One Sunday afternoon in 1920s England, two schoolboys were walking across the fields near their school. One of them asked the other whether he’d ever considered writing poetry.
I never had, and said so, but I knew
That very moment what I wished to do.
That boy was called Wystan Hugh Auden, and he went on to become one of the greatest poets of the 20th century. The lines are from his poem Letter to Lord Byron, where he recalled the conversation.
On a bright morning in 1950s Italy, a young film director boarded a motorboat, heading out to the ship where he was to film a scene in his first solo feature film.
I couldn’t stop asking myself: What am I going to do? I couldn’t remember the film, I couldn’t remember anything. I only had a strong desire to run away. But I had hardly set foot on the ship than I was giving instructions, demanding this that and the other, looking through the camera. Without knowing anything, without being aware of any objective. In the few minutes’ voyage from the harbour to the ship I had become an exacting, pedantic, self-willed director, with all the faults and all the merits which I had always loathed and admired in real directors …
Federico Fellini went on to direct over twenty movies, establishing himself as one of the major filmmakers of the century. (Quotation from Fellini on Fellini.)
Auden discovered his vocation almost by accident, at a friend’s suggestion. Fellini was clearly ambitious enough to get himself into the director’s chair – but to judge from his account, it was not until he started directing that he really started to believe he could do it.
It’s also possible for a creative vocation to emerge from a hard-headed career decision:
I went into the business for money and the art grew out of it. If people are disillusioned by that remark, I can’t help it. It’s the truth.
That was Charlie Chaplin, in his Oscar acceptance speech from 1972.
With the benefit of hindsight, it’s easy for us to see these decisions and vocations as inevitable. The names Auden, Fellini and Chaplin are so closely associated with their art forms that it’s almost impossible to imagine them doing anything else.
Auden the pianist? Chaplin the novelist? It doesn’t quite ring true.
Yet for each of these creators there came a moment, or a period, when they discovered they had the talent and the desire for particular form of expression, and committed to it for life. Almost like falling in love.
Just like falling in love, it doesn’t make much difference whether you were childhood sweethearts, introduced at a friend’s wedding, or met via a dating site. All that really matters is how you felt when your eyes met.
Personally, I discovered my vocation via homework.
At secondary school I had two superb English teachers, Sue Dove and Geoff Reilly. In Sue’s class I realised I loved to write. I also discovered that reading poetry was a far richer and more rewarding experience than reading prose. Then one day Geoff set the class a homework assignment, to write a ballad based on Robert Westall’s novel The Scarecrows.
I started writing the poem in the English class, and had to break off when the bell rang. Next up was chemistry, which I loathed. But something had followed me down the corridor from the English department – an invisible goblin made of words that danced and sang around me as I sat on the bench and tried to concentrate on the Bunsen burner.
Surreptitiously, I eased my jotter out of my bag and started scribbling stanzas. And on and on, all the way through chemistry, history, maths… Even cycling home, I couldn’t get the rhythm out of my head. I still can’t.
As Steven Pressfield says in Do the Work, the only real reason for creating is because you have no choice.
How About You?
How did you discover your creative vocation?
How did you know it was the real thing?
Any tips for readers who are still looking for their vocation?
About the Author: Mark McGuinness is a Coach for Artists, Creatives and Entrepreneurs. For tips on creativity, productivity and creative entrepreneurship, sign up for free updates from Lateral Action. And for bite-sized inspiration, follow Mark on Twitter here.
This was an interesting read.
Like you, I discovered my writing passion for poetry through school homework. I wrote a post about it here actually: http://hijackmyheart.com/2011/02/where-my-poetry-began/
I knew it was the real thing because writing was always cathartic and therapeutic for me and kept me going through difficult times 🙂
Thanks Sulthana. Great question on your blog, and I like your poem!
What a lovely distraction from my VAT return Mark! 😉 My story is as follows…
I was always going to be an artist (let loose in a Woolworth’s age 6 I just chose a paint set!) and went about working my way through education with art at the forefront. On foundation age 18 I went to the library one day and found a small collection of books on contemporary stained glass by accident. At that point my heart flew and I had discovered exactly what I wanted to make.
It was actually one piece of work by Paul Marioni a portrait of Dali that did it for me. I have been making architectural glass artworks ever since.
Going back to your previous post referencing making work in a very small niche – architectural glass is a tiny niche! But it is what I love.
Thanks for the post!
Can I use that as a testimonial? 🙂
And I know what you mean about stained glass. If I had to choose one building to take to my desert island, it would be Chartres Cathedral.
A blog started it all! I began to write about my move to Shetland and discovered I loved photo journalism. I’m now freelancing. My art is also developing. After years of dabbling in many creative projects and interests – the blog has really highlighted what I love to do as opposed to what I like doing.
Sounds like the old saying: “I don’t know what I think until I read what I’ve blogged.” 😉
Some fab photos on your blog. Closest I’ve got to Shetland is Orkney, one of my best ever holidays.
Great stuff, Mark. Where do you find these quotes? They’re wonderful. What’s fascinating to me about the idea that we all have a vocation or calling, is “Where does it come from?” Were we born with it? Were you “born” a poet as Fellini was “born” a filmmaker? If that’s true (and I believe it is), then does that mean that we are all born with an inhering daimon or genius, as the Greeks and Romans believed? And if that’s true, what is the greater cosmology in which such critters exist? I don’t know, but it’s fascinating as hell, isn’t it? Keep up the great work, Mark!
Hi Steven … just wanted to say thanks for writing Do the Work. I literally felt like you were talking to me the entire time I was reading. Thank You! I then immediately purchased The War of Art and have read it twice. YOU keep the the great work, Steven!
Well the quotes were rattling around in my head… Auden from his poem, Fellini from a great collection called Creators on Creating, and I can’t remember where I found Chaplin.
Yes to both questions if you ask me. Not sure about the cosmology… I’ve had glimpses but you know how fitful they can be. 😉
I think we are born with different inclinations for different kinds of activities, but not sure if I could say people are solely “born a poet” or “born a filmmaker.” I think a lot of it can be shaped by our experiences and culture. Interesting thoughts though.
Steven wrote, “Does that mean that we are all born with an inhering daimon or genius, as the Greeks and Romans believed? And if that’s true, what is the greater cosmology in which such critters exist? I don’t know, but it’s fascinating as hell, isn’t it? Keep up the great work, Mark!”
I agree with all of this wholeheartedly: the rhetorical posing of the question(s), the identification of them as fascinating, and the kudos to Mark for the great work.
The “greater cosmology” of the muse/daimon/genius, the question of its/their ontology, is a matter of eternal fascination, isn’t it? I’m pursuing it in a series of posts at Demon Muse, and anything that anybody can add here or there will inevitably suck me in, because I’m a sucker for everything to do with the subject, including your own hugely appreciated words about the subject, Steven. Speaking of which, your recent interview with Mark here was riveting.
As for how I discovered my own creative vocation, I was dominated by a desire to write, teach, and play music from earliest childhood. When I take James Hillman’s advice from his daimonically-oriented THE SOUL’S CODE and read my life backward to search for enduring themes, those are all central. Throughout my formal education I was lucky — or fated? — to encounter a number of important teachers who recognized my inclinations and fanned the flame. It wasn’t until I had graduated from college, though, and suffered through a few years of confusion and despair about the direction of my life — a philosophical-emotional cast that was aided by the onset of some psychic disruptions involving sleep paralysis with demonic/daimonic hypnagogic visitations and attacks — that my mature creativity kicked in as a real life-orienting direction.
Thanks Matt, as always. Love your piece about whether the Muse is real – confirms my conviction that the Enlightenment has a lot to answer for.
You might be interested in my friend John Eaton’s writings about Personal Genius.
Glad you liked the article, Mark, and thanks for the good words. Thanks, too, for the link. I have in fact read Eaton’s posts about the personal genius, and have really, really liked them. I think I even quoted him once at Demon Muse. I had no idea that you and he were friends, though. I’m perpetually surprised and fascinated by intricate web of connections among the online creative community that’s devoted to exploring these things.
I love the Pressfield quote, “Because I have no choice.” For almost 20 years I was asked repeatedly, ‘Do you know who you look like?’ My standard answer became, ‘I’ve got to figure out how to make some money from this.’ Now more than 15 years into my vocation, I realize I do what I do because I have no choice. Was it an accident? YES. Was it luck? YES. Did I really have a choice? YES … but I love it, I’ve excluded other possibilities, and now it simply feels like I have no choice. Great post Mark!
Ha ha, brilliant answers! An a brilliant idea for your business. Which I guess was staring you in the face all along. 🙂
I feel like I have always been involved in teaching and learning. Over time but certainly by the time I was twenty, I could tell that I had a knack for designing an instructional approach that would get across to people with widely different learning styles and needs, and I have been designing, delivering, and consulting with teachers and districts about innovative courses ever since.
So I’d say teaching and I fell in love at first sight, and it has been a marriage that has never lost a bit of its magic.
Ah yes, keeping the magic going is as important as ‘love at first sight’. 🙂
Auden had a theory about that: He said that the conventional wisdom is that we fall in love with someone and are blinded to their faults, then as time goes by the scales fall from our eyes and we see them as they are – i.e. warts and all.
But he thought it was the other way round – when we first see them and fall in love, we see them as they really are. Later on – if we’re not careful – we project all our faults and nit-picky criticisms on them, which obscures their true beauty.
I think for me it was reading the book ‘Walking on Water’ by Andy Martin, which looked at the world of surfing in Hawaii from the perspective of a huge fan who as land-locked Englishman still dreamed of riding the big waves.
At one stage he was flying out to cover a big surfing competition and arranged some freelance work, so at customs presented the bemused customs official with a business card with the job title ‘Surfing Correspondent for The Times’
Being paid to write about what you loved seemed so cool – particularly something like surfing. Still does after over a decade of writing about motorcycles, videogames and technology!
Genius. 🙂
Indeed!
Hey Mark,
Thought provoking as usual. I wrote my first “love” poems at around 7 or 8 years old.
One in particular was rebuffed by its instigator, and she slagged me off in front of my friends.
I persisted, through rejection after rejection, to write to childhood crushes. Rejection still happens sometimes, but the writing has improved, I think. 🙂
Words have chased me since I can remember. In the last year they have become much more fearsome if I don’t indulge them. It can be a curse at times, but the alternative of not writing is unthinkable.
Conor
Ouch! If it’s any consolation, something similar happened to Dante aged nine, but he didnt have the chutzpah to say anything to the girl in question!
Amen to that.
Rejection seems to happen a lot in any creative endeavor. You should go back and thank those girls for prepping you at an early age. 🙂
As a youngster I watched the image of my mother appear on a piece of paper which had emerged as a “blank” sheet from a Polaroid Land Camera – and I became hooked on Photography.
I’m not one who is thrilled very often, but watching a latent image appear still brings me tremendous joy. Even in the Digital Age, I love to lose myself in an old-school darkroom.
Great story! I remember the magic of the first Polaroids. 🙂
I believe a lot of creative vocations are discovered serendipitously. People try something new for whatever reason – a whim, homework assignment, or maybe in pursuit of some other unrelated goal – then they discover that doing this activity fills their life with zest and purpose, and they can’t get away from it. Sometimes you just got to try new things until you find something that “clicks.” Creativity, to me, is all about trial-and-error. Nice article Mark.
Yes definitely, whims, experiments, idle curiosity…
I am still very young, and my passion has yet to develop a fixation. but I know it will eventually be working with infrastructure.
Thank you for the article, Been following your blog for a little while, It’s inspiring 🙂
My pleasure Stephen, and welcome. 🙂
My passion has been writing, in one form or another whether it’s blogging, screenwriting or ad copy. Finding which type of writing I’m most passionate about has been the hard part.
I did it the hard way, just trying everything and going on my instinct with what felt the most “right” from all of them. I totally agree that creativity is about trial and error.
And I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that for me at least, my passion will change as the years change.
I hope you’ll come back and leave a comment (or send me a guest post) when that happens. 😉
You’ve got it, Mark!