And so we continue with the second installment of my book, The Endless Creative. You can find part one right here.

Since this is coming at you in blog form, I’ll give you a bit of a heads up. The original book is broken into 3 Acts, each with 4 sections in them. It makes more sense when you have a table of contents to look at and pages to flip through. I’ll be simplifying it here and removing some of the things in the book that don’t really make sense for a blog series.

However, there is a fictional narrative woven throughout, and I’m leaving that in. Now that you know, hopefully it’ll make things a bit less confusing. But don’t expect me to go on explaining everything to you now. After all, a little confusion keeps things interesting…

Act I – The Approach

Creative (n)

One who sees the world differently, who asks questions and discovers new solutions; one who, through inspiration, imagination, and innovation, both embraces change in their own life and causes change in the lives of others.

Out of the Ordinary

The weather this afternoon, warm and humid, rests upon the residents of Plateau Town like a damp fleece. It causes the dust, kicked up by bustling passersby, to cling to your skin and clothes. You’re in no hurry today, but neither are you slow. You wander what seems an aimless path through cramped alleys filled with rubbish, under the shade of purple and yellow patches of stretched-out canvas, past storefront after busy storefront.

You brush past other shoppers, the hum of their talk blending into one dull cacophony, like the buzzing of bees. And yet you do pause from time to time to pick out a word or two. You recognize a familiar topic among the crowd: talk of unusual happenings—people mysteriously turning into stone, sometimes a limb or two, sometimes the whole person. You’ve heard this before, nearly a month ago, and dismissed it as a tall tale, but as more secondhand reports come in, you accept there must be something to these stories. It’s something to investigate.

Later.

Despite the hushed tales, those who spread the gossip do not seem too bothered. Others are more interested in what is on sale today, caught up in the endless hunt for the things they most desire—things that never quite satisfy. The shops with their aromas, shiny wares, and enticing sounds seem to go on forever until, at last, you arrive at your intended destination: the Marketplace of Ideas.

It is there I notice you, standing on the other side of the street between some merchant of healthy eating habits and another who promises to teach you the twelve meditational secrets for great happiness. But their words are lost in the din. Those morsels, which once tickled your ears, do so no more. Such things have their place, but today you’re looking for something else, something new, something real. You turn, and our eyes meet. In your eyes, I, too, find the very thing I’ve been seeking.

You cross the dirt road, deftly avoiding a reckless horse-driven cart, and arrive at my storefront—little more than a wooden desk and chair in front of a faded yellow tent covered in green patches. As you approach, you inhale…what is that—peppermint?

You pause in silence to consider me: tall and thin, leaning forward with both palms pressed against the desk like a general studying battle plans. I wear a worn gray duster over a teal vest. Around my neck hangs a blue-and-red-striped bandana necktie. The whole get-up clashes noticeably. Under the unusually wide brim of my hat, you see eyes with a familiar gleam, one that calls to memory a place—ancient but somehow known. I welcome you with a wry grin, then shift in my chair, glance side to side, and lean in toward you.

On the desk beneath me lies a rusty compass and a weathered map made of animal skin. The map is hardly bigger than a napkin, with just a few simple lines and the occasional word to mark geographic locations—you do not recognize any of them. Then again, it has been some time since you’ve left town. On the edge of the table, closest to me, is a simple box made of chestnut, just big enough to hold a pocket watch.

I lean in a little closer and speak in hoarse tones, not quite a whisper, “Storm’s brewin’.”

You look up at the cloudless sky, then down again.

I pause for a moment, and we study one another. I tug on my bandana and clear my throat. “And just what brings you here today? What is it you seek? Another shiny object of distraction? Sorry, don’t sell those. But no, you wouldn’t have come to my little booth for that. You can find those anywhere. So what do I offer here? Well, it’s something a little … different. Something intangible, something of great—dare I say, immeasurable—value. Intrigued? Today I’m offering—waaaaait for it—a new perspective. Or is it an old perspective made new? You’re confused. Let me explain—”

My speech stops short, and my eyes dart like startled squirrels. You look behind and see two rugged men in long black coats strolling down the street, casual yet watchful—hyenas looking for a meal. You spy the glint of metal in their holsters.

I pull back my sleeve and glance at an empty spot on my wrist. “I apologize, but it seems I’ve got some business I must attend to. I think it wise to continue our discussion elsewhere, more removed from the din and dither of the crowd. If you’re still interested, you’ll find me at The Outlook on the edge of town. I’ll be there in two hours’ time. Don’t delay, mind you. I aim to leave soon.”

I offer a sharp nod and then pull the collar up on my coat, scoop my belongings from off the table, and crouch into the low tent behind me.

My head emerges once more. “Oh, and be sure to bring your horse and an open mind. In reverse order. See you shortly.”

I tip the wide brim of my hat and vanish behind the tent flap. You hear a sound like a rubber duck squeaking, and the tent shakes as if a miniature explosion had just gone off inside. Purple smoke curls up from under the tent.

The two black-coated men are talking with some merchants across the street, holding what looks like sketched portraits in their hands. You decide it’s high time you slipped back into the crowd. You’re soon glad you did—the merchants point in the direction of my tent.

From a distance, you observe the two men approaching the tent. They search the table, then kick it over in disgust. One of them peels back the tent flap—the only entrance—and you notice the inside is completely empty.

When the men turn back to scan the crowd, you decide it’s best you disappear as well.