Category — Creativity

Some folks on Twitter and Facebook might have a clue what’s going on, but 140 characters doesn’t lend itself for elaboration.

The news: after apprenticing last spring at KGLT 91.9 FM, Bozeman’s only freeform public radio station, I applied for and was assigned to the Friday night “bar shift” show.

What does this mean? Every Friday, from Midnight to 3 a.m. (Mountain Time), I’ll be massaging your ears with a mix of electro-pop/hop/rock and some music to help you sleep.

What’s the title about? I’m known for my love of the oat–it’s a great tool to help me wake up, or go to sleep. On its own it can be pretty mellow, but with enough doctoring oatmeal can be better than the best cereal Kashi puts out.

I’m hoping to kick it up a notch.

Stay tuned, make requests, give me feedback. The show is yours, just as much as it is mine.

I promise to let you know what I play, let you know what I’m excited to introduce on the program, and give you some “behind-the-scenes” insight into late night radio.

Now I leave you with some of my inspiration to take this show–Wolfman Jack in American Graffiti.

Kitchen Timer by LynGi

Why does length of story indicate whether something is a feature, or conversely a pedantic blurb?

Why does frequency of publication matter?

When we set out to write, shouldn’t we write about the things that matter to us?

At that point, shouldn’t we write for however long it takes to cover the story?

My concerns stem from several sources: experts on blogging say that you have to continually publish something to maintain an audience, Dan Lyons (a.k.a. Fake Steve Jobs) whining about having to write a hundred-word feature, and reading about the 13,000 word megastory on the Health Care Crisis that will probably only get read by people who are already acolytes for the cause.

However on the other side of the issue is the web’s creativity guru Merlin Mann telling us that it doesn’t take much to tell a compelling story (so long as that’s the goal), or web standard savant Jeffery Zeldman challenging us to combat the blogosphere’s noise by writing when we’re inspired.

The great thing about media in an on-demand world, is that it’s just that: on demand. We don’t need to write to fill space or talk to fill time. We tell our stories when it’s time for them to be told, with the intent to give them the focus they need.

I guess we could think about it this way– which is more compelling: a poem that alludes to emotion and the specific, or a 5-page paper that stumbles over itself in an attempt to fill space. If we want to get more practical and less academic, try this on for size again: a politician who is unequivocal in his answer of “Yes, No, or Maybe” to a direct question, or a candidate who distracts from the issue and rambles on for three minutes until the timer changes color.

I feel that I write best when I have something to say, or I’m addressing an issue that went unaddressed. I communicate at my worst when I ramble to fill 5 minutes, or because I need to post “something” to maintain consistent web traffic, or because a columnist didn’t submit their article leading me to use unsound logic while relying on polemic arguments or ad hominem attacks.

However, deadlines and constraints are mostly good. They force leaders to answer the question. They make designers, writers, creators, craftsmen churn out usable products or unexpected solutions. Garr Reynolds and Nancy Duarte, “presentation” experts, have often said that more managers need to think like designers because they can think best within constraints, communicate at the audience’s level, and focus on the essentials of the idea (making them concrete).

As with most things, it comes down to the spirit vs. the letter of the principle or law. Deadlines become misused when writers who have nothing to write about end up writing about nothing in order to meet the monthly, weekly, daily, or hourly deadline. Constraints become abused by students, teachers, debate moderators, anchors, and producers when we write to fill space, talk to fill time (or don’t talk long enough), resulting in rambling papers or vague and abstract soundbites that are essentially hot air.

I could offer a conclusion because that’s the expected format, or let you draw your own conclusion.

• What are other examples of how we abuse or misuse constraints?
• How can we combat meaningless noise, and give quality the legs needed to stand?

Yesterday my Dad and I met with a close family friend to talk about a couple business ideas I’ve been kicking around, and “my life”. That age-old, twenty-something “what are you gonna do with your life” question.

This conversation took a spin that I wasn’t prepared for, in that despite me being an advocate for “thinking outside the box”, our friend asked me to “close my eyes, and tell me where you see yourself in 10 years”. I replied with some statement on the type of job or work that I’d like to be doing.

“Open your eyes,” he says. “You’re thinking too hard. Let’s do word association: I say black–”

“White?” I reply after pausing for a moment.

“You’re thinking before you answer,” he says. “Josh. You’re censoring yourself. I’m asking you to dream, and give me a picture of the kind of life you’d like to have in 10 years. Let’s try this again. Close your eyes, sit on that mountain top, and tell me where you see yourself.”

I close my eyes, pull the burlap sack off my imagination, and start describing what I see. “Flying on an airplane to Paris, taking the Chunnel to London, running for the Anchorage School Board.”

“We don’t dream enough,” he tells me. “We get caught up with what we can’t do, that it keeps us from dreaming about what we could do. I can only work around obstacles if I’m helping you get somewhere.”

I haven’t been able to stop thinking that when I dream, it’s vocational in nature. What kind of job I’ll have, what kind of salary, who will I be working for, what projects I’d like to develop.

If I stop for a moment, take the burlap sack off my head, close my eyes, and describe what I see things start to fall into place. If I want to do something, I’ll know where I’m going, what I need to do to get there, and who I’ll need to work with.

• What haven’t you done because a burlap sack was still covering your imagination?
• What do you see when you close your eyes?
• Where do you see yourself?
• What are your dreams?