A Secret Lesson on Self-Interest (For Creative Eyes Only)

Monday, August 8th – 11:55am

How much are you worth? A dime, a dollar, a hundo? Are you a priceless ol’ prince who can’t be afforded even if someone tickled your nose with a crisp Benjamin? Well, aren’t you cocky to think I’d have my bills anywhere near your nose …

And that’s my point.

Self-worth means jacksh*t if you can’t convince the rest of the world that your time, your skills, and your frosty insights on life and business are worth their time and money.

The learning curve — which I’m only at the elbow’s bend of — for any “content creator” is the mistaken belief that people give a crap about good work. To believe that if you make the thing well, then people will come. I call it the “Judge a Book by the Third Paragraph of the Fourth Chapter” fallacy.

A Lesson on Salesmanship as an Artist

I recently released a short film. You can’t find it now because it’s trapped in the realm of hungry gatekeepers (I’m submitting to festivals at the moment). But for two weeks it was out, and it became my top-viewed movie on YouTube.* Sure it was of solid quality, but that’s not why it did so well. It did well because I cared that it did well.

I became the salesperson for my own film:

I made a sincere, candid video telling people exactly why I wanted them to watch it.
I texted friends (who had no direct incentive to promote the film) and asked them to tell people about the movie.
I posted the film on relevant subreddits.
I linked the film in a Discord group I’m a part of.
Any time someone sent me a DM saying that they liked the film, I asked them to write that publicly on their IG story (A low-hanging fruit since it’s only a 24-hour commitment for practically no effort on their part).

The moral of the story is that I didn’t let people find the movie BY ACCIDENT. I’m willing to guess that 95% of the views came from word-of-mouth referrals or from one of my many sales pitches.

Is this getting too marketing jargony for your palette? I get it, I used to resist all the jargon too. What changed my mind was a lack of results — and if you keep at it, I’m sure you’ll flip too.

Even with this blog, I’m constantly selling you on the ideas AS I’M WRITING THEM.** I don’t assume you care about my anecdotes and I KNOW you don’t care about my short film …

But I also know what you DO care about.

For one, you care about yourself.
For two, you care about selling yourself to other people.

That’s why you’re here, right? Self-interest with a sprinkling of curiosity?

Well, let me jump to the secret of salesmanship as an artist so you can get back to scouring the internet for cheap growth hacks that you’ll forget tomorrow:

“The secret is to ALWAYS frame your call to action as being in the best interest of the AUDIENCE MEMBER.”

Even for art and film; especially for art and film. My sales pitch for the film I made involved these 3 persuasion techniques:

Created urgency (by saying “it will be my final film for a while” & “only available for a limited time” — both true statements)
Created anticipation (by showing snippets of the film and the editing process for the weeks leading up to the release)
Created credibility (by asking friends and fans to promote the film in their own words on their own social channels)

All of which produced the feeling in the soon-to-be-viewer that I OUGHT TO WATCH THIS THING NOW.

I don’t think these techniques are revolutionary in the world of marketing or selling, but I think most artists forget that their work (even if it’s free financially) requires that you sell it to your audience. Remember, all content costs someone their time and attention to consume it …

Only a fool would think those are cheap to earn.

P.S. If you like juicy insights like this one, you ought to sign up for the email list.

*One film did better on view, but this was based on the popularity of one of the actors (i.e., not replicable).

**The bolded, italics, and ALL CAPS words are more intentional than you know.

The Misunderstood Secret About Creative Momentum

Friday, July 15th – 10:22am

I am a runner — a jogger really. A walker-jogger hybrid. Maybe 65% walking, 35% jogging. Unless it’s hot, then that tips in the favor of that hands-over-head walk that gives the illusion of a hard-earned break.

It’s not.

For me, it’s not.

In fact, for me, the more I walk, the more I walk. No, I’m not having a stroke. I’ll repeat myself: The first heel-first step in the midst of my so-called “run” can directly account for the second heel-first step and the third and so on and so on … until I’m home and hit by the air-conditioned glory of a faintly vanilla-smelling house that I don’t pay rent for.

But forget the vanilla smell and the AC, that crap doesn’t matter for the lesson this man-child-turned-writer still living with his parents (Hey, isn’t that an oxymoron?) is about to enlighten you with. Yes, I, Sean Patrick Greene, hold the glorious manifestation of that fabled, smoke-up-the-a** lesson of life called “momentum.”

Momentum (mo-men-TUM for the syllabically-challenged) is that special word in the jargon of every speaker on a TEDx stage and then some. But what does it mean? I mean, really, what does it mean? Not “push your glasses up with a finger and read from the Oxford dictionary” meaning, but the visceral, physical, usable meaning.

SIDE NOTE: I don’t think we (that’s “me” spelled upside-down in a mirror) push ourselves as hard as previous generations. I’m talking full-blown, Rocky, “Aye, yo, Adrian,” round twelve in the ring level pushing ourselves. This is especially true of the suburban-born, man-children (men-children?) running around their disgustingly suburban neighborhoods in a constant state of ennui:

“The comfort is unbearable,” I cry while I fall into my fainting chair and fan my face as quick as a hummingbird.

But I digress. I reflect. I realize. I realize that there are two kinds of momentum: the good stuff and the bad stuff. The good stuff is the crap people are always yammering on about; you know it. The bad stuff we call “bad habits” and “addiction” … but I think that’s an oversimplification. What do we call the momentum of malaise, of boredom, of okay-ness? all of which you’d really be amiss to call “bad” as you would a physiological, health-destroying addiction.

It is not negative or positive; it is zero.
It is comfort — unearned, yet undesirable.
It is to be stuck between a rock and a hard place: If the rock was a couch and the hard place was that heavy thing called “gravity.”

And excuse my non-political-correctness but don’t label this shit with something from the DSM-5 and write up an SSRI script. It’s not that serious … yet all the more sinister.

So how do we remedy the ennui of the suburbs?

I think, as simple and redonkulously stupid an answer this may be, the solution is to keep pace — at all times.

ANOTHER SIDE NOTE: Every morning I wake up (yes, really, I wake up just like you). I sit up in bed and look at my phone; refresh my email, look at my sleep score, etc., etc.* I piss, brew some coffee, then sit in a chair to meditate for the shortest amount it’ll let me on the phone app. I check my phone some more after that.* I put earbuds in and listen to the sweet sounds of very explicit rap music, then … the world is my oyster I suppose.

Oh, the phone!

The comfort rectangle for all ages! You adult pacifier, you!

You mindless little screen full of infinite possibilities!

I hate my phone. It is the momentum-killer of this era; of which I see no equivalent in history. The phone — not only social media but definitely including social media — has become our excuse to walk instead of run, metaphorically speaking.

But I’m mixing metaphors with side notes here, so let me get CRYSTAL CLEAR on my point:

On runs, everyone moves out of the gate at a solid pace. Eventually, though, our feet hurt, our lungs are crying out for more oxygen, and we want to walk. The paradox is that the first heel-first step makes all the jogging stuff seem awful in comparison: To walk for a step makes walking for another step all the easier.

The equivalent mindset takes hold in the domain of getting stuff done: Difficult but rewarding stuff. We begin at our keyboard, with the steam still pipping from our coffee, and the words flow on the page like water through a stream. Then a ding — someone texts you. Or the music you turned on has gone stale and now you’re poking around in Spotify; or the “research” you’re totally doing has got you watching “educational videos” on YouTube for that “article” you’re definitely writing. At some point, though, you realize, you’ve let up — you’ve lost pace.

Usually, it’s impossible to tell until you go back to the page from before. It’s different now: Archiache, disconnected — like a relic of a “you” which might have once existed …

Two cases of lost momentum. And as much as I’d like to use the internet and the iPhone as a scapegoat, the fact is that momentum is lost when you (or me) stop pushing. I think our phones can only be blamed as fuel to the fire for an already existing desire to give up when we feel a bit of pain. WE DESIRE THE DISTRACTION. That’s how momentum is lost, when we decide the pain of pushing through (i.e., pleasurable in the long-term) is worse than giving up (i.e., painful in the long-term; pleasurable in the short-term).

The desire to distract ourselves when we do creative work is the equivalent of the pain felt on a tough run: It’s unavoidable. … BUT giving in or giving up is not inevitable.

Momentum begins anew every morning. Do not feed it bullsh*t for breakfast. Do not give yourself a taste of distraction before you’ve begun the day. (Even the weather app can be a distraction if you’re honest with yourself). Consider that every “give in” to whatever unimportant thing just chimed on your phone is the equivalent of one more heel-first step on a run: It makes it that much more likely that you’ll give in again, and again, and again.

No, you won’t sweat and be gasping for breath by the end of a writing session (God, I hope not). The pain is different; it’s subtle. It is the shame and doubt of creative impotence. A shame that makes us idealize our old work, and revel in the popular stuff on NameWhateverSocialMediaYouWant.com.

Forget all that crap. Sit with the impotence. It’s only in distracting ourselves to the end of the day that we never see the thing to the end. Momentum returns to those who are patient and willing to suffer (in the self-doubting, shooting blanks sense of the word).

Ride it out, my friend. Keep pace.

P.S. For those looking for an actionable takeaway, try this: Next time you go running on something other than a treadmill, maintain a jogging pace or faster. Don’t let yourself walk or stop AT ALL. Even if you look like an idiot running in place while you wait for cars to drive by. It’s an extremely effective mental exercise for pushing through minor discomfort.

P.S.S. I just released a short film that took quite a bit of time and may have inspired this post. If you’re curious, you can watch Bugging Me on YouTube.

*As a person who hardly uses social media, I can tell you that we’re being too limited in what we qualify as distracting and addictive on the phone.

Stop Trying To Visualize (You’d Be Better Off Running)

Thursday, June 30th – 12:04pm

Have you ever heard about that study where basketball players visualized shooting free throws instead of, you know, actually shooting them?

When I heard about that I thought it was the coolest thing in the world. I played hockey at the time. All I have to do is score in my mind, I thought. Then I will be the greatest. (I was notoriously the not-greatest on the team). Screw my past failures and weak hand-eye coordination, I had found the hack of all hacks: The crème de la crème of quick & easy success. Can you tell I went through a law of attraction phase?

And so I tried it.

And it didn’t work.

Maybe I’m weird, but if I try to visualize scoring a point in a sport—in my case, hockey, but it applies to any other—I literally can’t imagine myself scoring. I mean, if I close my eyes and picture myself skating toward an empty net; if I prime myself for a snapshot to go in just below the crossbar, I will hit the crossbar in, my mind’s eye, and the puck will not go in.

Perhaps I’m not sports-minded … or perhaps (and I’d put my money on this one) Victor Frankl’s idea of paradoxical intention has paralyzed me.

The willfully created, mental picture with the eyes closed, is the stereotype of visualization. Hell, it’s in the name “visual”-ization—if we can’t make a proper picture in our heads then there must be something jacked up about us, right? Maybe. Or maybe we’ve misconstrued the term that’s been touted as the “key to success” by personal development aficionados since the time of Napoleon Hill. Quite simply, I think the error is in limiting our imagination of the future to only one of our senses (even if this is only out of linguistic convenience). In truth, our imagination—our mental process for creating what doesn’t exist inside our mind—is what supersedes visualization. The problem is that this word is so all-encompassing that it would not be fair to limit its definition to what we are attempting to get at with the word “visualization.”

Visualization, when it is referred to outside the realm of science and data, is almost exclusively used to refer to visualization techniques. Techniques whose purpose is either:

To relax—something you may see in the midst of mindfulness meditation class.
To empower—designed to produce more confidence in a skill (whether scoring free throws or giving an important speech).
To place yourself into a future reality—one that you deem more ideal than your current one.

I do not take any issue with these things, I’m only writing this because of how important I think these three processes are to us. What I take issue with is the emphasis on the visual nature of the techniques. I would like to offer an alternative term to refer to this process that doesn’t limit the number of routes we can use to reach the given outcome: I will then make an argument for why this linguistic change is so important.

The term is sensorize. (Wow, look how clever I am). Sensorize and sensorization are the words I firmly believe should replace the current cultural obsession with visualization (the exception being any technique that is expressly visual, as may be the case in a certain meditation). It may seem like such a simple and insignificant change, but as the acceptance and understanding of different sensory learning styles become more common in the classroom, I think it’s imperative to shift our language in the personal development domain.*

But what would the shift mean? Not much if it doesn’t catch on. However, if you are reading this right now, I can offer some food for thought that may change your thinking:

The point of any technique that involves imagining the future for yourself is to create the emotional response in your body and link it to that outcome. You do not, I would argue, have to see that future outcome if you can form the emotional anchor by some other means. What is much more important is knowing the outcome. This can be done by adapting other people’s stories (or synthesizing multiple stories) of success to yourself.**

From there, once the outcome is pieced together, sensorize it in the present moment by any means necessary. If you struggle with mental pictures, embrace your thoughts in their auditory, kinesthetic, or even written form (which is distinct from visualization according to Neil Flemming’s theory on learning styles).

Pump yourself with music while you read the description of your outcome.
Go on a run while you listen to the description of the outcome that you recorded in a tone that fills you with energy.
Listen to that Steve Jobs speech that everyone always oodles over, then say, out loud, the outcome you want.

There is a story of how Jim Carrey wrote a check to himself for $10 million that he was determined to cash it by 1994. Even though Carrey himself considered it an act of visualization, I would argue that the physicality of the check (kinesthetic) and the dollar amount on the check (reading/writing) was the true power it held.

“By Any Means Necessary”

This idea of linking the emotion by any means necessary should not be overlooked. “By any means necessary” is the keystone phrase to combat the paradoxical intention (i.e., the harder you try to do something, the more it eludes you) that I experienced when I tried to visualize myself scoring a goal back in high school.

I can say, anecdotally at least, that when I am in a good mood, it is much easier for me to think about positive future outcomes. When, however, I set aside time to think about a certain positive future outcome (as is the case when I block out time to set goals), my mind either goes blank or fills with worrying thoughts. What this points to is the need to understand the concept of “hyper-intention” in order to go about achieving our outcome (in this case, linking emotion to an anticipated future) indirectly.

I would even go so far as to say, “You CANNOT think about your positive future outcome.” Sure, write the thing on a note card; sign that million-dollar check to yourself. But don’t think about the outcome. Focus purely on (1) generating the emotion, by physically moving your body in an exciting way, and (2) looking at the tangible reminder of the outcome; whether written, visual, auditory, etc.

I’ll conclude with a metaphor to solidify all this rambling:

Light refracted in water droplets creates a rainbow. The rainbow is the output, not the input. If you spend your time trying to find where the rainbow begins so that you can reverse engineer it, then it will forever elude you.

Don’t think about the rainbow; direct your energy to the light and the water and the rainbow will arise.

*This applies more widely but I think it’s most applicable here. (Maybe I’m biased).

**I’m referring to success in terms of achieving an outcome that you consciously chose and worked toward (this goes beyond money and fame).

Inspiration Never Strikes (The Myth of the “Napkin” Idea)

Saturday, June 18th – 3:31pm

Here’s a story that might sound familiar:

Guy sits at the end of a bar and scribbles something on a cocktail napkin. His pen runs dry. He asks for another; plus a second glass of that Pale Ale on draft.

Wow. The first sip of it is cold and fantastic. He writes further on the soft paper. His scribbling has turned to rambling and the rambling turns into an idea. An idea or a dream? A dream—what an unreal thing—like the shape of a cloud or the end of a rainbow. Only with defocused eyes can you really see it. Maybe that’s the second beer talking.

Mwah! Finished.

He kisses the napkin (except with one hand so it’s not as poetic as you see in the movies), then tomahawk throws the pen into the bullseye at the far end of the bar where some big-bellies play darts. He pays the tab with a single twenty and tells the bartender to keep the change.

What?

I said keep the change.

Oh, thank you.

I won’t need any change where I’m going.

What?

I’m sorry I was muttering to myself.

Okay.

He walks home. The napkin soaks the sweat beading on his hand. It’s hot as hell out here. The orange from the sun bounces like a pinball against the skyscrapers and keeps blinding him no matter how he holds his arm.

Screw it. He pushes the napkin to the bottom of his pocket and wipes his hand dry on the outside of his pants.

Home at last.

The first gust of air from the lobby is the same as when you stick your head in the freezer after the AC’s gone out. Guy walks up three flights of stairs, enters his apartment, loosens his tie, and hu-ruffs onto his couch.

The napkin, he thinks. Don’t forget the napkin. There is gold in this pocket. Thin, inky gold. He’s smiling now. The idea of a lifetime, written on a dinky bar napkin. Guy decides he’ll frame the thing when this is all said and done.

He clears the center portion of the coffee table. There’s an empty beer and two Chinese takeout boxes still sitting out—one had shrimp “something” in it and stinks real bad. Screw it. He feels giddy: only half-remembering what he’d written.

The prophecy, the golden scroll, the napkin.

He irons it flat with his hands, then leans in to read his small marks.

What have you written, Guy? What have you dreamt for yourself …?

Ever heard how the design for the Sears Tower in Chicago was inspired by a pack of cigarettes?

Wowee, maybe there’s something to those lung cancer sticks …

What about the one where Aaron Sorkin wrote “A Few Good Men” on a whole stack of cocktail napkins?

Someone, get me five G&Ts pronto! … oh, sure, yeah—some cocktail napkins too.

Why is it that the worst kind of napkin and a cheap pen have such a mythological quality when combined? Together they form the pinnacle origin story of the Modern American Dream (that being, to get stupid rich and stupid famous).

Maybe it’s not the napkin we’re caught on; maybe it’s the “struck with inspiration” narrative that we’re all stuck on. The American zeitgeist (i.e., the cultural cliché) of the past 60 years is literally built on those stories: Not always with cocktail napkins, but always with a rugged unpreparedness and well-timed spontaneity.

Yet, I, the aficionado of none, SEE THROUGH THE MYTHS. Everyone is “struck with inspiration” on occasion. Do not idolize the pen or the bar or the cocktail or the napkin. Take the magic out of the myth. ZAP! There’s no magic in what I’m speaking about. The myth of the origin story is ALWAYS crafted looking backward. And you, the great gobbler of all things labeled “advice,” will either give up too early because you don’t think you have the special stuff. Or, you’ll spend a lifetime doing the ol’ bar crawl séance hoping a few drinks at the place where “that one guy thought of that one thing” will spark something for you.

There are two main differences, though, between those whose origin stories become cultural cliché and those whose stories die a quiet death:

1. Where do you spend your thoughts?

There is artistic inspiration, entrepreneurial inspiration, and mediocre inspiration (e.g., your grand plan for Chuck McDoowad perfect surprise party).

Sorkin was “struck” with a story that would go on to change his life because he ate up theatre like a fat king with a turkey leg. He wanted to act, he went to school for musical theatre, and he wrote the script on those cocktail napkins while bartending at a theatre while the first act of a French musical was going on.*

You, on the other hand, will not find an idea that tops the “fidget spinner” because your mind is CONSUMED by your desk job … and sports … and shrimp fried rice. Also, really? The fidget spinner is what you’re trying to top?

Ever noticed how every “million-dollar idea” you hear about from that uncle who still smokes loose tobacco from a pipe is the most superficial, first-world, so-convenient-that-it’s-not-convenient idea you’re ever heard? That’s what you get when QVC and Good Morning America are your go-to sources of innovation.

2. What do you do when inspiration strikes?

You act on it. You write. You buy those tacky rainbow note cards and pin them to the wall like you saw Steve Martin do in Bowfinger. You cash in favors. You reach out to that pipe-smoking uncle. You find the right story to tell. Then you sell (just the idea at the start). You sell the crap out of it; you sell the crap out of it to people of influence. You sell and you get rejected and you sell again and you get rejected and you sell again and you see one of their eyebrows raise and you get rejected and you sell again …

Capisce?

There is no idea ATM to cash in your ideas for a quick payout. There’s no mob of people waiting to give you money (minus those gone-viral products with incredibly smart brand positioning).**

I would know … this isn’t my first rodeo.

But my point — my beautiful, self-gratifying, ego-saturated (hey ladies, did I mention I’m a writer with a HuGE vocabulary) point — is that there is no “ah-ha” moment except the kind that comes after you’ve spent a long time sulking in the gray zone of wanting a new idea, or a problem to solve, or a story to tell, BUT NOT HAVING ONE. That gray zone is the zone of inspiration. The zone where a constipated brain finds something to bite down on and push like there’s no tomorrow … I promise you will find something in that toilet if you push long enough.

My final note is this: If you want to get struck by lightning, then jump in a rooftop pool while holding a big, metal umbrella.

Take that metaphor as you will.

All the best,

Sean Patrick Greene

*That’s not meant to paint the story with yet another mythological brush. Rather, it’s meant to embody that Emerson quote, “You become what you think about all day long.”

**In the case of the viral peanut butter brand, the entire business was shaped around consumer demand and modeling an already tested idea. But even prior to the virality, there was an uphill battle for getting the brand going. For something designed to influence the trends rather than meld into them (which is what artists often strive for), the uphill battle for influence and virality lasts a lot longer. A LOT longer.