I once heard another author say that she wanted to be writer since she was in fourth grade when she found out that books were created by people like her.
I was completely floored.
I can’t REMEMBER a time when I didn’t know that books was made by people. I’ve talked about being a writer since I was five, so maybe my kindergarten teacher explained it to me.
But I think it goes deeper than that. As a kid, I was completely surrounded by craftspeople—makers who made things I could actually see.
My mother was as creative in the kitchen as she was with charcoal or a paintbrush in front of her easel. My father, a contractor, could lead a team of people into a muddy field and leave a building in its place months later. My grandmother would make us quilts, and my great-grandmother would make us nightgowns, Christmas stockings, cookies, egg nog. (Honestly, it seemed like my great-grandmother could make anything.)
So growing up, I always understood things, like books and buildings and nightgowns, came from craftspeople making them, because this was something I witnessed all the time.
With so many makers in my life, I knew: there’s a hands-on process behind everything.
I point this out, because in our culture, we often look at the finished work and marvel at it.
When we ask, “How was it made?,” we think of the “creative process,” as in the specific intentions, actions, and techniques that went into the making of that specific piece from that specific individual.
This is useful, but that’s just what you see above ground.
It’s like looking at a tree. What you see is full of beauty and life and color, but it’s only half the tree. In a healthy tree, there’s roughly as much tree mass in the roots as there is in the trunk, branches, and leaves above the surface. (This varies by species and climate and individual tree.) That means when you look at a tree, you’re really only seeing half the tree.
Much like that, the creative process—the active making of a finished piece—is only half of what goes into that piece. I call the other half “hidden roots,” because there’s an unseen and often unmentioned root system for the completed creation you see aboveground. (Yes, I’m having fun with this metaphor.)
With all the craftspeople in my life, I got a front row seat to this: I could see that it’s not just the hands-on work to finish the project itself.
It’s gathering the materials and prepping them.
It’s finding teachers and taking classes.
It’s learning new skills and practicing them.
It’s exploring new ideas and experimenting with them,
& for those who want to be professional, it’s also figuring out how the industry of your chosen field works and learning how to share what you make with the world.
Not all creators talk about these “hidden roots,” the invisible root system of whatever finished piece you see.
But I do. Mainly because I love to talk about creativity and everything related to it.
Also, because it’s important to learn about the hidden, often-unspoken bits of a creative life.
A few random reasons:
Hidden Roots show a more complete picture of a healthy creative lifestyle.
As a writer, or as any type of creator, you’ll be committed to the entire creative life—not just the shiny, aboveground bits. Some of it is as fun as the creative process—some of it less so. It’s nice to have a little warning ahead a time.
Maybe you’re feeling discouraged about your creative dream.
For example, maybe you’re thinking, “Wow, I’m already {insert your age} years old and I haven’t finished a novel yet, let alone published one. Maybe it’ll never happen.” But then you realize how much you’ve been learning, by taking a bunch of classes and listening to a bunch of podcasts and reading this post, knowledge that will help you writing and you realize: “Oh, wow, I’ve been growing roots this entire time.”
Maybe you’re already writing or creating a lot, but you’re feeling a little wobbly about other things.
Maybe you actually need to grow some more roots so that you feel more stable and nourished as you make what you want to make.
Learning about someone else’s hidden roots can inspire you to start tending your own.
I’m not telling you about the hidden roots of what I make so that you can recreate my path.
First of all, some of you probably don’t even want to be novelists.
Second of all, you can’t recreate my path. It’s unrepeatable the same way I, as a person, as a writer, as a maker, am unrepeatable. Just like you. You are unrepeatable, and you are creating your own path.
So, I’ve been talking about my hidden roots so that you’re better prepared to create your own path, towards whatever you’re dreaming up.
It’s not just above ground work, like the creative process.
Some of it is below ground work, hidden roots that nourish you and what you’re making. Like classes and experience and practice. Like exploration and play and passion.
When I share here, including the examples below, my hope is that you start to see a pattern.