What is creativity, anyway?

It goes far beyond pencils and paintbrushes.

As the person behind a newsletter with “creativity” in the name, I think fairly often about what it means to be creative. Who is and isn’t a creative person? How is creating different from simply fabricating or producing? Which activities should be considered creative, and which don’t quite fit the term?

Since I was very small, I’ve considered myself a creative person. I’ve always loved to write, and I’m pretty resourceful; when I was old enough to bake (or at least help with some cookies or cheesecakes), I started to love that, too. I’ve always journaled, filled my storage space with craft supplies, and eagerly collaborated on creative projects with friends. This, I thought, set me apart from peers who “weren’t creative”—people who didn’t particularly enjoy art class, didn’t care at all about how their English Lit PowerPoint presentations were crafted, and didn’t care to keep up with any crafty hobbies or extracurriculars.

As an adult, I’ve seen this invisible dichotomy continue to manifest in the way I think of myself and, sometimes, others. Some people are creative; others are not. Despite the pick-me vibe I’ve just given off, I’ve never considered either of these categories, “creative” and “not creative,” more valuable than the other; the variability of human nature means we individuals will always inevitably “lack” certain personal qualities that other people possess. But they were distinct categories nonetheless. I’m the creative child; my sister is the sciencey one. This friend might not understand how much my current project means to me, because she just isn’t the creative type.

I don’t like this type of thinking, though, because it doesn’t align with something I believe very firmly: that creativity is what makes us human, and that every person, regardless of what interests them or what they’re good at, likely enjoys or thrives in some form of creative practice. That’s kind of the idea behind this newsletter, actually. We all deserve to be as creative as we’d like or need to be—here are ways to make that practice easier, more accessible, and more joyful.

In an effort to disrupt the weird creative v. non-creative dichotomy that has always sat like dead weight in my head, I’ve started to consider more pointedly what “creating” even means. And I’ve come to understand that while most of us pair the word “creativity” with a mental image of a paintbrush, typewriter, or musical instrument, creativity is far more widespread than that. It’s everywhere.

A woodworker who largely builds utilitarian objects might not see their craft as a creative one, but they’re more than likely making choices about color, finish, size, shape, and bezels along the way. A teacher is creative when she devises an effective and engaging lesson plan for her students. Despite the fact that a mixologist’s art is bound to vanish less than an hour after it’s made, he’s creative when he’s behind the bar: a cocktail’s taste, texture, smell, aesthetic, and serving method are all up to him. A parent throwing a birthday party for their child is being creative when they choose which balloons, confetti, cake, goodie bags, or party games to throw into the mix. A journalist is being creative when she decides how to structure the hook at the beginning of her article: should it be clever, straight-to-the-point, tongue-in-cheek? (Okay, this one’s a little self-serving, but the point stands.)

Put simply, I believe creating is a production process that involves agency. Whether you’re starting from nothing or turning a pile of somethings into another thing, several paths lie before you, and you get to choose which one to embark on. This means taking ownership of what goes wrong and what goes right throughout the process, but even if the former outweighs the latter, it’s all worthwhile, because creatives are there for the process. Buying that fancy cocktail or using a colleague’s pre-made lesson plan would mean missing the point entirely.

In his book Feel-Good Productivity, medical doctor and productivity scholar Ali Abdaal writes that a fulfilling creative practice aligns with the CALM acronym: competence, autonomy, liberty, and mellow. Creativity allows us to build a sense of skill or intuition; whether or not we feel that we’re “good” at drawing or knitting is separate from the fact that we’re probably learning as we go. Autonomy and liberty give us the opportunity to choose a creative project’s outcome. And while I don’t always agree with Abdaal in that creative acts help us mellow out—sometimes, for me, they’re somewhat stressful—I do feel that they have an overall positive effect on our mood by giving us a sense of accomplishment, joy, contentment, or, yes, mellowness.

Everyone deserves to experience this range of benefits, of pure, human emotion. How we each go about that varies wildly, and I think that’s beautiful.

What’s been inspiring me lately:

✰ The Hypocrite by Jo Hamya. The premise of this book was so fresh to me, and the delivery very creative. I’d like to read more intimate literary writing that gets in characters’ heads this way.

✰ This interview with author Carys Davies about concise prose and allowing a story to come together organically.

✰ The poem “Good Bones” by Maggie Smith.

Also: I have a few copies left of my zine, Browning Butter!

Reviewers are saying lovely things such as “This is perfect for fall!” and “My arteries are going to hate you.” Snag a copy before it’s gone—it’s only $11 after shipping!