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“When I get to heaven I mean to spend a considerable portion of my first million years in painting,” wrote Winston Churchill in 1922. We have no idea how that project is going for the late British statesman, but we do know what he meant: Artistic creativity is a divine pursuit, and one of the great secrets to happiness.
I have believed this axiom from earliest childhood, thanks to afternoon hours blissfully spent painting with my mother (who was an artist). The belief persisted into later years, when I was playing music professionally through my 20s. And it remains true for me today, writing books and this column.
As a social scientist, I also have the evidence that creative pursuits are one of the best ways to boost well-being. Experiments find, for example, that expressive writing can raise life satisfaction, and painting may lower symptoms of depression and anxiety. Nearly half of Americans say that they use creativity to relieve stress. Given the solid research linking creativity and happiness, it stands to reason that advice for becoming more creative might function well as general guidance for well-being. After all, your life is itself a creative work in progress; treating it as such should make you happier.
To test out this idea, I asked an exceptionally creative person: the writer James Patterson, whom I recently interviewed for my weekly podcast. As prolific as he is popular, Patterson has, over the decades, published more than 200 books, which have sold in excess of 425 million copies; he also holds the Guinness World Record for most No. 1 New York Times best sellers (67). I wanted to ask what lessons in creativity he could offer, and how to sustain that literary drive year after year. And I wondered about the life lessons his artistic methods have taught him as well.
I reached Patterson at his home office in Florida, where he spends his time when he’s not in New York. He started out by very affably dismissing my entire project. “I never have advice for people,” he told me, but then went on: “I’m just going to tell you what I do, and you might find some of it useful.” Exactly what I wanted—which, of course, he knew.
I began by asking him about his early experiences as a professional writer—specifically, a murder mystery he wrote in 1976, at the age of 29. A smash hit, right? Wrong: The Thomas Berryman Number was rejected by 31 publishers. That’s a lot of rejection letters—but at least “some of them were pleasant,” he said. After finally finding a small publisher that accepted the book, it went on to win the prestigious Edgar Award for best first mystery in 1977, and it’s still selling today.
What did Patterson learn from this? If you are rejected, he told me, it doesn’t mean that you or your work are terrible.
Still, rejection is an inevitable part of the creative life, and it generally does not involve the subsequent vindication of a prestigious award. I asked him how to stay motivated and keep writing when the successes seem few and far between. His answer was, and still is, to focus on the books themselves, not on their reception—“to make them as good as I can,” he said, rather than worrying about whether they’re going to succeed.
Patterson had more to say about the process of writing. When he mentioned that Tom Wolfe was known for producing great first drafts, I asked what his own first drafts were like. “I think mostly crap,” he replied. But he did not mean this as modesty or self-denigration; he was making the point that a scrappy initial effort is the norm, and that for almost every creative writer, quality and success depend not on writing, but on rewriting.
Writing and rewriting more than 200 books takes some serious grit, and no small amount of inspiration. I wondered how Patterson endlessly comes up with ideas for compelling stories. “I’ll see some little scene in a movie,” he told me, or “somebody in the street. It’s just little things.” The key lies not in epic adventures or outlandish yarns, but in simply taking extraordinary interest in ordinary things.
I sensed that this wisdom of the ordinary might have been gained with age and experience, so I wondered what else had changed over five decades of work (a favorite topic of mine). Without hesitation, he said that his focus and concentration have suffered—but, now in his 70s, he feels that he has become stronger at character development and stylistic quality, as well as at collaboration with others. This is consistent with a distinction, made by psychologists, between two types of intelligence: fluid and crystallized. The former is highest in early adulthood; the latter takes precedence in later years.
I wondered whether this shift had left Patterson with any feeling of things undone. “I don’t look back too much,” he told me. “I’m not a big regrets person.” If he notices something in his earlier work that he could have done better, he tries “not to ruin the day with it.” He has a phrase to sum up this philosophy: “It’s biscuits.” Meaning? The biscuits are made. Butter ’em, eat ’em, and move on.
I hope the whole interview is worth listening to, but the points I’ve highlighted here imply not just a philosophy of creative writing, but a way of living happily: what I’ll call Patterson’s Maxims for a Happy Life.
1. Be confident, but be humble. If you are rejected, it doesn’t mean you or your work are terrible. On the flip side, if you are celebrated, it doesn’t mean you and your work are wonderful. To accept this is to benefit from what psychologists have called “quiet ego,” which I’ve written about in the past. The research is clear that the quiet ego’s combination of traits predicts resilience and well-being, because confidence allows a person to act without too much fear, while humility keeps them from becoming unbearable when things go well.
2. Pay attention to process rather than outcomes. We all have life goals, things we’d like to achieve, but we all experience some outcomes we want and others we do not. To live in equanimity, however, is to focus most of the time on doing things well in the present. So if, say, you want your kids to turn out well, the best parenting strategy is to turn your attention to what you should do right now with your child that will be conducive to that outcome.
3. Excellence is less about talent and inspiration, more about hard work and persistence. What sets successful people apart is generally not just natural talent but what the psychologist Angela Duckworth calls “grit,” the quality of character that combines desire and perseverance. And anyone can acquire more grit, enhancing their likelihood of success, by focusing on six factors that Patterson clearly practices in his writing: hope, effort, precision, passion, ritual, and prioritization.
4. To find the most meaning, look for a life more ordinary. To feel significance, you might think that you should frequently seek novel experiences outside your usual routine. But scholars find that everyday habits give people a sense of meaning as well. This is especially true as we get older: Researchers have shown that as people age, they are more likely to associate life’s regular experiences—a simple dinner with friends, a walk in the park or on the beach—with happiness.
5. Focus on what’s getting better, rather than fretting over what’s getting worse. Early in life, you will probably have strong focus and innovative ability. As these wane, you will find new capacities in, say, vocabulary and general knowledge. Knowing the difference—and playing to your strengths at different times of life—leads to a happier existence.
6. It’s biscuits. Being cognizant of past missteps is certainly wise, to help you learn and grow as a person. But ruminating on the past, especially on an episode you perceive as an error or a cause for grievance, is strongly associated with negative emotions. Sound evidence backs the idea that learning to live more mindfully in the present can help you feel more biscuits about your past—and, as Patterson says, “move on” more happily.
Reflecting on the conversation, I had one lingering question: How normal is Patterson? As writers and artists go, I mean. He is a remarkably upbeat person—in an occupation known for a high incidence of depression, anxiety, and other psychiatric disorders. Many celebrated creative people have testified to the agonies of life in the arts. George Orwell said that “writing a book is a horrible, exhausting struggle, like a long bout of some painful illness.” But how does Patterson find the work of writing? “I love it. I love it. I love it. love it.”
This brought me back to my original thesis—about the association that researchers have found between creative pursuits and happiness. For a very famous writer, Patterson may be quite abnormal in his contentment. But the fact that the creative work of writing makes him so happy could mean that he’s an inspiringly normal example for the rest of us.
The post James Patterson’s Maxims for a Happy Life appeared first on The Atlantic.
