industry has to decide what to support and produce based on how the work is created. Spoiler alert: There will be multiple answers.

And there should be vigorous debate. Creators should also be honest about how they create. Integrity will matter.

In our film, there are several informers. Some historians assert that one in eleven Romanians was an informer during the Cold War. It is a jarring reality and impacts every character.

It also feels weirdly familiar to our culture now. It is disturbing that someone is watching, assessing what other creators are doing, hoping to report them to the “authorities” to either promote themselves or harm someone else.

We talk about Orwell’s novel 1984 as still being futuristic. What is more frightening is to consider whether it’s now reality.

Let’s not put our energy into policing and gatekeeping each other.

Let’s put our energy into creating the best work we can. As Todd Henry says, “Die empty,” having used up all your creative energy.

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Many people seem very confident in their ability to tell other people what to do. They also want to tell people how to behave, but that is beyond the scope of this article.

Every day, Substack is filled with countless “universal truths” for success (especially how to succeed on Substack) and in life.

I just wrote a book called The Rebel Creator’s Playbook: 10 Principles for Building a Creative Life, so I may be part of the very problem I’m discussing here.

This might be one of those situations where it isn’t annoying if I do it, but when you do…

My goal with the book was to share ideas that I think are at the core of what it means to be a creator, and how these ideas shape our work. I drew them from decades of experience on the front lines of collaborative work in theatre and film.

I think even my younger self knew these principles, but I probably couldn’t yet see them as clearly as I do now, and I didn’t have the confidence to simply state them without worrying whether anyone agreed or not.

Anyway, my book is what I know about building a creative life, which I have managed to do, although like most lives, not in an easy or linear trajectory.

So instead of giving you one more list of “musts,” I want to offer seven related non-rules for artists, creators, really anyone building anything.

1. There is a limit to how much you should listen to other people. Some people are worth listening to. You’ll have to figure out where that limit is for you. In any case, start to trust yourself more.

2. Every day you are given a gift of creative energy. This is a precious resource. Guard it and don’t let others drain it or take it from you.

3. Trust everyone until they deceive you. You can still work with them but always remember they care more about themselves than the project or you. Adjust accordingly.

4. Drop the scarcity mentality. There is room for more than one novel, film, poem, painting, song or anything. If someone sees a movie they like, they will watch another one. We are all building together. Start seeing others as colleagues, not competitors.

5. Treat others as you would want to be treated. I used to assume everyone knew this. I am not sure everyone does now. It is still true.

6. Integrity is essential. There is no circumstance where it doesn’t count.

7. Learn to see the best in yourself. Seeing your faults and mistakes matters too, but only if you are assessing what to do differently. Spend 30 seconds thinking about what to do better next time and then let it go.

I am aware that I may be doing the very thing I am complaining about, so here is an alternative plan.

List seven non-rules reflecting your values and goals. Then follow them.

I am quite sure this is the path to success, but you should decide what you think. See non-rule #1.

I would love to read your non-rules.

The Myth of “If It’s Right, It Should Be Easy”

I strenuously object to the myth that “if you are doing what you love, you’ll never work a day in your life.” Creative work is not easy. And making it easy shouldn’t even be the goal.

The Myth Is Wrong

The idea that if you are “good” or “talented” you won’t have to work hard at your craft or your project is not true. It discourages people from engaging in the commitment and effort that good work requires.

Creative work is hard. Very hard. Every day and every project are a challenge. If you love what you do, that love will sustain you and you will be rewarded, but you will not escape the effort.

The people spouting this kind of feel-good platitude are almost never the ones doing demanding creative work.

How It’s a false belief

Think about how many artists and creators you know who have put a project aside.

How many people do you know who are afraid to start something because they worry they’re working on the wrong thing or that they are the wrong person for it?

That uncertainty and self-doubt often come from believing that if they were truly on the right path, it would feel easier. If they’re struggling, if things take longer than hoped, if the effort is more than anticipated, they assume something is out of alignment.

Recently I directed a play. It required an incredible amount of work from everyone involved, as it always does. And everyone agreed the effort was worth it.

A Little Aside

Years ago, I said to a producer and actor I’d worked with for many years, about some aspect of a play we were producing, “This won’t be that much work.”

He replied, “You always say that, and it is never true.”

I was genuinely shocked.

Then I realized he was right. I do always say that. And it is never true. It’s now a running joke between us.

Even knowing this, I will still say it regularly and I do believe it in the moment. Or maybe I don’t believe it, and what I truly believe is that the effort will be worth it. I’m not entirely sure.

Either way, working in theatre and film is a lot of work and almost always worth it. It’s also true that the more you do the work, certain aspects become easier: faster, less stressful, more familiar. That’s earned ease, not magical ease.

Two Kinds of “Hard”

There are two kinds of creative stress.

The wrong kind of hard:

If you feel dread, your body tightens, you’re working with people you don’t like or trust, then you may need to rethink your involvement.

The right kind of hard:

If you’re on a steep learning curve, feel vulnerable or insecure, but can still focus on the work itself, you’re in the right mental territory. That’s what growth feels like.

Creative work should be good. That’s the end goal: to make something you value, and to be transformed in some way during the process.

Expectations and Outcomes

It’s crucial to set realistic expectations for what you’ll achieve. Don’t set yourself up for misery by needing your work to be recognized or rewarded by the outside world to count it as a success.

If you learned, if you grew, and if those lessons help you make your next project better, you are doing the work in the right way.

The Key Distinction

Ease is not the test of whether something is right.

Ease is the result of doing the work long enough to get better at it.

PS: If what you’re working on feels hard right now, this space is for you. Comment or DM me to talk about your work and if this resonated, consider sharing it with other creators.

I wouldn’t say she hated me; except she absolutely did.

Her meanness is actually the only thing I remember about her. I took at least three classes from her (it was a small department) and couldn’t tell you the course titles, much less what I was supposed to have learned.

What I do remember is the way she looked away whenever I spoke or performed. It wasn’t my imagination and other students noticed and commented on how odd it was.

I do remember thinking, even then, no one should ever treat another person the way she treated me.

I ended up teaching performing arts for almost 30 years. Thinking back, I realize she did teach me something valuable, maybe the most important lesson I ever learned as an educator.

How you treat your students matters just as much as what you teach them.

It’s funny how the harshest lessons, delivered by the worst role models, are often the ones that shape who we become.

Most theatre companies now cheat a little and have a few preview performances (at lower ticket prices) where the kinks can hopefully be sorted before the actual opening night, but it is an artificial reprieve. The play is still going up before real people.

The fear and anxiety are genuine and so is the overwhelming sense you did this to yourself, and you did. If you are the director, you said you could get the play up in the timeframe allotted before opening night.

If you are an actor, you also made a promise; to learn your lines, develop your character before the opening curtain. The same applies to all the designers; costume, set, lights, and sound.

There really is no way to describe the tension of “tech week” when everyone has the stark realization they are behind, desperately behind.

Somehow this always seems true, although the reality of this truth is different on every show.

If you have ever been on a film set, you know the same thing happens. Even the most carefully prepared call sheets can unravel under real world problems.

Logistic demands regularly collide with creative ideas. Creativity is actually more real world problem solving than the magical flow state we all dream it is.

In the worlds of film and theatre, flexibility and the ability to work under pressure are undervalued competitors with creativity.

You often hear independent filmmakers and theatre artists lament, “I just want to make movies (or act, direct).”

No one ever says I love the pressure of feeling overwhelmed and behind schedule, but it is always part of the process.

I don’t remember the exact show, but around twenty-five years ago, I was in the lighting booth during the opening night of a play I directed, sitting on the floor crying because things were not going as rehearsed.

The lighting board operator whispered, “No matter what, there is always an end.”

Unsure whether he was being comforting or pragmatic, I whispered back, “How is that helpful?”

He said, “It probably isn’t, but it is true.” I can’t even remember how often I have thought of that moment whenever I have a problem. It is a great truism for almost any situation.

You are probably wondering when I get to the part about why opening night is the best thing.

Whether you are standing on stage, or behind a camera, creative life demands one thing: motion. That motion needs to move toward a conclusion, a deadline, a moment where the curtain opens and your work is shared with your world.

I don’t believe the journey is the point. It is the necessary process and if you are lucky it will be insightful and rewarding, but the actual point is the unveiling of the final result of your days, weeks, sometimes years of effort.

Many people consider theatre and film people to be less serious or grounded in the processes of the real world. I understand why that perception exists and have heard the “theatre kid” jokes. The counter point is that there are no more dedicated people on earth that a cast and crew who believe the show must go on.

Whenever you see a play or watch a movie, dedication, persistence, and resilience are all on display. That’s how these moments become a part of us, long after the curtain falls.

Around thirty years ago, I organized theatre classes for after-school programs. Almost everyone who works in the arts ends up doing some sort of teaching to earn money and I was no exception. 

For this program, I organized a performance of folk tales from around the world because it allowed for numerous parts and told some intriguing and wonderful stories. On the first day, during the casting process, I asked a seven-year-old boy if he would like to play the frog in one of the tales. He immediately jumped up, started hopping around saying, “ribbit, ribbit”, and I knew my casting choice was sound.

The next afternoon his aunt arrived in a tearful state and asked to speak to me. She told me the little boy’s story–two years earlier his mother died in a car accident and his father disappeared at some point. He now lived with his aunt and uncle and had not spoken in two years, even with the interventions of his school and therapists. The day he was cast as the frog he returned home from school, opened the back door of his aunt’s house, walked into the kitchen, and told her, “I am going to play the frog in a play.” It was his first sentence after a two-year silence, and he then proceeded to chatter away the rest of the evening. 

The little boy’s aunt tried to thank me and give me credit in some way for this miraculous transformation. I told her I deserved no credit, having only asked a simple question, but what was clear in this situation was the power of storytelling. When his tragedy cost him his voice, the opportunity to tell a story provided the place he needed to speak again. It was one of the most humbling moments of my life and strengthened my conviction to pursue a life in theatre.

Since then, it has been a journey, doing what was necessary to keep pursuing the dream, including a stint in the research library at Time magazine, schooling, and several moves. I taught theatre at a community college for almost 30 years, while directing professionally and then moved back to my home state of Montana where I now make independent films. I continue to travel to the East Coast to direct plays twice a year and love creating stories both in live and filmed performances. I truly believe “all the world’s a stage” and am so grateful for the many lessons and experiences this magical space has provided me. The performance of stories is found in every culture, in all times. In our hearts, we crave nothing more than to hear and share our experiences and ideas. 

This newsletter is called North Star in honor of the people in my life who guided me on my journey. Each of the points of the north star represents one of those people. I can’t imagine what my life would be without their influence and know we are meant to connect and support each other in answering life’s questions, large and small. While following our dreams and finding our purpose may feel overused, they are both essential for a well-lived life and North Star is intended to be a conduit for connection, sharing stories and finding answers to these and other quests.

While performance is my primary storytelling space, I am grateful for the opportunity to write and ask questions in this forum and appreciate your comments and time.