Creativity Lessons from My Motorcycle (Jan. 08)

I was grumbling about all the chrome on the bike. Not a fan of shiny, polish-needing parts on anything, I was using a toothbrush to clean the wheels of the bike. No, I’m not a neat-freak, but the bike is black and chrome, and it had started to look unkempt, insect-spotted and dusty. So I was polishing, wiping, washing and toothbrush- wielding. It felt like the whole bike was made of chrome.

Dan rolled up in the driveway behind me.
“What’s new?” he asked, getting off his bike.
“Polishing up Suzie Lightning, then going for a ride,” I said.
He considered the cloud cover and said, “Every minute you spend polishing that thing, you aren’t riding it. And you bought it to ride, not polish.”
He was right, but I said, “Gotta keep it clean.”
“Sure,” he agreed, “but you can keep it clean at night or when it’s cold. Take advantage of what you have.”

The same is true of creative work. Artists and writers can spend a lot of time on prep work, and never get to the actual writing or art. Cleaning the studio, the house, doing laundry all are important, but the wrong time to do them is when it is time to do creative work.

Leave the cleaning for a time when you aren’t creatively charged or know that you have just enough time to do one load of laundry. Life is short, your creativity is calling you. Go answer.

Image of all-chrome bike: www.motorbiker.org

–Quinn McDonald is a trainer in business communications and a certified creativity coach. See her work at QuinnCreative.com (c) 2008 All rights reserved.

Creativity: Like Riding a Bike. . .

Note: Another in an occasional series on the link between riding a motorcycle and creativity.

Suzie Lighting is back in Virginia. The Suze is my motorcycle, named for the Warren Zevon song. There’s a line that says, “Suzie Lightning takes no prisoners. . .she lights up the sky and then she’s gone.” The first time I got on the bike, I was in heavy traffic on a new bike, driving carefully, watching out for the big SUVs that, combined with a driver on a cell phone, are deadly.

Waiting for a light to turn, I noticed the driver next to me texting on a cell phone. When the light turned, I checked the intersection and accelerated. The larger bike’s clutch caught quickly and earlier than the older one and I shot away from the cars on my left and right. By the next intersection, the bike had a name. . . Suzie Lightning.

But the Suze is back in Virginia, and I’m in Arizona. I’ll be heading back to Virginia this weekend to run some business communication classes. It will be December when I arrive, and I may not be able to ride. There are limits to what I will do to ride. Then again, at this moment, it’s 10 degrees colder here than back East.

Here’s something that’s true about riding a bike: even if you haven’t been on it for a while, by the time it warms up and I back it out of the driveway, it’ll feel comfortable.  I’ll stay in the neighborhood until I turn a few corners, and then I’ll feel comfortable.

While I’m waiting for the house to sell, I’m also without full art equipment. I bought $50 worth of supplies last week, and began to play around. And just like riding the bike, I had to stay in the familiar for a bit, and then I could take off and go new places.

Your creativity won’t desert you. The muse might go shopping, or take a nap, but your creativity won’t dry up. If you’ve been away from it for a while, you’ll let it idle and listen to the engine warm up, but you’ll feel comfortable and familiar again. In fact, after that first warm up, you might decide to go down a different road and see some new scenery.

And as you dive into your creativity, my wish for you is that you light up the sky with your own light. Take no prisoners. Warren would be proud of you.

–Quinn McDonald writes and teaches communication seminars. She rides a Honda Shadow, 750 cc, shaft drive. See her work at Quinncreative.com (c) Quinn McDonald 2007. All rights reserved.

Creativity Lesson From the Bike (again)

The middle of the road is a little darker than the sides. The middle is the part that gets the oil and gas from accelerating and braking. If you ride a bike, it’s called the grease strip. You don’t want to spend a lot of time there.

A  lane on a road can be divided into the right side (by the curb or breakdown lane), the middle (the grease strip) or the left side (by the stripe).  A motorcycle can easily fit into one of these thirds.

If you ride on the grease strip (the middle of the road), you have more places to maneuver, but you have a higher chance of skidding when you stop. Same thing when you are working on a creative project. The middle of the road is familiar, and you can get through the problems of your work, but it’s also the one that is filled with the danger of skidding away from making meaning. Look closely at where you are working–is it the place filled with starts and stops you’ve done before? If so, move out of that project and into something that’s not filled with a history you already know.

If you are riding on the left, it’s hard for a driver to squeeze you off the road by passing you and then moving over too soon. It’s also easy for you to get blasted when a car coming toward you is driving close to the stripe in the road. On a creative project, you want to protect yourself from getting blasted by other people and their project. Meaning making is a personal, private thing, not a competition.

If you are on the right side of the road, it’s easy for people to pass you, but it’s also very dangerous, as there is a big space where you don’t show up in their right-side mirror, and they can push you off the road. On a creative project,  you don’t want to stake your meaning and existence on others who are rushing past. Establish yourself firmly in your plan and take up a lot of space in your studio. Making meaning is about you and your creativity. That takes up the whole creative path.

(c) Quinn McDonald, 2007. All rights reserved. To see all of Quinn’s work, visit QuinnCreative.com Image courtesy douglascountywa.net

Creativity Lessons from the Bike (cont’d)

We were off to a dim sum brunch in Falls Church. Mark’s Duck House is not beautiful, but it has a great dim sum.

It was clouded over when we left, but the chance of rain was small enough for us to take the motorcycles. About two miles from the house, the first drops hit. I never understood people who say it’s romantic to walk in the rain. Your clothes stick to you and you look like an unloved dog.

More important, in the first 15 minutes of a rainstorm, the oil and gas trapped in the nooks and crannies of the road float on top of the water, making driving anything less safe. Driving in the rain requires different braking and steering. I was hoping for a near miss, but the rain picked up. Enough to get the front of my legs wet.

You get wet in odd ways on a bike. The part I like the least comes from the helmet. It’s round, so the water heads downhill, and everything on the front drips into your lap. All the water that accumulates on the gas tank slides toward your lap, too. To put it clearly, your crotch gets soaked first. This does not make a good impression in polite company.

The Rolling Stones song lyric goes “You can’t always get what you want; but if you try sometimes, you might get what you need.” No one needs a wet crotch from riding a motorcycle. But it did make me think about the things we get and what we do with them.

Often, when something doesn’t go the way we thought, we shrug and say, “It wasn’t meant to be,” as if lack of trying can successfully be transfered to a giant Franklin Planner in the sky.

Artists try a technique, and perhaps it’s messy. Or doesn’t give the right result. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad technique, it just means that it didn’t head in the right direction. You can grumble and abandon it, or you can take a look at it and see what you can salvage from it. There might be a flicker of an idea or part of a technique, that, when combined with something else, will work well.

Real art is hard work. It’s not shortcuts and fast results, it’s trial and error, thought, and application. It helps to keep notes and figure out that when you are on the receiving end of results you weren’t expecting, what you have to do to steer through it and brake carefully.

Your reward is the sun breaking through the clouds, drying off and feeling the wind blow around you again.

Quinn McDonald is an artist, writer, and certified creativity coach. See her work at QuinnCreative.com (c) Quinn McDonald, 2007. All rights reserved.

Ten Zen Seconds on the Bike

Yesterday, the new bike came home. It’s been on order since March 3–almost three months. The odd thing is that this is a standard Honda motorcycle, not some incredible custom piece. It just wasn’t available in plain black. I could have had it a lot sooner had I wanted it in red, white, black with red flames or black with silver frames. But I wanted it plain black. I’m a minimalist.

I’ve been keeping notes about what I learn from the bike. I’ve written about the basics of creativity Rhonda (my previous bike) taught me. The same bike taught me about staying in the moment, important for both motorcycles and creativity. But I was surprised when Suzie Lightning taught me a Zen lesson within the first 15 minutes. (The new bike is named after a line in the Warren Zevon song. ) I drove the bike off the lot and noticed it was a lot heavier than Rhonda. Braking at a stoplight requires that you shift into first gear. I could do this really well on Rhonda. I’d come to a stop, snick the bike into first gear and accelerate away without ever taking my feet off the footpegs. Balancing on Rhonda was an acquired talent, one that Suzie Lightning didn’t allow me. I wiggled back and forth and, to use a bike rider’s phrase, in order to keep the rubber side down, I had to plant both feet on the ground to steady myself.

A few weeks ago, I interviewed Eric Maisel for my blog. He was on his blog tour for his book, Ten Zen Seconds. One of the incantations Eric talks about is “I am completely stopping.” I’ve been using the incantations since I read the book, and I automatically thought, “I am completely stopping,” as I put both feet on the ground to steady the heavier bike.

And there was the lesson–in meditation you completely stop planning, thinking, listening–you come to a complete stop. The image of stopping the bike, and planting both feet on the ground does the same–it helps you stop, and it reminds you to stay grounded. In fact, the best meditation stopping is done exactly so you can be grounded and centered. And for that matter, like on the bike–balanced.

–(c) 2007 Quinn McDonald. All rights reserved. Ask if you want to use it. See the rest of my work on my website, QuinnCreative.com

Creativity Lessons from My Motorcycle (Cont’d)

Last week, we took a ride up the Blue Ridge mountains in Eastern Virginia. I came late to motorcycle riding and have to make up for lost time. The lesson of riding is as complex and refreshing as the scenery.

We were riding along easy switchbacks (twists and turns in the road as it winds up a mountain’s brow) and I noticed “Road Work” signs. I wasn’t driving fast, so I figured I ‘d see these workers before I had to make adjustments. We passed an abandoned yellow V-Dot truck and I wondered where the workers were.

Around the next corner, I found out. Sort of. As suddenly as I could see around the corner, I saw a patchwork of color and texture on the road. They were patching the road and what I saw was loose gravel, the motorcycle rider’s nemesis. Smart not to hit the brakes, just roll off the throttle and stay in the lane. No fancy steering. I felt the front wheel bite into the gravel and felt the back wheel chop over the soft road surface, trying to find a comfortable spot. It was, no doubt, a skid. It takes real will power not to jam on the brakes, even more not to simply use the front brake, conveniently located right next to the throttle.

I accelerated a little and the back wheel settled down. I used the uneven surface to slow the bike, grateful that I wasn’t going fast enough to have the wheels spit up rocks.

And I had that sudden understanding that creativity works like a motorcycle: when you aren’t on solid ground, don’t do anything quickly. Continue doing what you always do until you get used to your surroundings.

About half a mile later, we came across a road worker holding a Stop sign. We rolled to a stop and asked her what was up. She was stopping traffic on this side so the car leading the stream of cars from the other side could use the whole road. I wondered what the rest of the road would be like. I imagined harsh switchbacks covered in gravel. I began to sweat. Many of the mountain roads don’t have guardrails, just a 90-foot drop into a rocky valley.

Another good creativity rule: Plan ahead, but don’t let fear do the planning. Depend on what you know to develop thoughts for what you don’t know. And leave room for new ideas.

The ‘follow me’ truck slid to a stop next to the road worker. Cars trundled by us in the opposite lane. We waved the line of cars ahead of us to go first. Then, leaving lots of room between the last gravel-flinging car and my helmet, we started to follow the road. Creativity rule: If you aren’t a leader, let others take the lead. Decide what you want to contribute.

The joke was on me. The first half mile behind the ‘follow me’ truck were over gravel, but after that, the patches were fresh, but had been steamrolled. The dangerous part was behind me. I could use the whole road to clear the fresh patches without worrying about oncoming traffic. The cars rolled over the fresh patches, tar rattling under the car, spinning out behind their wheels. Creativity rule: you don’t have to act like everyone else, do what works for you, take advantage of opportunities that work for you.

We arrived at a pull-out and stopped the bikes to enjoy the magnificent slope of the green mountain sliding down into a mountain pool below us. The cars sped on, eager to make up lost time. You already know this rule: Enjoy what’s around you while you can. The gravel will hit you soon enough.

–(c) 2007 Quinn McDonald. All rights reserved. Image: photosearch.com. Quinn McDonald is a writer and speaker and certified creativity coach. See her work at QuinnCreative.com

Riding the Ridge

If you are in need of stress-reduction, a big nature fix, or just a breath-taking ride with an endless view, go out in the Shenandoah Valley. This past Thursday and Friday we did just that–took the motorcycles and left Washington, D.C. behind for a rest at the Tree Streets Inn in Waynesboro, Virginia. We’ve been there before, and the cheer of hosts Bill and Nickie Aldridge and their incredible Revival-style house lured us back.

Nickie and Bill know the area so thoroughly that you get the latest restaurant recommendations, the best breakfast granola (Nickie makes it herself and it’s worth the trip!) and the best scenery information.

We mentioned we were in search of a great-view drive, and Bill didn’t hesitate. Out came the maps and with a few questions (winding roads to give the motorcycles a good workout, not too much traffic, and great views), he suggested a loop of about 200 miles–and ambitious drive when much of it includes switchbacks that test your ability to shift down quickly. Sounded just right. We got on the bikes and headed toward Staunton, a town tucked into the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The trip took us over the Blue Ridge, and up to Monterey, tucked into the Alleghenies. We then drove South, along the brow of some magnificent old mountain ridges where George Washington hiked, to Warm Springs, just five miles West of Hot Springs. We came to the foot of the mountains in Goshen. (”Land O’ Goshen!” is a phrase I remember from my childhood. It was uttered by older people instead of “Dang!” the coarser choice. Hey, it was a long time ago. Goshen is actually a biblical spot, see Genesis 46 for that story.)

The trip turned East to Rockbridge Baths, across the valley floor. The Shenandoah Valley is breathtaking. They don’t make them more beautiful. A few of the left turns require good steering and calm nerves. There are no guardrails and the drop is easily 90 feet to the river below. When we got closer to the river, we noticed fly fisherman, also making the most of a beautiful day.

We climbed another mountain as we drove East to Brownburg and Montobello. We turned North to get to Wintergreen and Nelly’s Ford, where we had the best barbecue I’ve ever eaten–and that’s saying something. That review is for tomorrow. Meanwhile, before it gets too hot, grab your motorcycle and a map and take the trip. You’ll come back refreshed and your blood pressure will be lower, too.

–Quinn McDonald is an artist and writer who teaches journal-writing courses. Learn more at QuinnCreative.com

In the Moment, on the Bike

In about a week, Eric Maisel will stop by my blog for an interview about his book, Ten Zen Seconds. At the same time, I’m reading Rhonda Byrne’s The Secret. (I’ll be discussing that in a few days. I don’t want to jump to confusions, so I’m reading it all first. And there is no official site for her, and I’m loathe to send you to a commercial site where they are shilling for products linked to her book.)

Both books talk about meditating and ‘being in the moment.’ It’s a hard concept for a lot of people, being in the moment. What does it mean? How do you do it?

If you ride a bike (motorcycle), and took the riding course, it is exactly what you learned there. When you are on the bike, you are watching the car ahead of you, staying 2 seconds behind it. You are watching the hood of the car on the side road. If the car is moving toward the intersection and the hood is tipping down, the driver is braking. If the driver is looking straight ahead, and accelerating, he may not see you. The car behind you may be too close. What’s your escape? That car on your left, with the driver on the phone, is the driver aware of you? Are you on a spot where you can be seen in the rear view mirror? What’s your speed?

On a bike, you are always in the moment. You are not planning what to buy for supper; you are not planning what to say to your mom when you phone her tonight; you are completely aware of everything around you and completely in control of the bike. You are staying out of the grease strip and aware of every moment’s change. That, in essence, is being in the moment.

Well, what if you don’t ride? Then being in the moment means concentrating totally on what you are doing. Cooking dinner? Your mind is on chopping, keeping your fingers clear. Changing a diaper? Your mind is on getting the diaper off, checking for rash, getting your baby comfortable. On the phone? You are paying attention, thinking about what the other person is saying, processing the reaction, responding to the other person’s needs. (That’s why you can’t drive and chat on the phone at the same time. You are either not processing the choices of the road in front of you, or the needs of the conversation. It leads to accidents.)

Being in the moment can also mean staying calm, not deciding, bringing your mind to rest with simple incantations. (That’s what Eric’s book is about). Being in the moment is not hard to learn, and, once mastered, can feel as restful as a nap or as energizing as a great idea.

One of Eric’s incantations is great for practice. Watching a clock, breathe in for five seconds and out for five seconds. When you know how that feels, add a thought to each inhalation and exhalation. A good one to practice on is–Inhale and think I am completely. . . and exhale and think . . . stopping. It’s a great way to let go of monkey mind and come to a stop to relax. Try it.

–Quinn McDonald is a trainer, a writer and a certified creativity coach. Want to know more about creativity coaching? Karen Roberts interviewed me about creativity coaching. If you have questions, you can send me an email.

Flying Out the Window

A cigarette butt came flying out of the car window. Trailing embers, it bounced in the air stream, then flew straight back and bounced off my helmet and fell into my lap. Good thing I wear gloves when riding the bike; I brushed the still burning cigarette off my lap. Sparks burned holes in my T-shirt and pants, but not my skin.

Turns out, cars don’t come with ashtrays anymore–those things that pull out are plastic, not metal, and are meant for coins.
But cigarette butts are the least of what I see–and sometimes wear–when people throw them out of car windows. I learned with my first motorcycle that washable clothing is a must when you are riding.
Coffee, with and without cream or sugar, even from Starbucks, come flying out of passenger and drivers’ windows. So do Big Gulps, Slushees, ice cream cones. Food at 45 miles an hour is surprisingly hard. PB&Js leave a bruise at that speed. And that’s just the food. There are paper cups, napkins, whole bags of fast-food leftovers. Never money, though.

Books, magazines, a baby diaper–I dodged that one. But I couldn’t miss the beer bottle, map, or hairbrush. Luckily, the T-shirt, stick, and teething ring weren’t close enough to cause damage. And the rope, sneaker and grocery bag with something in it were throw out of cars on the other side of the road.

You stay alert on a motorcycle, but some things can’t be avoided. I generally come home with bug splats on the windshield. A few weeks ago, a lightning bug hit the face shield and I had to squint around the luminescence for at least 12 miles.

When I tell people I ride a bike, most people tell me how we scare them because we stop too fast. Maybe it’s the flying trash from the car ahead of us.

–Quinn McDonald is an artist. See the work at QuinnCreativeShop.com (c) Quinn McDonald, 2006. All rights reserved.

Creativity Lessons from my Motorcycle

Motorcycle rules and creativity rules are very similar. Here’s what I’ve learned:

1. Give the narrow mind a wide road. (My father, who rode a motorcycle 80 years ago, taught me that rule.) Whether it’s a car driver that hates motorcycles or a co-worker who doesn’t want to consider any ideas other than his/her own, leave a lot of room around an angry head.

2. Don’t look right in front of you, look where you want to go–the bike will follow. Short-term planning is helpful, but unless it’s linked to long-term plans, you’ll wind up in the ditch.

3. A moving bike wants to stay upright. A bike that isn’t moving wants to fall over. Keeping your creative project in forward motion keeps you moving toward your dreams, your goals, or just the end of a difficult project. Take some measures to keep moving–whether it’s downshifting to keep rolling or upshifting for a smooth ride, forward motion helps keep your feet on the pegs, not dragging on the pavement.

4. If you come across a big obstacle in the road, and you can’t avoid it, slow down until you are close, then gun the engine, stand on the pegs, and accelerate over it. No creative project comes without obstacles. Don’t act until you get a grip on the problem, then get it over with as fast as possible. Standing on the pegs keeps the bike from tossing you off when you hit the obstacle. Keeping your balance when you power over that creative obstacle is also good idea.

5. Stupid hurts ® is the motto of the Honda Riders Group. I hate the time it takes to put on boots, a helmet, and gloves in case I dump the bike, but I do it. In a creative project, shortcuts almost always undermine the result. It’s not fun to sweat out the right answer, but you feel great when you see that the time was worth it. And creativity is always worth it!

To see my art, visit www.QuinnCreative.com