Ghost Lion

From Falling Whistle’s Sean Carasso’s Blog

What do you think about magazine ads with musicians such as Avril Lavigne flashing a smile while on the new 3G t-mobile phone? Or maybe that’s not such a shock. But what about Bob Dylan a couple years back in that Victoria Secret commercial? Does this bother you like it bothers me?

I came to the conclusion that it bothers me the same way it would bother me if in Ghostbusters, Bill Murray’s character, Peter Venkman, took a moment to flash a Pepsi can in my face, tell me how great it is, then go back to zapping the Stay Puft Marshmellow Man.

You just wouldn’t trust the character anymore. How could you? What does soda have to do with zapping ghosts? Is Dr. Venkman just in it for the money? These questions dilute the character’s authenticity and story. And I’m betting I’m not the only one questioning.

A few people are afraid of good ideas, ideas that make a difference or contribute in some way. Good ideas bring change, that’s frightening.

But many people are petrified of bad ideas. Ideas that make us look stupid or waste time or money or create some sort of backlash.

The problem is that you can’t have good ideas unless you’re willing to generate a lot of bad ones.

Painters, musicians, entrepreneurs, writers, chiropractors, accountants–we all fail far more than we succeed. We fail at closing a sale or playing a note. We fail at an idea for a series of paintings or the theme for a trade show booth.

But we succeed far more often than people who have no ideas at all.

Someone asked me where I get all my good ideas, explaining that it takes him a month or two to come up with one and I seem to have more than that. I asked him how many bad ideas he has every month. He paused and said, “none.”

And there, you see, is the problem.

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Last week, while I was singing, writing, trying to finish a new song, Emily told me she didn’t think she liked the verse very much. I don’t why, but for some reason, that comment just knocked the wind from my creative sails right then and there; I didn’t feel like writing anymore. I mean . . . I couldn’t — how could I keep playing this song over and over knowing that someone, particularly my fiance, in the room over doesn’t like it?

Two things came to mind:

1. Honest feedback in our people-pleasing society is like water in the desert; it should be cherished.

2. Artists, who have made a mark on history, followed their muse despite negative feedback.

Within that dichotomy, there is a delicate chemistry. It’s “how do I fine tune my abilities to communicate well with an audience” but still do it in the way that I want, saying exactly what I want.

How do you balance criticism, feedback, and being true to yourself?

- blake