I sometimes think that within the field of the great variety of humanity, there are two types one dealing in the subject of creativity might highlight. There are artists and there are managers. There are creative types and there are organizational types.

Maybe there is choice involved. Maybe there is training involved, or simply, the habits certain people take to. To the managerial type, perhaps the artist might appear to be an addictive personality, one not rooted in the realities by which society operates, an impractical fellow. And to the artistic type, a managerial type might come across as perversely uncreative.

Can one still argue that a creative type has a mind of a particular shape, which then influences the way he or she works, as a dreamer, sort of all over the place, perhaps a spiritual maniac. And in the midst of all the creativity, the mind might even develop a great distaste for that which managers find so important, things like promotion and marketing. These days, of course, to be successful, an artist must be organized and a bit of a self-promoter and think nothing wrong with it. Maybe the artist gets around that problem by applying creativity, good old naked creativity, to the problem of recognition, doing so at the bidding of a deeper vision, then letting the pieces fall into place, if they, luckily, ever do.

Writing should allow for an insight each day, a clear sense of something emerging out of that which has bubbled and simmered in the background a good while.

I only know that a creative type should enjoy some pride in his organic achievements, as my father held. He should have some sense of accomplishment if he has found a day sufficient thereof, a day where he could write some, let's say, or play some music, in addition to the things one must do on a daily basis to take care of things. For he has explored and developed a certain kind of sensibility, a thought out considered way of looking at daily events and perhaps the greater reality behind daily events in so doing. And perhaps that stands out for him as an alternative to riding, to dwelling on the failure aspect of his organizational failures, his unintentional neglect of things another person, more practically inclined, would see as being stupid not to attend to and pretty obvious.

There's a lot in any artist's life that would puzzle another person, that would prompt the question 'what were you thinking?' But that's just how it goes, I think, anyway.