People are always asking me how I get my material. Where do you find the time, they say? Where do you find the inspiration, they wonder? I should warn you that I only answer questions that appeal to my own inflated sense of self. So today, I’ll pull back the curtain and share my creative process.
No one person could think of such high-level concepts alone. It’s impossible. I’m just one man toiling away at his keyboard, praying for assistance. Thankfully, I have a crack team of researchers and fact-checkers working seven days a week for very little pay, even though I only work five. The weekend is where the real work happens. They come from all walks of life. There’s Johnson, a squirrel, who’s an expert in dead languages and salad dressing. There’s a pair of twin seagulls with an impressive background in mathematics and Medieval history. There’s a rat who, prior to joining the crew, toured Latin America as a folk singer. The Tom Chapin of the region. And she’s now one of the top editors in the country. There are other freelance critters who come and go, but these four individuals make up the core of the group.
While the team is integral to my success, they aren’t the ones who give me my ideas. That comes from a higher place. That comes from above. I know that you’re not supposed to reveal your sources since it’s a cornerstone of journalistic ethics and blah blah blah. But I’m not a journalist, nor do I purport to be one. It’s the man upstairs. The big guy with the long robe. The cloud surfing fella who’s got nothing but time on his hands. He's telling me what to say and what to write.
He’s all-seeing, all-knowing and bored like you wouldn’t believe. Why else would He call me every morning? In an era when texting is the preeminent form of communication, He leaves these lengthy voicemails listing of His latest ideas. I try to follow them the best I can. There’s a slight time difference between Queens and his undisclosed location, but that only explains part of the relationship. I’m a stenographer, taking dictation from the deity.
As you might imagine, He’s quite busy. When I need to clarify something, I rarely get Him on the other end of the phone. He hasn’t taken to Zoom or video chatting. Something about it removing the power of His position. If they can see you, there’s a chance they’ll be disappointed. No image can compete with the imagination. That way His beard can be as unkempt as he wants, without having to channel some ludicrous Renaissance vision of who He is. It’s a lot of responsibility. Too much if I you ask me. Our relationship is strictly professional. I don't ask about existence, the meaning of life or anything beyond the blog. It would be an imposition. Why push my luck?
Most mornings that involve a brief follow-up conversation are between me and Patricio, His long-time assistant. Pato’s a fixer, a friend, a confidante and a damn good proofreader. You see, I want to get everything right and sometimes there’s very little context for an idea.
That’s it. That’s my creative process. Some people read books and listen to music for inspiration. I seek help from a higher authority. I’m just being humble. I’m just doing the work. There’s not much more to it than that.
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