H. G. Wells

"We must not allow the clock and the calendar to blind us to the fact that each moment of life is a miracle and mystery."

— H. G. Wells

English Writer and Novelist

1866 - 1946

Commentary

Sometimes we let the clock control our lives.  We live each day by the clock.  We set the alarm clock to wake us at a certain time.  We have to be at work at a certain time.  We have appointments and deadlines that focus our activities.  We eat lunch at the same time.  We quit work at the same time.  Then we eat dinner and go to bed at the same time.  

We also let the calendar control our days.  Many do not like Monday mornings because they don't want to go to work.  Wednesday becomes hump day and on Friday it is TGIF day.  We daydream about our holidays and our vacations.  Some people love summer.  Others love winter.  We have become slaves to the calendar and the seasons.

The trick is learning to live in the moment and enjoy each moment we have been given.  Some people move through life acting bored.  Their jobs are boring.  Their social life is boring.  Their sex life is boring.  As H.G. Wells says, each moment of our lives is a miracle and a mystery.  We ought to be celebrating our lives.  Each moment we are alive is a blessing.  Enjoy your moments because one day you will not have any more.  

Creative leaders often dream that when they are successful everything will be better.  When I sell my first novel....  When I have my own art gallery....  When I have a starring role in a Hollywood movie....  We spend so much time in the future that we fail to appreciate the present.

Creative Practice
Challenge yourself this week to enjoy each moment of your life.  Don't spend your time remembering the past or daydreaming about the future.  If you catch yourself being bored or not living in the moment, gently bring yourself back to the present moment.

Biography
Herbert George Wells is best known as a science fiction writer.  His most popular novels include: The War of the Worlds, The Time Machine, The Invisible Man and the Island of Doctor Moreau.  He also wrote history, politics and social commentary.

Wells was the fourth child of Joseph Wells and Sarah Neal.  His father was a domestic gardener, shopkeeper and professional cricketer.  His mother was a domestic servant.  When Wells was eight, he was confined to bed because of a broken leg.  To pass the time, he read books.  At fourteen, he was apprenticed as a draper (cloth merchant).  He worked 13 hour a day and slept in a dormitory.  He failed as a draper and as a chemist's assistant.

Wells married his cousin Isabel Mary Wells when he was 25.  They separated three years later when he fell in love with Amy Catherine Robbins whom he married in 1895.  The marriage lasted until her death in 1927.  With his wife's consent, Wells had affairs with several women, including Margaret Sanger, Rebecca West and Elizabeth von Arnim.

Video
Here is an audio recording of Orson Welles and H. G. Wells in a discussion about The War of the Worlds.

Heather Graham

"You need to meet people constantly because that is where you get your ideas and everything that you are going to write.  I find people intriguing.  I love people and I love to hear their stories and to find out where they came from and where they are going."

— Heather Graham

American Novelist

1953 -

Writers are often viewed as loners and they do have to spend a lot of time alone writing, but writers also need human contact.  Many times the people writers come in contact with find their way into novels and stories.  Great writers are observant of the people they meet and use the details of these lives to add authenticity to their work.  

Meet Heather Graham, author of over 150 novels.  She has more than 75 million books in print in 25 languages.

Anton Chekhov

"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint on the broken glass."

— Anton Chekov

Russian Writer

1860 -1904

Writing is in the sharing of details.  Even the smallest detail helps to create the story.  Writers are cautioned again and again not to tell, but to show.  If you tell, you are placing judgement on the story.  If you show, you are allowing the reader to make up his own mind.  And I think the same is true of painting.  The goal is not to show the moon hanging in the sky, but to see it reflected in the plants and trees.  Painting is about light and shadow.  You know the sun or moon is there even if you can't see it.  You see the light on the leaves.  Dig deep and reveal the details.  The story is build on the details.

Sharon Olds

"Poems come from ordinary experiences and objects, I think.  Out of memory — a dress I lent my daughter on her way back to college; a newspaper photograph of war; a breast self-exam; the tooth fairy; Calvinist parents who beat up their children; a gesture of love; seeing oneself naked over age 50 in a set of bright hotel bathroom mirrors."

— Sharon Olds

American Poet

1942 -

From where does your art come?  As Sharon Olds says, it often comes from the ordinary experiences and objects in our lives.  Poets often find the smallest moments from which to form their poems.  It may be a simple conversation between two people, or a flower laying on a gravestone, or meeting an old friend at the supermarket.  The common place and the everyday is what forms the basis of art.


Where does your art come from?  Is it rooted in reality?  The everyday?  Do you take the smallest of moments and build on them?  Painters capture moments in time?  A brief look at reality?  What holds your attention?  Not everyone paints the same subjects.  We choose different subjects.  Some people paint fields and others paint people.  What fascinates you about the world in which you live?  What demands that you paint it again and again?


Here is a poem by Sharon Olds.  


Grandmother Love Poem
by Sharon Olds


Late in her life, when we fell in love,
I'd take her out from the nursing home
for a chaser and two bourbons.  She'd crack
a joke sharp as a tin lid
hot from the teeth of the can-opener,
and cackle her crack-corn laugh.  Next to her
wit, she prided herself on her hair,
snowy and abundant.  She would lift it up
at the nape of the neck, there in the bar,
and under the white, under the salt-and-
pepper, she'd show me her true color,
the color it was when she was a bride:
like her sex in the smoky light she would show me
the pure black.