Skip to main content

Salman Rushdie on "Art of Creative Process"

As a student of history he was not trained in literature. This itself was a significant characteristic for his discovery as a writer. A Bombay born child who became one of the greatest writers of the English literature. What caused this transformation; reading, observing, and trying to make sense of the world. This approach of openness is the first step of self-discovery; the Buddha moment. Writing for him is a task of self-discovery. You don't know when you start where will it end. If you know about your end, all the masteries and the fun of journey are lost in that predetermination. Michel Foucault once said, "I don’t feel that it is necessary to know exactly what I am. The main interest in life and work is to become someone else that you were not in the beginning. If you knew when you began a book what you would say at the end, do you think that you would have the courage to write it? What is true for writing and for love relationships is true also for life. The game is worthwhile insofar as we don’t know where it will end".


Creative process requires idiosyncrasies. If one is so overwhelmed by the theories of other thinkers or writers one can't start writing the sentences; the theoretical noises make it impossible to be honest with the experiences one has in his own life. It's fantastic to be a good reader, but for a creative genius the musicality of words would appear through ethics of persistent works, writing, editing, and re-editing before one feels happy about it. Sometimes, one has to throw many pages in the dustbin before a few fresh and lively things appear in the joyful creative process. One cannot please all, as he believes. But I think, creative process has its own "surplus enjoyment" (Jacques Lacan). How can someone be honest in the consequentialist approach of creativity? "Reader's choice theory" is significant for making a work best selling. But every popular thing is not necessarily good or beautiful. Writing is, if at all self-discovery, not about pleasing anyone; at least one must avoid pretending to please readers so as to make a work popular. Second barrier of creative process is too much emphasis on the method and procedure. There is no single method, no single procedure for creativity. Mechanical vision of writing is self-annihilationary in its characteristics. The third problem is about the mentality that things shall just come out without any attempt to

to arrange the words. Rushdie rightly puts emphasis on the hard work or to treat writing as your first love. When someone is so immersed in the world of words, sentences, and paragraphs, one is bound to perfect the art of writing. Of course, passion and patience are the two noble virtues of a writer. To become a writer means just start and develop a rhyme and rhythm. The moment music is broken into pieces; one losses the zone of creativity, until bits and pieces are collected again. One cannot complete a work by wishful thinking. Writing requires hard work, passion, regularity, perseverance, and the understanding of the landscape; the world of the words. You don't simply write for full stops. Your commas and semi-columns are equally significant for a future to come. Foucault in this respect rightly said, "I don't write a book so that it will be the final word; I write a book so that other books are possible, not necessarily written by me". It's good to mistake many times so that a journey of mistakes itself be a journey to be proud of. Thanks Salman Rushdie for inspiring to be a creative artist.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का

पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।

Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...

Dreamer

Empty is mirror, Yet it reflects what is. Chit is absolute abyss, Yet it contains the existence, Like unending horizons of sky. Chit in bond with manas, Creates and witnesses, The playful dance of life. Shunyata is the absolute truth, Yet it is all of the possible worlds. Out of its voidness, World appears and disappears. Is it real or unreal? Or merely the Dream, Of all the possible dreams? If it is the case, Who is dreaming, the dreams of all? The One, the Cosmos. What if the One is also a figment of imagination? What if the world is a poetic creation? And the Poet has deployed itself, In every form of poetry? The poetry of life. What if only bhokta is bhojan? Only observer is observed? Only worshiper is worshipped? Only subject is object? All are the waves of same Ocean.