The previous post is about the act of writing. Let’s talk about the act of creation this time.

Over the past… almost two years, I was hesitant to translate this post into English. There isn’t a really suitable word for the kind of ‘creation’ that I want to discuss… the creation of ideas, and nothing more. I do not want to sound like a god, as tempting as that is. Nonetheless, ‘creation’ will have to do - It is what I am doing anyways.

As I have discussed before, I believe that writing, and the ‘creation’ in ‘creative writing’, are two fundamentally distinct concepts. Writing is a method, and creation is more the purpose of such methods. Naturally, writing is not the only method of creation, but it is the one that I can do best, perhaps the only one, due to the… ‘discrete’ nature of it, as opposed to drawing and other methods.

But even under the grand framework of ‘writing’, there is some difference between the method and the purpose. Creative writing is ‘doing something’, in which writing is the ‘doing’, and creation is the ‘something’, to put it for a lack of better translation.

So, let’s talk about the ‘something’, talk about the more spiritual, more metaphysical topic. ‘Creation’.

I’ve mentioned my then-newfound hobby many times prior: world-building; writing my own settings, stories, character, and campaigns for Dungeons & Dragons. You may interpret this as a peculiar combination of playwright, fantasy writing, game design, and improv. For the past… two years and a half, I’ve written down way too many concrete materials to keep count - about 100,000 words worth of information distributed across files, websites, and medias. The abstract items are harder to keep track still - ideas, performances, either sediments on the back of my mind, or already disseminated to others through speeches or illustrations.

This is a very time-consuming hobby. Although I’ve managed to balance between this and my academic pursuits, so that the latter still takes priority, most of my free time in the recent years is spent on creating these materials, in one form or another.

And at the time, at about the third month of me writing down things haphazardly, I’ve more or less fleshed out a fundamental groundwork of what I wanted to do. And then I looked back, and can’t help but be baffled at my own persistence. Baffled at how exactly did I make all of these without giving up midway.

For the past… how many years of my life, most of my hobbies are done as a whim, stemming from a sudden interest in the moment. After that moment passed by, after the interest died down… there’s no longer a motivation to continue. This has put to waste god knows how many different pieces of instruments and equipments - like has many of my peers.

And after so many years, the only two ‘hobbies’ I’ve managed to sustain a passion for would be algorithm design, and this… thing, that I call ‘creative writing’.

And among the two, one is what I may consider my job, my career. And the one that remains motivated by passion and passion alone, is creative writing.

Why is that?

Let us further abstract our discussion, and talk about something more philosophical: creative desire.

Setting aside the spirit for just a moment, I’m fairly certain that I’m a typical specimen of what people call ‘STEM majors’ - in contrast to, let’s say, ‘art students’. Indeed, I’m good at those things: Science, Technology, Engineering, Math, talented in the abstract logics, so on and so on. On the other hand, Chinese, and Writing, as subjects in high school, has always been my weakness, and I’ve never systematically learned the humanity subjects such as history, philosophy, geology, and such.

I’ve never denied this - I do have talents in STEM, in particular algorithmic and theoretic computer science, a subject so greatly reliant on logics and deduction. And I think my academic performance has proved that I lived up to my talents.

That being said… It is very different to have talent in something, than to put it into action; It is very different to have talent in something, than to find passion in it. At this point, it is quite inevitable to introduce the spirit - the ‘heart’ - to the table, and discuss us individuals comprehensively.

In terms of… thinking, the physical mind, I am no doubt a logical person, but who am I, what am I deep down in my heart and soul? For the longest time I did not really have understand this difference, and did not even ask the question, let alone find an answer. It is not until about my junior year as an undergrad did I start systematically think about this matter.

And the conclusion is a very contradictory one. Deep down in my heart at my roots, I believe that I’m a very… sentimental and emotional individual, for lack of better words. I tend to think a lot, about a lot of things. Not just things that can be resolved with logic, but also more philosophical and metaphysical ones… such as the question of who I really am at heart.

This is a fascinating contradiction. How much are logics and emotions in conflict? Where is the boundary between the two? Which side am I really on? Or is there some non-empty intersection between the two that I can categorize myself in?

From this piece of my thoughts spawned two very important topics. For one, that I find passion in algorithmic sciences and theoretical computer science for a reason: This is a conclusion that I reached much prior to this, and relates, in a quite spiritual way, back to arts and desire, and perhaps I can talk about that in another time; For two, that I am in fact an individual with great creative desire: This is my answer to my bafflement, looking at the mountain of materials I wrote in that three months, speechless at how exactly did I make all of these without giving up midway.

I am just human after all, and humans are societal animals. Anyone would have the good desire to communicate with others, to convey their opinions, to claw out their hearts and present to the world, to become a exhibitionist of thoughts. Of course, this does not mean that everyone would actually do such things, to aggressively engage strangers on the street and discuss their grand aspirations and life goals.

But imagine a world where people can unshackle themselves from the binds of traditions and societal norms, and open their minds to the universe, to freely express themselves, to freely understand others. Isn’t this utopia?

Yet regrettably, utopia exists solely in imaginations for a reason, and so I would not be a social terrorist and force feed my thoughts and opinions to others. I am still comfortable, however, to exhibit my thoughts in this virtual museum called ‘the internet’, and let those who take interest in my philosophy consume at their own leisure, without the implications of persuasion and enforcement.

I can also try to convey my opinions in a more roundabout way: To put my words through a maze, embed within it twists and turns, so that those who see a deeper meaning in them can actually think for themselves what that hidden meaning is. This is storytelling. Creation, even. Since storytelling is very objective-oriented: There’s a story hidden behind your storytelling, and there’s an opinion hidden behind your story.

And the stories I wanted to tell? Oh, do not even get me started.

Before I started my undergrad - Even the first few years of my degree - I’ve made fragmented attempts at artistic creation. They are not limited in form to writing: I’ve tried digital painting, pixel art, music composition, and some more. But these attempts have one thing in common - they failed. They’re slowly put aside as the initial flame of passion died down.

Although unsuccessful, these failed attempts turned out to have some merits as opposed to complete wastes of time. The story I am writing in this attempt at creation is, in essence, the exact same story that I wanted to tell some eight or nine years ago, based on and refined from the same opinions and philosophies I had and have on many different subjects. After many attempts in these many years, I like to think that finally for once they are refined into something with meaning.

This is unimaginably satisfactory for a lone spirit. For that entire year, I am similarly stuck at home, but compared to the previous months, this satisfaction brought me ecstasy and solved many problems, mental and perhaps physical too. Such satisfaction, simply because the creative desire in me is sated, unchained, let soar. And so I believe that creative desire really is a universal, even primal drive for mankind.

As to why I kept on writing without giving up midway, and refined my ideas into something with meaning, during this attempt, but not any of the previous ones… I really don’t have a definitive answer. But if I have to reach a conclusion, I would like to think that it’s from a twofold reason.

For one, the chosen medium is somewhat different: The previous attempts at writing is, to put bluntly, ‘internet literature’, without much deep meaning in narrative and topic, and most importantly extremely one-sided by nature; playwright and performance on the other hand is rather interactive, so that I can more directly and efficiently tell the story that I want to tell to others, and sate my creative desire. I can go on and on about the importance of interactive medium for art and narration, but let’s leave it for now.

For two, I feel that I simply, finally realized some things that I did not have answers for. I finally understood, to some extent, why I am writing, why I would like to write, why I would want to create, what would I want to create, what is the story I want to tell, what kind of person am I deep down in heart.

Let’s take a step back from metaphysics. Back to the topic of ‘creation’.

Creative writing at this point is solely a hobby for me - based on interest and passion. I write simply because I want to write, to tell a story to others, with no expectation for monetary compensations. It is painfully obvious that, speaking from materialistic perspectives, this is but a waste of time, and after all a trivial pursuit. But with the slightest hint of spiritualism, the purpose behind writing is… plain as a light in the dark.

And exactly because of this, I can afford to egoistically enjoy myself as a hobbyist playwright, fantasy writer, game designer, and improv actor. With no need for systematic training in these fine arts; with no regard to the evaluations from others of my work. This is not me belittling trained, professional artists; after all I have no right nor any desire to critique the work of professionals. It is just that… I don’t really care what others think of my writing - I just care about my own satisfaction.

So, here’s a quote I really like:

Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits, and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for.

I first saw this quote around the time that I started thinking about creation and creative desire: what I am writing right now. These words almost perfectly illustrated my philosophy on these matters, so much that despite having no idea where this quote is from until a few minutes before I first wrote this, I am still able to recite it on demand. Thus out of curiosity, I searched for a source, and traced it back to an old movie called Dead Poet Society. I’ve obviously never watched it, but from my five-minute google search, it would seem like the main gist of the movie coincides a lot with my philosophy.

Which kept me thinking… somewhat, that I am indeed fortunate that I do not yet need to worry for survival, at least materialistically. Only then can I turn to creation as a purely spiritual pursuit, and only then can I write and create to my heart’s content. I cannot fathom the others, those great artists all those years ago who has to create to make a living, but putting myself in their shoes to the best of my imagination’s ability, I think creation will be much less desirable and satisfying, when my livelihood is at stake. Despite how… fortunate one must be to find passion in their work, I do not like having to worry about the expectations of others and the materialistic needs of myself, which will unavoidably taint my passion.

Schenezarade, the narrator in One Thousand and One Nights, has more or less the direct opposite experience with storytelling: Her livelihood is so much at stake that if she does not tell stories, if she does not tell these stories well, the King will have her head off at dawn. As much as I appreciate that the times have changed, that I don’t need to tell stories to simply keep my head, sometimes I also look at her stories, and admire. To be able to persist through one thousand and one nights, tell one thousand stories, Schenezarade must have a burning passion for storytelling and creation, no less than mine, nonetheless.

Composed: Jan 16, 2022. West Lafayette, Indiana.

Translated: Sept 25, 2023. 20,000 ft above Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.