Caleb White

Writing and the Creative Process

Rebecca Grant

5/3/23

Course Reflection Narrative

This class, albeit short, taught me some interesting aspects of creative work.

Towards the end I began to get the idea of what I was supposed to get from the class,

and was able to let it impact the last piece I wrote. I have found that I am generally more

creative in my head than most, which can mostly be blamed on a lack of maturity inside.

Indeed I often play out wild scenarios and worlds in my head in my free time, something

most did as children but grew out of through high school. That experience has yet to

dwindle for me, and in fact I fear the day it does, if ever. The best word I have found to

describe these intensive imagined stories is ‘paracosms’. From Wikipedia:

“A paracosm is a detailed imaginary world thought generally to originate in

childhood. The creator of a paracosm has a complex and deeply felt relationship with

this subjective universe, which may incorporate real-world or imaginary characters and

conventions.” The definition goes on but you get the point. The only difference from this

definition is that I have easily had twenty major ‘paracosms’ throughout my life, at least

that I can recall, with each having many different versions, and with some evolving each

year as I age and learn more. The online definitions often refer to this as something that

ends once in middle or high school, and it’s entirely possible that I’m just a little late. But

something tells me this will last a lot longer than that. There is something in particular I
learned about myself a long time ago that I won’t discuss that I believe makes me prone

to this daydream-esque thinking, but I can’t find anything online to support that.

What a long explanation, eh? But I find it to be very relevant for me because the

majority of my true creative thinking seems to stem from that paracosmic thinking. My

art story, which I believe to be by far my best piece in this class, was not something I

completely whipped up out of nowhere. In fact it is a twist on a major moment in a

specific paracosm that I have developed over at least seven years now. For nearly that

whole time, the scene I described in that piece existed, as well as references to reality

as we know it now, or “Before”. The art in the art museum reminded me of that scene I

had played out vaguely, and that was where I got my start. I made some significant

changes and tried to narrate it in a unique way, but at its core it came straight from my

overly active imagination. What I have realized is that if I want to be original in my own

creativity, those paracosms in my head are the best inspiration to draw from.

As for Big Magic, I thought it was interesting enough, although I couldn’t relate to

some of the things Gilbert described. But one key piece she mentioned both in her book

and in the Ted talk we watched was relating to how school and being a teen in general

usually looks down on the idea of creative thought. In this excerpt, she says:

“(Ah, lovely adolescence—when the “talented” are officially shunted off from the

herd, thus putting the total burden of society’s creative dreams on the thin shoulders of

a few select souls, while condemning everyone else to live a more commonplace,

inspiration-free existence! What a system . . . )”

While I certainly would never call myself talented in any way, I reflected on my

friends and classmates from the time, and realized they are the ones who live in a
commonplace, inspiration free existence. I sometimes bring up my creative thoughts

(albeit extremely neutered, so as not to be ridiculed any more) and usually just get weird

looks, even from my closest friends. None of them, by their reporting, think creatively,

much less act on it. It’s been this way since I left elementary school. I learned very

quickly that I needed to keep these thoughts in my head and my head only, and that is

part of what has kept my so-called ‘paracosms’ alive and well into my twenties.

Something I found with Big Magic is that it pertains more to someone who

depends on cranking out stories and putting them into a consumable format to make

money. For me, I don’t even write them down often, and they never get told in any

meaningful way to someone else. This means creative thoughts don’t come to me “in a

quiet moment, (and) ask, “Do you want to work with me?”

When I want to do creative thinking, I sit down and begin to come up with a story,

a world, characters, a scenario, et cetera. I create them at my own leisure, and rarely

have an “aha!” moment where it all comes to me. For almost every paracosm I have

developed, I can pinpoint the day and the reason it began. Usually I just have a

mundane idea, or more often than not get inspired by seeing some other piece of

media, and then months and months of me thinking it over in my head will lead to the

creation of a story and a world that is actually unique. I can’t think of a time when any of

Gilbert’s rather silly descriptions of “Chased by an idea into the house from outside”, or

while doing some other activity, it never felt like it came from some other place like she

often mentioned, it has always been concepts that started simple and slowly grew into

extensive ideas, rather than the other way around. I respect Gilbert as an author and
don’t doubt that her version of how ideas happen may be how some people experience

it, but for me personally I found it hard to relate.

The journal of destruction as I’ll call it was an entertaining twist to a book

assignment and I enjoyed working with it. While I found that many were too outrageous

to do, most were very much possible and many were fun to complete. The pages I

skipped were usually the ones that would make the book itself gross in some way. If it

was about taking the page out of the book and messing with it, I almost always did it.

Would definitely recommend keeping that for future semesters, it adds to the class even

if not as directly to the creativity aspect.

I’ve already mentioned this but I think most of my writing was a little too narrative

focused, and the art piece was really the only one where I reached into the creative

side. All the others were just me recounting events that happened or were happening to

me. Maybe with a longer class term (full semester) I would have delved deeper and

made more interesting pieces, but I don’t know for sure. The issue for me is that I have

a tough time writing creatively about actual events, because I’m more focused on the

facts of what happened and not about making it interesting. Once again, not blaming the

course but the limited time which is not anyone’s fault per se. I still got a good amount of

understanding about my own creative process from the six weeks we had which I really

appreciate.
 Final Act

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The pace continued. The march toward eternal silence neared completion.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

They lay there, unmoving, unable to, even if their entire motivation was put to

that task. Their eyes seemingly stuck open, taking in every last sight they possibly

could. One couldn’t blame them, for they stared across the vast valley, shrouded in the

darkest of clouds, at the snow covered peaks that opposed them. Even the dirt they laid

in was a valuable sight in this hour.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Any second now the beat could stop. It was only a matter of time before the

blood would cease to flow as they knew it. They knew there was nothing to do now to

delay the inevitable. The nearest person was certainly miles away, and in these times it

was unlikely they would come to do anything but harm. Maybe that was what they

needed, to wrap things up quickly, but they knew nobody would find them there. Indeed

that was the purpose of this place, for them at least, to escape and hide when nowhere

else would do. But none of that mattered now.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

In an instant, something overcame them. Was it a separate entity? Their own

consciousness? They couldn’t dwell on it now. They had been tossed down, far down,

their own memory. Memories from before they could remember, their very earliest days,

back Before. Flashes of moments came and went, some quicker than they could even

realize, but each leaving a greater emotional mark on their soul. Watching themself
through their eyes as a child left them feeling a way they couldn’t describe. What a

descent it had been, a paradigm shift even, from those days. What had they grown into?

Why? The memories passed so quickly they couldn’t even try to answer these

questions. Soon they stared at their parents, beaming at them as they graduated high

school. The sight of their mother’s smile was enough to rip a tear from the eye which

stared across the abyss. The tear was blacker than the sky above them, but they

couldn’t see such a thing. They felt it though, burning slowly down their face and

becoming one with the ground the same way they were. She wasn’t there, just like the

rest of it, but that made it hurt even more.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

This journey through the mind was not about to stop for anything, certainly not a

tear. Soon came the day which changed their life, and everyone else’s, the Day of Great

Sorrow, the last day Before, as that was what Before referenced. The pain of that day

was no less than the first time now, it nearly eclipsed the pain which they were feeling

now. But like the rest of the fragments of time they were experiencing, it was merely a

fleeting glimpse, nothing more. Now the memories began to feel recent, as anything

After did, for it had not been long. Once again, they saw the final looks of their friends,

the ones who hadn’t outlasted them, those who were less fortunate. They tried to close

their eyes and block it out, but this procession wouldn’t let up that easily.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Now, the memories were recent. The weeks prior, the trek through the endless

woods, the loneliness, desperately surviving through sheer will. The day before this, the

last fire to keep the darkness at bay. With the train of memories ceasing as quickly as it
appeared, night began to fall once again. They knew there were so many possibilities

as to what would happen next, and the only guarantee was that there was no

guarantee. They exhaled, and finally for what seemed like the first time since Before,

they relaxed.

And so the night consumed the land, and the land in turn consumed the body,

the flesh and bone which was left. Their fate, unclear, undecided, maybe. At last, they

were at rest.

Author’s note:

I’m just going to start by saying this is a pretty wild one and I have no idea how I

came up with it. My first note is that ‘they’ is used because I didn’t want any description

of the character other than maybe a vague idea of their age. The point is for you to

picture them however you want, and so whether they’re a man or a woman is up to you.

I just thought that would make it a little more interesting. If you’re wondering about

context for this, there isn’t too much, I have a general idea of the world this character is

in but it’s really about the painting. I just wanted to add in a fictional future setting that

was just a little less vague than the character description. I like the idea of the reader

making up their own context especially with short writing such as this.
 An Unforgettable Experience

I stepped out from the hole in the earth I had been in now for four hours. In an

instant, the heat and sweat I had accumulated inside this place was gone as the

October night’s air reached me. This was a moment I had waited for all day, and yet a

moment I feared all the same. All that mattered was getting to where I could rest, but I

knew I had at least twenty minutes until that could happen. I turned the corner and

faced the hillside where I had spent the entire evening until midnight. The entire area

was dead, not a soul moved where thousands had been but hours before. But what

stood out most was the trees which surrounded me, lit up red as blood against the

darkness of the night. Truly I knew at that moment that I was in a place like no other.

This moment was not without precedent. Indeed there had been nearly three

months of anticipation for it, occupying my brain at the most inconvenient times it

seemed. So what was it that led me to fly a thousand miles down to the south in late

October? A music festival of all things. So as not to bore with a dawn of time

explanation, the festival was hosted by my favorite artist, who at the time I had yet to

see in person. He was to play 3 times at the festival, which also had a lineup of artists

never seen before, mostly revolving around lesser known artists that produce higher

quality work. But the biggest boast of this festival was its venue, the Caverns

amphitheater in Pelham, Tennessee. One stage was to be outside, with more space

and large production, and the other was the famed cave stage, a large cave you

descend into that was rigged with a top of the line laser and visual setup. Having seen
these factors, I jumped on the tickets, which I realized was the right call when they were

completely sold out after just four hours.

The following months consisted of me scrambling to put together a plan to travel

down to the event. Eventually, I got it together and after all that anticipation, on October

21st, I started my day at 5am, driving down to the airport, then flying down to

Tennessee. From there, another two hour drive awaited, and I was finally there after all

that time. Because of how quickly the tickets sold out, I was unable to get anyone else

to come with me. Even in the line to go through security, groups noticed me and offered

to take me in. Wow, I thought. This is a good start.

The grassy hillside looked completely different to how I would see it later that

night. People roamed around, sat on blankets, or stood close to the stage. Tons more

waited in lines for merchandise at the back. The environment was unlike something I

had ever been in. As you move through the venue, a distinct cocktail of three smells,

vape, weed and cigarettes burns into your nose whether you like it or not. But that was

about the biggest complaint I could find. The venue was a perfect size for me who had

never experienced a festival before, and I hadn’t even gotten to the cave part yet.

I began the short descent into the cavern’s maw, passing through its iconic

wooden doors and into the stage area. I relaxed as the cave air cooled me, but I soon

discovered that would not last long. The closer I got to the stage, the more muggy it

became as I entered the crowd. But the visuals and production were mind boggling, and

this wasn’t even one of the artists I really wanted to see. I could tell we were in for a

treat that night.

and my dreams began to be realized. I had enough space to move around, and had

made friends with a fellow who had come down from Chicago. The crowd grew to its

largest point, and it didn’t seem like it could get any wilder. But as we stood there, out

the corner of my eyes I began to see lights, all lined in a row, slowly ascending from the

treeline. Other people in the audience began to notice, and soon hands were pointing

up across the audience to the skies. The lights rose a few hundred feet up before

stopping and going dark. In an instant, the sky lit up once again, this time forming a

triangle, then a sphere that appeared to be spinning in the air. At that moment I realized

what I was watching, and over the unrelenting bass I yelled to the guy next to me:

“drones! It’s a drone show!”

As midnight neared, it was time for the post-show sets, which took place inside

the cave. I made my way through a horde of people all trying to force themselves

through the gate, and descended to the cavern. This time, it was equally as cold outside

as it was in the entrance to the cave. But once again the stage area of the cave was

warmed with the mass of bodies which stood before it.

I had already been at the show for ten hours at this point but the bottoms of my feet felt

like I’d been standing on them for days. I got some relief by sitting for a short time, and

picked up a small bag of chips that I hoped would sustain me for the four hours I had

remaining.

As the clock struck 2 AM and the second artist left the stage, the atmosphere

began to change. The cave became as dark as the night outside, and a disembodied,

inhuman voice began speaking through the sound system. It was time for what I was
really there for; VOYD. I won’t spend a bunch of time explaining this, but Voyd is a

slightly different style of set done by my favorite artist, the one who put on the show.

Now, the buildup was beginning, the pitch getting higher and higher, a sea of phones

began recording in front of me. Despite all of this, I still hadn’t seen Voyd yet, and there

was only about thirty seconds left in his intro. I turned towards the entrance to the cave

and sure enough, proceeding through the crowd was the unmistakable mask of none

other than Voyd. As he got closer I lost sight of him as he moved through the edge of

the crowd. Before I could even try to find him again, he stepped out from behind the

crowd passing by me. He was so close I could have reached my arm out and touched

him, but the only movement I could achieve was my jaw dropping to the floor. In an

instant he passed by and was nearly up to the stage just fifteen feet ahead. At this

moment the buildup finally reached its climax, and a disembodied voice said the

infamous line we all knew so well:

“Welcome… to the blood cave!”

Madness ensued for the next hour, and to this day I will cite that set in particular

as being not only my favorite of the weekend but also one of my all time greatest

experiences. The walls were constantly decorated with intense moving visuals, laser

setups above the stage added intense effects, and many incredibly rare songs were

played, including at least ten that were brand new and exclusive to that night. As the set

came towards its close, he faded out a track to silence, and I was sure that was it.

Suddenly, through the speakers came a female voice:

“Now, do you see the truth inside the obsidian?”

you can easily hear me over the rest of the crowd. This was the opening to Voyd’s song

Twilight Reflector, which is not only my favorite and most played song of his, but also

the only song of his that he had never played live. If I was ever to meet him, my first

question was immediately going to be if he would play it someday. But just like that the

question was not needed, as he played it in its entirety right there in the cave. I couldn’t

have been happier.

The night at last came to a close, my body was just about shaking at this point

and cold sweat stuck to my body like a fever. I stepped out into the cool night air and it

felt like all my muscles loosened up. I turned and faced the cave one last time, one last

time before tomorrow that was. Indeed there was a whole second night ahead of me

after this, I was just getting started.

Author’s note: I made a slight mistake at the beginning of this assignment, as I chose a

picture that meant a lot to me but didn’t think too much about how much I would actually

have to explain to put it into context. Sure enough, not long after the first paragraph I

realized that I was going to have to leave out copious amounts of small details in order

to complete this in any reasonable amount of page space. To be honest, I should have

just chosen a new picture, because any other picture in my entire camera roll that

wasn’t from that weekend would have made for a more concise story. I also failed to

even get a complete ending on the paper by the first due date, so it ended very near the

climax of the story with one of the most memorable parts of the entire experience. Not

exactly a class act move from myself especially since this is the first true paper for the
class. I did a bit too much telling and not showing, but that is a weakness I know I have

so hopefully I can overcome it for this class. Final little bit of info is that the sticker on my

water bottle (the only one as of writing this) was found on the floor of the cave when I

entered it that night. I won’t tell that story but the fella in the sticker is VOYD, the main

act that weekend and my favorite artist. When I described the moment of him walking by

me, that was what I was seeing. Just a little side note since I always have that water

bottle in class.
 Ramblings of Someone Who’s Sick

If only I could think about anything but this assignment. I realize it’s been nearly

forty minutes of me staring at this screen and hoping to have a coherent thought to write

down. I guess I just can’t force creativity. It seems I only ever have creative moments

when I am working or otherwise occupied, and I can’t even begin to picture the last time

I had a creative thought for a school assignment. Funny thing though, I used to be really

good at that, say, around middle school. I sure loved making art and writing back then,

both in and out of school. In retrospect all of the art pieces I made may have been

mediocre and none of what I wrote will (hopefully) ever be seen by another person. But I

had more than enough ideas to go around. Something tells me it’s my fault, even

though it would be much easier to blame the school system or some other third party

influence. Fuck it though, I’ll take blame for all my failures, because the fact of the

matter is there was nothing to stop me from being creative out of school back then. This

just turned into creative process reflection part two, so maybe I’ll delete this paragraph

and just go back to staring at the emptiness of a blank document.

You know there are a lot better things to do on a beautiful day without a cloud in

the sky but I’ve got a good handful of work to do after this so it seems I won’t be taking

advantage of it. That certainly would explain why I feel like I’m ranting right now. It also

just occurred to me that I am speaking way too directly to you, yeah you, which might

not be allowed on this paper. Too bad I didn’t take notes on this assignment and my

memory is about as good as an old man who just took a nasty fall. But I think at this
point I just have to run with it, maybe I also need to cheer up the mood a bit, and stop

whining for once.

Quick, brain, think! What else can we think about other than clicking little keys to

make funny symbols appear on the screen? Looks like Mabel is having some sort of

dream, she’s totally sprawled out on her bed and making some funny noises in her

sleep. Now her ear and lip are shaking, maybe she’s having a nightmare. Usually that is

accompanied by whimpering so I suppose that might not be the case. How can you not

love man’s best friend. I’d love to learn to train them properly, and given that I’m at

school for a degree in education, the thought has often crossed my mind about working

with animals instead of children. I certainly like dogs and all manner of animals more

than high schoolers, but I fear that the wages are already low as a teacher, and being

an animal trainer or caretaker or something would likely be significantly less. That’s

what really sucks about the career search, there are so many cool jobs I’d love to do

that are simply impossible to be profitable in. You know now that I think of it, maybe I

could work at an animal center during the summer because unfortunately when

becoming a teacher you have to find a summer job as we have since we were fourteen.

That’s a cool thought. Problem during the school year is that I can’t even train a dog of

my own, because I will be too busy to give it the time and attention needed to properly

train it. People underestimate how much time you need to train animals, and even more

so underestimate how important it is to do so.

As I’ve put this all down Mabel has made her way out to the deck where she is

sprawled out, attempting to maximize the sunlight going to her built-in solar panels (or

something like that). This is a common occurrence that started about a week ago and
will continue until at least September. She then returns inside, panting excessively and

has to find some shade to collapse in for a bit. Give it a few minutes and the cycle will

begin anew. Her coat is yellow so compared to a lot of breeds she isn’t getting too hot

but she has to power those solar panels one way or another.

Author’s note: When I wrote this piece I was rather sick and stuck inside on a nice day,

which explains my negative overall mood for the piece. With this paper I just wanted to

see if I could convey the movement of my thoughts as accurately as I could in the text

format, and for the most part I think I did an alright job.