How to abandon a bad idea

For the past year I’ve been attempting to write a book that just won’t come together. I’ve tried getting into it from multiple angles, letting the idea rest when it grew stale, and then trying again. And again. Finally, a month ago, I realized the hard truth: this book isn’t mine to write. And even though I was disappointed to let the idea go, I’m glad I didn’t get the entire thing written before I admitted this, as has happened in the past. The reality of my creative life is that for every great idea that comes my way, a dozen not-so-great and not-at-this-time ideas show up as well. It has taken me years to realize what many of my composer friends know intimately: sometimes you just have to give up on what clearly isn’t working, take it behind the proverbial barn, and shoot it dead.

Creative people hate this. There’s little that’s more exciting for us than the birth of a new idea. We love the alchemy of crafting an insight into reality. Our energy quickens, our horizons broaden, and we soar on the thrill of manifesting something brand new. But not all creative ideas are born to grow up to be completed projects. This is where editing enters the creative life because no great work of art (in any discipline) springs fully formed from the creator’s mind.

Great composers/musicians/writers/artists are invariably ruthless editors of their own creations. Where beginning artists view every part of their projects as “holy writ,” experienced artists know the importance of pruning away what isn’t working so that truly good ideas have a chance to thrive. They know that every moment spent trying to force a bad idea to work is a moment stolen from all the potentially great ideas that are waiting to present themselves. They know that their success lies in being their own biggest critic and giving their work both the good and the bad reviews it deserves.

Good self-editors also know that the birth of a new creative project happens in stages. In the fire of creation, we know that our job is to listen and to translate what we’re hearing. We don’t worry about throwing out things at this stage. After all, maybe that strange tangent is the key to the entire creation? We explore everything, working until that fire dies out. And then they put the work aside and let it rest.

The editing phase begins once we’ve given ourselves time to become detached from what we’ve created. For some this may be a day or two, for others even more time. Once we return to the piece, however, we know that editing is a task best be done coldly and (if necessary) ruthlessly. When we can approach the work with detachment, it’s easier to see what’s successful and what isn’t.

Ideally, this is the phase when we see the direction for the piece and we find our way to completion. Sometimes, however, in the editing phase all we discover is that the piece is stillborn. We know this because even though we love the idea, it has no direction, or we feel no energy or spark about what we’ve created.The worst thing we can do at this stage is try to push through and make it work. Yet stopping and waiting is difficult. This is when we have to ask ourselves a tough question: is this a “never” project or a “not now” project? This question is why every composer and writer in existence has fragments of ideas and half-finished works lying in files or on their computers. In my experience, if the answer isn’t clear right away, it’s wise to assume the work is a “not now” piece and to put it aside for a longer period of time.

If, however, after trying and failing to birth an idea—despite multiple attempts—our creative lives depend on ruthlessly abandoning the bad idea, mourning the death of it, and making space for new ones. One of the most dangerous things a creative can do is fall in love with all their creations. I’ve seen artist after artist (in multiple disciplines) shipwreck their talent on the shores of being unwilling to let go. I knew a woman who spent a decade working on a novel that had an unworkable premise; not surprisingly, she never published anything. I know musicians who pursue quixotic plans because they can’t let go of childhood ambitions, never stopping to investigate where their true limits and gifts may lie. I know composers who keep trying to force their ideas into forms that clearly aren’t working, thus never finding a way to communicate their unique musical vision. And I watch as the creative energy that could have gone to other, more worthy projects gets frittered away on a flawed idea.

Those who keep a death grip on bad ideas usually do so because of a fear of failure. Perhaps they’ve told others that this is what they’re going to do and they don’t want to look as if they’re giving up. Perhaps they’ve internalized the ridiculously bad self-help message that promises that if we just wish something enough—if it’s our “dream”— we can manifest it in our lives. Truth is, the Muse is no respecter of our chosen pathways. Most of us get where we’re supposed to get, creatively speaking, but rarely by the paths we planned to take. The trick is recognizing these paths as our true callings, not dismissing them as unpalatable detours.

Creative ideas find creative people. The Muse is generous, and there isn’t just one great idea for each of us. The more we trust this, the more we’re gifted with ideas. I’ve seen this happen repeatedly in my life and in the lives of the creative professionals around me. Each time I abandon a bad idea, the good ones come rushing in. All we have to do is open our hands, let go of what isn’t working, and make room for what will.

Photo by Brett Jordan, courtesy of UpSplash