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Singing Mozart in the Desert

By on January 4, 2012 in creativity

I wonder if Mozart was interested in anything other than music. For 35 years he pursued, with single-minded passion, a career in music and composition, producing over 600 works that people love till today. Supposing that he started composing at around age 5 (which is not far from the truth), Mozart produced an average of 20 musical compositions a year. 41 of these are symphonies, which are probably as difficult to bring to life as a novel, with many musical threads, ideas and instruments flowing through.

Then again, Mozart did so much more than write music. He was a comedian, writing funny music that makes fun of operatic characters or instruments. He was a student of human character, an actor who could bring a scene to life without words, a politician who could maneuver the royal houses of Europe, and much more. He was a genius, born with the ability to juggle many talents and channel them into a creative output that remains alive all these years after his death.

You might be wondering why I am haranguing you about Mozart this evening. It’s not his birthday or the anniversary of his death. And it’s not even as though I was thinking about Mozart when I sat to write this blog. He just popped into my head, because I had been thinking about creativity. Mine, to be exact.

I pride myself on being a creative person. I write, paint and sing. I cook and bake. I also  often lack the ability to follow through on projects. I am not writing this to be hard on myself. Sometimes I want, very much, to find a way to channel my creativity so that it doesn’t flutter here and there and get lost in the breeze, to find focus and concentration.

But the truth is I love the way I am. I love the fact that one minute I am writing this blog, and the next I am talking to my cousin Iris on the phone and describing to her with excitement how horrible our vacation to Honduras was. I love that when the kids come home I am totally theirs, and how when I read I can’t hear it when people talk to me. I enjoy being a wild butterfly with antennas that dip into many flowers.

I guess I’m not going to be a Mozart. Maybe it will take me ten years to produce each novel. Or maybe not. I know it will take me a lifetime to parent the kids (I’m totally sitting in their living room and telling them what to do when they grow up). I’m just having fun, mostly, with all these talents. I think that is what they are for: cooking chicken and potatoes for dinner, writing this blog, reading a book to the kids while doing all the different voices, singing a silly song to wake Eden up in the morning.

What are you most enjoying with your talents?

I Am Watching You!

By on November 18, 2011 in creativity, writing

Sometimes I feel like there’s a cartoon giant standing above me, tall, big and ugly, his head bent down to within six inches of my ears. This giant has only one interest in life, to harass me with reminders about my chores. All day long, and sometimes all night (depending, I suppose, on whether he gets a nap), he shouts in my ears what I need to do.

My room slowly fills up with his speech bubbles, each of which starts with the words “you need.” “You need to call the dentist! You need to write a synopsis! You need to wash the dishes! You need to walk the dogs! You need to take out the trash! You need to teach the dogs to use the doggie door! You need to paint again! You need to work on your novel! You need to organize your desk! You need to listen to what I say!”

This giant is my monitor, keeping me not just honest but also stressed and overwhelmed. I try to shut him up by writing to-do lists. I try to silence him by calling the dentist. But he continually finds new things for me to need to do. No matter how fast or how hard I work, the giant keeps ahead of me by hundreds of items of to-do.

The giant monitor hardly ever demands that I do something fun. He will shout at me to floss, but never to take a bath. He will command me to get up, but never to take a nap. He won’t say, “you need to watch a movie.” Never! His words would be: “What the heck do you think you’re doing watching a movie? You need to wash the car!”

The giant is different from my inner perfectionist. He doesn’t care whether the job gets done well. In fact, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t care whether the job gets done at all. He blindly yells at me, coming up with more and more ideas all the time.

I wish I had his creativity. I wish I could harness his energy into my writing and have new words flowing onto the page with the speed at which his “you needs” fill up the space above my head. I wish that instead of getting buried under his demands I could float up above them to where the air is clear, the sun shines, and it’s freedom all around.

Perhaps I could remind the giant that sometimes it’s important to have fun, forget to pay a bill, or leave the dishes lying for the ants. I’m pretty sure I didn’t come into this world to chase a list of chores, though I suppose the to-do list must be attended to once in a while. So maybe if I changed perspective and considered the dentist and the dishes fun, the giant and his bubbles will fade away or pop to reveal the clear, blue sky of my uncluttered mind.

Sigal Tzoore (650) 815-5109