8 Clicks from Nowhere Productions

Category: Part 4 – When Nowhere Clicks

The aging self and what each stage of life might teach us about making things. The life of creating stuff.

Chapter List

  • Health Full, two

    (Continued from Health Full)

    I haven’t quite worked up the mental energy to call myself retired at this point. I’m not, really. Folks who have escaped the waged-employee chains and can work optionally or casually but who are still not of some societally agreed upon age of actual retirement we tend to use the word semi-retired. It’s code for I finished the capitalism main game storyline and now I’m going back for fun to play the parts I may have missed. 

    My experience though has often been one of adaptation, and while my brain may repeatedly tell me that I’m way too young to be calling myself retired, my body has had other ideas.

    I’m not twenty anymore.

    I strain my back sleeping wrong. My eyes get sore from looking at a screen for longer than an hour. I really need a comfortable chair when I sit at the piano. I probably shouldn’t lift too many heavy objects anymore if I can avoid it. Sitting in the grass to sketch means my knees are going to hurt when I try to stand up again. 

    Creativity is slower, more purposeful, and needs to account for mobility, agility and maybe even time to squeeze in an afternoon nap.

    It’s not weakness to acknowledge aging at any stage of the process. Knowing yourself and your limitations—and importantly, accepting it— as you work towards anything is a superpower, not a submission, even if it often seems precisely the opposite.

  • Anything New

    I never really learned to play the piano.

    That is, sure, I could jab the keys and grind out a mean Chopsticks as well as the next ten year old, and sure, we had a little keyboard propped up in our living room when I was growing up, and sure, I could poke a key or two at a time to feel out a song. But I never took lessons, never practiced scales, never learned chords, and never did anything besides fumble at the ivories.

    I have been trying to remedy that in 2026, and my days are incomplete if I haven’t sat down at the keys for at least half an hour each day.

    I recommend learning something new. Anything, really.

    Acquiring new skills can sometimes unlock a powerful ability that you never knew you were missing until you found it. A new perspective, a new way of looking at old problems, or a new bit of insight into the otherwise mundane.

    And you never really know what that will be until you try to acquire those skills.

    When I took up running I started to see the world from the perspective of footpaths and interconnected trails.

    When I learned watercolour paints I suddenly saw colours in a different way.

    Now when I get my head around the piano and chords I listen to music differently, hear the shapes of things when I watch movies, and get a bigger sense of sounds that dance around genres of music.

    Your experience will vary.  But you will experience.

  • Story Layers

    One approach I have noted while writing fiction bears a striking similarity to watercolour painting.

    I have been dabbling in watercolours for about half a decade (as I write this) and it took me a good chunk of that time to get my head around the true power of watercolour painting: layers.

    For a long while I was making reasonably good paintings with a technique that was closer to colouring in the lines: I would sketch something in pencil, then paint it in, mixing my colours in the tray.  The results were okay.

    Then I took a class and was forced to learn about layers. 

    Watercolours are semi-transparent, and when used in particular way can be built up layer by layer to add tonality, depth, blends and dimensionality. Draw a three dimensional cube. Paint all three visible sides with one layer, then paint two of the sides with another layer of the same paint, and then paint one side with a final layer, again with the same paint: voila, you have three shades of paint, implied shadows, and a depth that wouldn’t exist without this simple bit of layering technique.

    I started to think what that looks like with words.  We storytellers sometimes rush through a scene to describe it, but what if we painted back over parts of that scene with additional layers, again and again, until the depth and dimensionality we were seeking appeared right there on the page. 

  • Deeper Seeking

    What is the meaning of it all?

    Oh sure, some people would be happy to tell you that they have all the answers. Some people will even sell you those answers—for the right price, of course.

    I’m not buying, but it doesn’t mean I am in a position to sell, either.

    As I sweep through my life and close in on my fiftieth birthday later this year, I knew better than to expect I would have figured everything out by this point—but I didn’t figure I would still be this far away from any satisfying answers.

    And the world really does seem in shambles right now, doesn’t it?

    How to fix that? Well. For a few months now I’ve been writing this week-daily blog it has done interesting things to the way I have been thinking about inspiration and personal creativity and motivation to make interesting stuff. It’s valuable to me—in other words. But lately it’s been pretty niche without much room for deeper thoughts on the meaning of life and the other sorts of things I’ve been yearning to write about more, too. Something inside of me said, hmmm, what if it also helped work through something a little more—um—metaphysical?

    Thus, here we are. My haunt. This blog. And I’m expanding a bit.

    I started writing on my list of ideas, and realized I had a lot of ground to cover in any such exploration. To that end, I don’t know exactly where I’m going, but I think I can probably cobble together a compass to help me figure out which way to start walking. 

    My plan is to not only keep writing on creativity and inspiration, but to write more posts on mindfulness, balance, clarity and hope, much of it in the context of work, culture, aging, and trying to find a fit for oneself in society, too. It all seems but a distant dot on an unfamiliar map, but I’m determined to get a little closer with each entry here.

  • Inside Outsider

    The first time I ever thought about “outsider” influence on an art was watching that one episode The Simpsons[1]. Homer tries to build a backyard barbecue pit and turns into such a mess that some passing art gallery owner mistakes it for beauty and elevates him into the art scene. It is a parody of the notion of the idea that sometimes creation is accidental… and anyone can do it.

    It’s a farce of course. Comedy.

    But the notion of the novice outsider is not.

    I am definitely an outsider.

    I am not a pro. I am largely self-taught (provided you don’t count the occasional class at the community centre.) And I far too often break the rules simply because I don’t actually know them yet.

    Gatekeepers everywhere will pronounce, thus, that my efforts are null and void.

    And yet others of a more nurturing nature will decide that we are all students and imperfect until the day we die, so all of us are outsiders until then.

    Which is it?

    Being an outsider hardly puts me in a position to suggest what that answer might be, but I would offer that notions of “revitalizing energy”, “fresh blood” and “new talent” are not cliche by accident. I think many people recognize that outsiders can break barriers and unclog stuck patterns, maybe even helping those entrenched on the inside, offering inspiration or change.

    I’m not saying my noodling art will do that by some deliberate design or effort, but I think the possibility of such accidental insight means we shouldn’t simply dismiss outsiders either.