Lit eZine Vol 4 | p-4 | AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT | Interview with Evan Griffith

We bring to you our featured writer Evan Griffith
with his articles
CELEBRATE,
SILENT WALKING: On the importance of walking without sound in your ears
and
RANT OF APPRECIATION
plus
AN INTERVIEW with Evan Griffith

INTERVIEW

TALKING TO Evan Griffith

Lit eZine’s Interview Guest in this issue is writer, artist and art gallery owner Evan Griffith.

Let’s begin with your website “Notes for Creators”. Would you say that notes are a sacred part of your writing life?

Notes For Creators resides at EvanGriffithNotes.com. Interesting phrasing to your question! Your use of the term ‘sacred’ speaks to the heart of my work, in my bookitos, in my newsletters, and on my website.

I’ve been a scribbler since I can remember. Writing notes to myself was my primary means of communicating something important — to me! When you jot a note to yourself, you’re magnifying its power twofold, threefold. 

First, there’s the thought itself — which has clarified enough to become potent to you. Second, in the act of writing it down, you’re refining it, you’re strengthening it, you’re solidifying it into the world. And third, when you read it, you are now re-absorbing that coalesced thought energy back into yourself. 

It’s powerful. And yes, I do feel there’s a sacred dimension to it — to notes and to writing in general — especially when it feels soulful and essential to who you are.

What are your notes all about and can everyone benefit from them?

The notes in my bookitos and on my website started as notes to myself. Insights. Reminders of my power despite antagonizing circumstances. How to live creatively, and how to connect with my deepest resources. How to be more light-hearted in my approach.

Very quickly, as I wrote these notes to myself I realized they’d likely also have universal appeal for others. Not just creatives, but for anyone seeking to connect deeply and to live nimbly and creatively. It turned out to be true. Both creator types and so-called non-creatives have reached out to tell me how much certain posts, newsletters and bookitos have meant to them. 

Except for some early jobs — ranch hand, tire changer, proofreader — I’ve worked the entirety of my professional life in creative fields— In graphic design in New York City, and starting and running an art gallery in Palm Beach County, Florida. As a writer too. 

So, my experience comes from being immersed in creative fields for decades and working with hundreds of intensely creative individuals.

Just as some books grab their themes from sports, the military or the business world, my themes come from living the creative life inside and out — and that has tremendous application for creatives and non-creatives alike.

I tend to write about simple things that make a difference, like making your creativity a spiritual practice walking for connection and creative solutions,  thirty-day morning challenges to bring a project to fruition and embracing your calling at any age or any pace. My themes relate to everyday issues. 

Can you trace the beginning of your serious writing? 

When I was seven or eight, I wrote a series of short stories about “Term The Termite”. He started in Africa and when his tree stump was used for a ship, he ended up in South Florida where I lived — through shipwreck of course.

That sounds whimsical . . . but for me, it truly was the beginning. The written word has only accrued more meaning and more magic for me over the years.

Possibly the thunderclap moment for me was writing a short story called Puddle. And getting it published in the college literary magazine. It’s where I found my voice. It was part quasi-cosmic comedy and part real tragedy, based oh so loosely on a young relative of blighted intelligence who’d shot himself. 

Unexpectedly it brought me small-college fame for a short while. The week it was published, I went to a party — and found myself circled by person after person — some of them pretty, some of them popular, many who’d never engaged with me before — each wanting to acknowledge the impact it had on them. Or wanting to know about me and how I could write such an outlandish piece. Suddenly my brain was sexy.

Both sides of that experience — finding my way while writing an out-there piece, and the reception it got — really drove home to me the value of creating something original and putting it out there in the world.

Do you recall a major turning point in your writing career or has it been a smooth learning curve?

I wrote fiction till I was 35. My final book of fiction was 78 short pieces called Please Kiss Him (not published yet, never sent out). Some of the pieces were fantastical, some were barely-disguised versions of myself grappling with getting everything I ever desired sexually and ultimately finding it wanting. So, this book of 78 pieces leaned heavily into metaphorical and biographical truths in my life at that point. 

Then — this sounds strange — I read two books that deflated my visions as a fiction writer. The first was Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller. The second was The Remains Of The Day by Kazuo Ishiguro. To me, these pinnacles of literature bookended the possibilities of literary fiction. I was gutted. To me, Henry Miller was the apex you could climb in the direction of raw poetic unfiltered experience. And on the other end, Kazuo Ishiguro wrote the most perfectly nuanced and subtly exquisite narrative literary fiction I could imagine. Both were consequential! Both haunted me.

I was just launching myself into a year off from work to kayak, road trip and write — and I found myself unable to write more fiction. I couldn’t even read fiction, not for many years. Everything paled in comparison to those two mountains at the polar ends of literary fiction. 

I didn’t write a book again for 15 years. I took that year off, had adventures, re-met my college love, started an art gallery with her, had a kid — and wrote madly in journals until a decade and a half later it burst into book form again. Specifically, bookito form — which is my term for short novella-length creative nonfiction books.

Experience makes a man. Or, man makes experiences. What do you believe in?

Yes!

I’m not being flippant. (Maybe a little.) I believe it’s both. We are formed by our experiences . . . but at some point, our yearning to create our own way in a chaotic world fires up . . . and we slowly slowly slowly figure out how to mold experience more to our liking.

Do you look at writing as an emotionally draining experience or a catharsis of sorts?

The only aspect of writing that drains me emotionally is getting started. Within seconds I’m transported into whatever I’m working on, regardless of the stage. It could be ideation, where I’m just riffing on ideas and themes. It could be full-on writing. Or editing. I relish them all.

The hardest part for me is locking in a timeframe each day. I own an art gallery with my wife. Anyone making their living in the arts knows the perpetual existential crisis inherent to it. So, the myriad urgencies of running a successful, high-caliber contemporary art gallery tug at me hourly, which is why starting work each day on my bookito project is daunting — even though it’s my calling!

I suspect everyone except hermits feels this way. Torn between life necessities and your life’s work. 

But once I settle in — ahhhhhhhhhhhhh — that’s the sweet spot right there. 

Oh! I get that, and so do all writers who read this, I guess.
In this issue, we are examining hope and gratitude as leading emotions in our lives.
What part, if any, do they play in your context? Are they central to human existence?
Or are they overrated mumbo-jumbo?

The practice of appreciation is central to my existence. I can’t speak for all of humanity — though I often want to! 

Without a sense of keen appreciation, I’m dragged down quickly into the mire. Every day I write a soul page, to ground myself spiritually and mentally. And the two most important thrusts for a soul page — for me — are Appreciation and Creation. 

Creation is about amplifying my dreams and goals. Also working out issues that arise — especially with an eye on possible solutions that are mutually beneficial to all concerned. 

Appreciation is digging into what I’m relishing, what I’m enjoying — who and what floats my little personal boat at that moment. Sometimes my soul page is just that — a long riff on all the magnificence abounding in my life.

What is the biggest existential question of your life?

Personally, it’s this: How do I draw the best out of myself? How do I help draw the best out of people?

I’ve had spiritual experiences in the midst of circumstances that can break you. I’ve had spiritual experiences in everyday life — and for sure during raging good times. 

Because of these epiphanies — on walks, during meditation, writing, and at seemingly humdrum moments — I’m not plagued by the meaning of life. I think of myself as a spiritual existentialist, excited to explore the great mystery, knowing I’ll never grasp it fully — maybe not even in part. For me, it’s about playing in the field of creation in the purest ways I can summon. 

Your happy tonic?

During the daytime: Once upon a time it was Mountain Dew, but I finally finally finally managed to let that love affair go years ago. It’s hard to give up the liquid love of your life. Now it’s iced tea, both green and black.

During the evening: For the most part, I didn’t drink for decades. But now I’m trying to take up red wine occasionally.

Tell me about your latest bookito and what is coming next?

It Is Solved By Walking: How World-Class Creators Solve Life was my last bookito. It is brimming with stories about walking for connection and creative insights. Silent walking. Contemplative walking.

Famous thinkers, creators, writers, musicians, inventors, entrepreneurs and more pop up throughout the narrative. You’d be astonished by the volume of culture-shaping ideas born during a walk. 

My own experience is ladled throughout the bookito, as it is in all my bookitos. Cuz I’m a memoir-ish sprinkler of personal anecdotes kind of writer.

My upcoming bookito is called The Seven Promises of Art: An Invitation To Embrace Your Calling. I believe it will be published on Amazon by the time this issue goes live. Or at the least, soon after.

It’s about embracing your calling at any age and any pace. There are profound to silly stories within because that is my way, all circling around two themes: 

What Art promises you, the practitioner. 

What you must promise, to embrace your calling.

What is your advice to creators trying to make a mark?

I suggest two things:

First, do the work. Daily. Or as close to daily as you can manage, even if in very small increments. Momentum accrues this way, bit by small bit, till damn, you’ve created something worthy of putting out into the world.

Second, do the inner work. For me, it’s what I’m doing every day in meditation, in frequent conversation with other creatives, in silent walking, and in my soul pages. If you don’t have compadres in your creative arena, seek them out, in books and in real life.

Find a practice or practices that resonate for you. Grow yourself — it’s the fastest way to grow your creative work too. 

That is indeed wise advice. Thank you for sharing your insights, Evan. It was wonderful talking to you!