How I Create

© Thomas Wilson Shawcross 28 February 2005
Sometime between 1932 and 1938, my hero Robert Benchley wrote a story he called How I Create. In typical Benchley fashion, Bob did not explain how he actually created his stories (at least, I hope not), but he did touch on a topic that fascinates me.


Robert Benchley, an “apparently indestructible machine devoted to pleasure.”


I am disappointed by the dearth of discussions about the Creative Process.

I wish I could find the article that Bob cited as the inspiration for his story. Here is an excerpt from his story: “In an article on How Authors Create, in which the writing methods of various masters of English prose like Conrad, Shaw, and Barrie are explained (with photographs of them in knickerbockers plaguing dogs and pushing against sun-dials), I discover that I have been doing the whole thing wrong all these years. The interviewer in this case hasn’t got around to asking me yet – doubtless because I have been up in my room with the door shut and not answering the bell – but I am going to take a chance anyway and tell him how I do my creative work and just how much comes from inspiration and how much from hashish and other perfumes. I may even loosen up and tell him what my favorite hot-weather dishes are.”

Ironically, there is an abundance of analysis available regarding what someone else thinks an artist was thinking when Great Art was created.

This sort of discussion often focuses on the supposed symbolism used by an artist. In his recent hit novel, The DaVinci Code, author Dan Brown rehashes some ideas that suggest that Jesus Christ had married Mary Magdalene, and that Leonardo DaVinci showed this (if one looks carefully enough) in several of his paintings.

Another example is this painting by Vincent Van Gogh:

“Irises” by Vincent Van Gogh 1889

Take a moment to study this painting. See anything that might be symbolic or that might give an insight to what Van Gogh was thinking when he painted this? Some people find a world of meaning in the fact that one Iris is different from the rest (hint: it is the white one), and that this Iris symbolizes how Van Gogh perceived himself – as different from others.

Well, maybe, maybe not. This sort of analysis is interesting, but what I would really like to know is what was Van Gogh actually thinking as he painted this? What was his Creative Process? What if his thinking had actually been more along the following line? (Note: As a service to my American readers, I have taken the liberty of translating Van Gogh’s imagined thoughts from their original Dutch language to English).

“Hmmm . . . those were sure some nice tulips Theo had in his garden when he lived in Holland. Maybe I should paint some nice red tulips today! Oh no! I see I am running low on red paint! Ok, I have lots of blue left, so I will paint these silly French Irises that grow at the asylum here. But, I don’t want to overdo the blue, so maybe I’ll paint a yellow one, or maybe a white one. . . “

I suspect we would be surprised if we knew what really went on when Van Gogh painted. In 2000, I was working in France, and I took a weekend trip to Auvers-sur-Oise, Van Gogh’s final painting (and resting) place. It became obvious to me, rather quickly, that Vincent Van Gogh took inspiration from his local surroundings. This makes sense, when one considers that Vincent did not own a car, so his mobility was limited. But, I was surprised to discover that he had painted the town itself, bit by bit. One of his paintings was of the public square located directly across the street from the inn where he was living. Then, he walked around the corner and painted a home and some steps alongside the road that led uphill to the church. When he got to the top of the hill, he turned left and painted the apse of the church. I don’t know if he executed these paintings in strict geographic sequence, but he did draw his inspiration from what was nearby. I traced his steps. I stood where he most certainly must have stood when he painted this view of the church.

Vincent Van Gogh The Church at Auvers-sur Oise, 1890

Alas, we will never know what Van Gogh was thinking or what Bob Benchley was thinking or if their Creative Processes bore even the remotest bit of resemblance. It seems people don’t like to talk about how they create – or maybe they just aren’t sure how they do it.

Well, I am no Great Master, but I am willing to start the ball rolling and talk about how I paint and write. Actually, I need to borrow Michael’s camera again to take a photo of one of my paintings, so I will discuss my painting in a separate story and concentrate just on my writing process here.

Each of my stories begins with an inspiration – a kernel of a story idea – that is usually inspired by something I happened to see or hear. This story was inspired by the Oscar Award ceremonies, which I watched on television this evening. During the show, Creativity was much discussed and lauded. As I mentioned earlier, the Creative Process fascinates me, so through association I decided I should write a story about that. Most of my stories come about this way – like Vincent Van Gogh, I am inspired by what is nearby. He saw a church and painted it. I see my autographed baseball and write the John Ball story. Or, I find an old Howdy Doody poster and write about that.

After I get the inspiration, I know if I should write about it, based on how I felt when I got the idea. This is hard to describe. I actually feel different when I get an idea I like. It’s a rather pleasant feeling, accompanied by an urge to record the idea (by painting or writing) before I forget about it.

Next, I spend some time mentally playing with the idea. For this story, my first thought was that I should discuss some of the stories I had written. Then, it occurred to me that I should set up the idea that the Creative Process is not well understood, and I should cite some examples of works done by famous artists. I remembered there was a Robert Benchley story titled “How I Create.” I would definitely use that. Then, I had to look through several of my Robert Benchley books to find it, but then I got sidetracked by reading some of his other stories and occasionally interrupting my reading when something of interest was happening on the Oscar telecast (such as when the hotties Penelope Cruz and Salma Hayek were co-presenting). As one can see, my Creative Process is not a straight line between point A and point B.

Here is the most interesting part – when I sit down to actually write a story (type it on my computer keyboard) – I am invariably surprised by what comes out. I will start writing about a particular thought, and as I am writing about it I will have an association that comes out of nowhere, surprising even me, who should have been able to see it coming. For example, in this story, I was writing about the White Iris, when another example suddenly occurred to me – the Da Vinci Code example. So, I backspaced and typed that in.

These “surprise” associations happen so quickly, it is almost as if I heard them from someone else. I have even laughed at some jokes I have suddenly thought of while writing, for in truth, they were new to me. The closest analogy I can think of is playing the game charades. One can be totally stumped, making wrong guess after wrong guess, when suddenly – BAM! – the correct answer presents itself, fully decked out and ready for a night on the town. One second you were clueless, and the next second you have the answer, and you never even saw it coming. A large part of what makes writing enjoyable for me is that I can’t wait to be surprised by what I will think of while I am going through the process of writing.

Now I will provide two examples of stories I have written recently (and therefore still recall clearly what I was thinking as I wrote them). This first example is from Chapter 9 of my family history book:

One of my favorite memories is of the time I built a small fire. I was in the third or fourth grade, I think. Mom had finally given in to my constant wheedling and let me have one match. I walked to an area near the board pile and dug a small hole in which I placed assorted twigs and sticks and some newspaper. I then constructed a semi-circular firewall from some bricks I found nearby. This would keep sparks from blowing toward the Board Pile.

The fire started with one match, and I burned a goodly number of small twigs. I have always enjoyed watching a fire. After a while, the twigs burned down to a beautiful collage of pink and grey ash and glowing red, orange, yellow and white coals. The small coals winked at me as the sun set, and I thought they were more beautiful than any jewels. It was so peaceful, quiet, and pretty, and I felt proud that I was old enough to be allowed to make a fire by myself.

I hated for this time to end. Eventually, the fire was nearly gone, and I covered the coals with dirt and went back to The Big House. From time to time, I like to retrieve that old memory and hold it in my hands and look at it closely.

When I wrote this, I stopped after “I felt proud that I was old enough to be allowed to make a fire by myself.” Then I read it to myself, listening (mentally) to see if it flowed at a good pace and checking to see if the story made sense or if it needed any clarification. I was disappointed with what I read. I didn’t think it conveyed how truly special this memory was for me. It was too plebian and was too much in the mode of “I did this, then I did this, and next I did this . . .” Also, I did not like the ending. One thing I learned from my writing idol Bob Benchley is the importance of the ending. Ironically, I learned this from him because I think his endings were the only bits of his writings that could have been done better. Just as the real life Bob Benchley never quite knew “when to toddle home from a party,” it seems to me he had a similar dilemma in deciding when to end a story.

So, I wrote an ending: “I hated for this time to end. Eventually, the fire was nearly gone, and I covered the coals with dirt and went back to The Big House. From time to time, I like to retrieve that old memory and hold it in my hands and look at it closely.”

I spent more time writing the last sentence than I did in writing all of the rest of the story. I am happy with the way it turned out. It is not a very predictable ending; it breaks the “this, then this” style of the story, and by saying that I like to hold the memory in my hands and look at it closely, I invest it with a sense of being special and important to me.

Now, let’s look at another example. This is from my story Indian Love Call, in which I described my reaction when I watched the movie Rose Marie, in which Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald sing a love song to each other. I suppose it is the influence of John Wayne on me, but I was a bit concerned that writing about liking a love song (from a musical, nonetheless!) was not nearly a macho-enough topic for a manly man like me, who is much more at home in gutting an elk than in listening to a love duet. Get the picture? So, to distance myself from the topic of my story, I “butched up” the following introduction: “Great Art has a way of grabbing one by the throat, putting the “sleeper hold” on all distractions, and riveting one’s attention in such a way that the first experience of any Great Art is never forgotten.”

I have never read an art critique that described Great Art as “putting a sleeper hold” on anyone. Maybe I over-compensated a tad. In truth, my original version included just the “grabbing by the throat” part.
Just to be safe, I added the sleeper hold.

I write my stories in one steady stream-of-consciousness. Then, I go back and fix typos, upgrade conjunctions (my first choice is often rejected and replaced by a better one), and tweak sentences here and there. For example, in this story, I had written:

“This story was inspired by tonight’s Oscar Award ceremonies,
which I watched on television this evening.”

On re-reading this, I noticed that I wrote “tonight’s” and “this evening” in the same sentence. (Way, way, way, way, too redundant). So, I changed to:

“This story was inspired by the Oscar Award ceremonies, which I
watched on television this evening.”

I try to write a story every day, mostly for my own pleasure. My secret wish is to someday write a story as good as those written by Robert Benchley, or maybe Bill Bryson. So far, they needn’t worry about the competition, but I think one should have high goals. I shall conclude this story with another excerpt from Bob’s version of “How I Create,” so you can understand what I am aiming for:

“When I am writing a novel I must actually live the lives of my characters. If, for instance, my hero is a gambler on the French Riviera, I make myself pack up and go to Cannes or Nice, willy-nilly, and there throw myself into the gay life of the gambling set until I really feel that I am Paul De Lacroix, or Ed Whelan, or whatever my hero’s name is. Of course, this runs into money, and I am quite likely to have to change my ideas about my hero entirely and make him a bum on a tramp steamer working his way back to America . . .One of my heroes (Dick Marwell in “Love’s How-do-you-do”), after starting out as a man about town in New York who “never showed his liquor” and was “an apparently indestructible machine devoted to pleasure,” had to be changed into a patient in the Trembly Ward of a local institution, whose old friends didn’t recognize him and furthermore didn’t want to.”
from “How I Create” by Robert Benchley

About the author: Tom Shawcross was born 58 years ago in St. Louis, MO and now resides alone in Delray Beach, FL. He is the father of a daughter and a son. His hobbies are writing, travel, and genealogy research. Before his 1995 disk surgery, he liked to run and play tennis. He has never gutted an elk.