P.M. Castle

Colorado Author

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There’s a lot to learn from ingenious efforts

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I’ve long wondered what makes geniuses so … ingenious. 

How could DaVinci envision his remarkable inventions? What enabled Mozart to compose such magnificent music? Where did Einstein draw his inspiration to develop his theories on relativity?

For that matter, how, oh how, did Bill Watterson cram so much creativity, humor and insight into a comic strip about a hyperactive kid and his toy tiger?

Perhaps the more important question for the rest of us poor schmoes is this: Is there anything we can learn from geniuses to apply to our lives? If we can’t be geniuses, can we at least achieve to some degree their levels of prowess? 

If nothing else, I’d like to write a well-turned phrase once in a while.

Craig Wright explores this topic in his book titled “The Hidden Habits of Genius: Beyond Talent, IQ, and Grit—Unlocking the Secrets of Greatness.” A music professor at Yale University, Wright also taught a popular course there on the nature of genius.

So what makes geniuses geniuses? As Wright repeats in his book, there is no answer.

For starters, there’s disagreement over what constitutes a genius. Talent and intelligence are involved, but there’s more to it than that. Wright quotes the German philosopher Arthur Schopenhauer: “A person of talent hits a target that no one else can hit; a person of genius hits a target that no one else can see.”

Wright offers his own definition of genius as someone of extraordinary mental powers whose original works or insights significantly change society over time.

As unique as they are, geniuses share some commonalities — what Wright considers their hidden habits. Their work ethic, curiosity and passion. But also their faults as not-so-great human beings.

I was especially interested in what Wright had to write about authors — among them Mary Shelley, Toni Morrison and J.K. Rowling.

Wright cites their imagination. Think of the creature Shelley brings to life in “Frankenstein” or wizarding world Rowling builds for her Harry Potter series.

Then there’s grit. When she was a single mother raising two sons in a small rented home in Queens, Morrison got up early and stayed up late to write. 

And then there’s resolve borne of adversity. Rowling believed if she had enjoyed even a modicum of success in another endeavor, she never would have developed the determination to succeed as a writer. Her rock bottom became the solid foundation upon which she built a career as one of the best-selling authors of all time.

I’m no genius. I don’t even play one on TV. But I’d like to believe I’m smart enough to learn from the efforts of others, to take to heart the importance of imagination, grit and determination.

I’m even hopeful that some day perhaps my efforts will prove … ingenious.

What I’m resolved not to do in 2021

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I’m usually resolved at this time of year to do something. Get fit. Read more. Or better still, find that literary agent who shares my passion to tell my stories.

Don’t get me wrong. I plan to query agents in 2021. More fervently, if anything.

Otherwise, I’ve decided on a different approach. Rather than compile a list of goals I aspire to achieve, I’m going to strive instead to avoid those things I shouldn’t do.

So here are my New Year’s resolutions of different sort. My list of don’ts. I’m sharing in case others might find it useful. But I’m not so much preaching as confessing. These are things I expect to work on in the year ahead. Clearly, I’ve got a lot work to do.

Don’t whine. I mention this first because I’m most often guilty of the offense. Yet, who am I to complain in a world full of people who face more challenging difficulties? Especially in the midst of a pandemic. Moreover, I’ve finally come to the realization it makes more sense to just go ahead and try to fix problems than harp about fixing them.

Don’t try to impress. The people who impress me most are those who try the least to do so. They’re so good at what they do, it’s self-evident. No aggrandizement required. What’s more, they’re far too smart to believe they’re smarter than anyone else. That sounds paradoxical, but it’s not. Intelligent people know they can learn something from nearly every situation and nearly every person they encounter.

Don’t live in the past. This applies equally to failures and successes. Learn from mistakes, but don’t dwell on them. See them as the opportunities they are to improve and try, try again. Forgive not only yourself, but also others. When someone makes a mistake, respond with understanding rather than blame. What goes around really does come around. The next time you need help, who do you think is more likely to come to your rescue? The same goes for triumphs. While it’s easy to rest on laurels, don’t. The true measure of success isn’t one or two wins, however remarkable, but excellence sustained over time.

Don’t wait. It’s tempting to put off those tasks we deem important, yet not so important they require our immediate attention. It can wait a day. Right? But then another day passes. Then another. It’s far worse to defer our dreams. Whether it’s a short jaunt or long journey, the most important thing is to take that first step toward a desired destination. Just get started.

Don’t let fear hold you back. I’ve saved what I consider the best advice for last. Not only because it’s important at a time when it’s understandable to be fearful, but also because I’m particularly susceptible to this foible. The obstacles we build up in our minds are far more daunting than what we’re likely to actually experience. What we perceive as mountains really are more often molehills. The best way to overcome fears? Confront them and see them for what they usually are — unfounded.

Every new year — every new day, for that matter — affords another opportunity to try something different. More important, to make a difference.

What will you do, or not do, in 2021 to make a difference?

 

Spirits of the season change us all

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I’m haunted by the ghosts of Christmas. It’s an experience that’s delightful, not frightful. One of fond memories, grateful appreciation and optimistic expectation.

At the risk of plagiarizing even more, I imagine I’m like Ebenezer Scrooge, the protagonist of the famous Charles Dickens novella. Not the miserly recluse, mind you, but the benevolent extrovert made so by the spirits of the season.

Maybe I’m either hopelessly naive or naively hopeful, but I believe Christmas affects most people that way. They’re more giving, more sociable and more cheerful. We all could all use more of that, couldn’t we? Especially as an antidote to a ravaging pandemic and rancorous politics.

Even a brief stroll down memory lane evokes vivid recollections of Christmases past. 

I was 5, snuggled into bed on Christmas Eve and too excited to sleep. Suddenly, there was loud thump on the roof above my bedroom as if a heavy object landed there. A sleigh perhaps? I squeezed shut eyes as big as saucers, fearful even a furtive glimpse of Santa outside my window would send him away before he completed his delivery. While I’ll concede the possibility it wasn’t Santa, I remain convinced otherwise.

Childhood Christmas mornings brought joyous discoveries. I was as amazed as I was thrilled. It was … magic.

As a parent, I discovered even more thrilling moments in watching my two sons tear into gift-wrapped packages. 

I was spoiled. My children were too. But it wasn’t so much the material things I received or my sons received that made the experiences indelible. I can’t remember now some of the things I believed back then I needed so badly. Rather, they were moments when dreams came true. You never forget those.

Christmases present bring still more gifts. Chief among them cherished relationships with family and friends and time spent together.

If there’s a silver lining to the cloud of a pandemic, it’s that my two sons and remarkable daughter-in-law work remotely and have done so from my home. The result: an unprecedented opportunity to spend time with them. We’ve hiked, played disc golf and savored wine. I couldn’t ask for a better gift than that.

Who knows what Christmases yet to come will bring. I’m optimistic, though, even happier holidays await.

Presented with the grim possibilities of his future, Scrooge changed his ways to embody the spirit of Christmas. It’s a cautionary tale. Never underestimate the influence of Christmas or, for that matter, the power of a do-over.

In the meantime, I’ll steal a few more words from Dickens.

God bless us, every one.

2020 vision: A look at the best and worst of times

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’Tis the season. For, among other things, holiday newsletters. You know, those annual missives you receive, typically from distant relations.

You only met once, and that was at a family reunion 15 years ago in Iowa. But every year since, they’ve confided in intimate detail what’s occurred in their lives. And it’s always amazing. Too good to be true, in fact.

Your second cousin Fred won the Ironman World Championship. And Aunt Ethel, bless her heart, received Nobel prizes for both chemistry and physics.

Before I poke too much fun at holiday newsletters, let me confess two things. First, I enjoy newsletters. If only for the reassurance at least once a year family and friends are doing well. Incredibly well, judging by what they write. Second, I send out newsletters myself.

My bragfest this year includes announcements my oldest son, Zach, received his MBA from Dartmouth and went to work for Goldman Sachs. My youngest son Alex — the CPA — was promoted at the big accounting firm where he works. Oh, that’s right. I almost forgot. An entry based on my novel “Small Town News” won the Colorado Gold Rush Literary Award in the mystery and thriller category. 

No kidding. As humor columnist and author Dave Barry reiterates so eloquently: I’m not making this up.

Needless to say, I’ve got a lot of blessings to count. And I do. With gratitude.

Near the end of what might charitably be called an interesting year for holiday newsletters, I’m reminded of the opening line by Charles Dickens, one of the best in literature: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

For me, the best of 2020 exceeded the worst. Best of all, family and friends remain safe, even those who tested positive for COVID-19. I’m relieved. 

I’m also reminded that for many people, this isn’t the case. For some, 2020 has been one long nightmare from which they can’t seem to awake. And for those who’ve lost loved ones, the pandemic has been heart-rending.

I can only hope 2021 will be better. For everyone. And by this time next year, we’ll all have happier news to share in our holiday newsletters.

As for Cousin Fred and Aunt Ethel. Well, what can I say? You guys rock.

Choose wisely: lightning bug or lightning?

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One of my favorite Mark Twain quotes describes the gulf between the almost right word and the right word: “’Tis the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning.”

Invariably clever and frequently profound, Twain draws a distinction that couldn’t be much bigger. What’s more powerful? A tiny insect or fearsome force of nature?

No wonder I fret over my choice of words. Or is it brood? Or, better still, agonize? See what I mean?

That’s the blessing and curse of the English language. There are so many words from which to choose — by one estimate more than 170,000 in current use. Yet, each word conveys a different meaning.

It’s possible, I suppose, to write with almost right words — to even make a point in some vague fashion. It’s impossible to write with clarity without the right words.

There’s an added benefit to using the right words. They usually work better than a boatload of almost right words.

That’s particularly true in replacing adverbs — words that modify other words, usually verbs. Novelist Stephen King once proclaimed the road to hell is paved with adverbs.

I could recount appallingly how I ran quickly around the track until I tired badly and struggled mightily to catch my breath. In other — and, I’d contend, better — words, I sprinted until I crumpled spent and gasping.

Word choice sometimes comes down to big and little. In most cases, less is more. I admit, though, I sometimes succumb to the temptation to use bigger words when it would be better to eschew obfuscation.

Ultimately, the best choice remains the right choice, that one, wonderful word that conveys exactly the intended meaning.

’Tis the difference between the lighting bug and the lightning.