Last time we talked about enjoying our vein of gold as we decide what to write next. To discover our strength as a writer—writing that represents our brightest, most brilliant contributions—I proposed we may have to experiment and try new genres, new subject matter, or even expressing ourselves in a new and different voice that may turn out to be our truest voice. What intrigues you? What have you been tempted to write? How might you write it? Experiment. Give it a try. Experimentation Expands Us Through these experiments, we might uncover something we’re better at than anything we’ve tried before. Or we may confirm that our vein of gold is what we’ve invested in the most already. Either way, we learn something new. And even if our experimental efforts aren’t going to win a National Book Award, we will have expanded our repertoire and quite possibly our very selves. Experimentation is how to tap into new spaces inside…discover new possibilities…gain new insights. Experimentation Is Risky If you’re going to step out of your comfort zone to try something new, however, you’ll be taking a risk. You probably already thought of that—it may be what’s holding you back. Risk-aversive writers may resist, and I can’t promise your experiments will end all rainbows and unicorns. Your experiment could have any number of outcomes: It may stretch you. It may captivate you. You might love it. You might hate it. Readers might love it. Readers might hate it. You might feel like you’ve landed flat on your face and feel embarrassed, wondering why you wasted your time. You might feel like you’ve produced your best work ever—and you’ll wonder why you’ve invested so much time and energy on whatever you’ve been doing all these years. Then again, your experiment might result in something far less dramatic. You might simply learn a clever new technique or dig up a pleasant memory. You might make yourself and your reader chuckle or shed a tear before shifting back to the tried and true work you’re known for. Whether your experiment lands you at one extreme or the other—or somewhere in-between—don’t be afraid to try. If you’re tempted, give it a go. In the film The Greatest Showman, P.T. Barnum’s protege Phillip Carlyle says, "You’re risking everything you’ve built.” Without missing a beat, Barnum replies, "Well how do you think I built it?” Creativity Requires Risk Interesting, creative work usually requires risk. And risk…is risky. Readers not expecting you to tackle a new topic or genre or tone may be thrown off and respond with shock, surprise, delight, or derision. You won’t know until you try. But risk, even in the form of tiny, everyday creative risks, is how you grow as a writer and, over time, it’s how you build a writing career. Monet often painted the same subject in a series—haystacks, bridges, lily pads, a cathedral. He experimented with subtle changes in light and color, and the impact of weather and time of day on the scene. Given that, one might argue he stayed in his vein of gold. But Monet, the father of Impressionism, didn’t start out with those famous quick brush strokes he’s known for today. He started out with charcoal, then trained with oils, experimenting with a new medium and eventually a new style. He submitted his early work to the Salon, you know, the “establishment," and those first pieces played more or less by the rules of the day. Eventually, though, he experimented. He expanded his repertoire. He took his work outdoors, en plein air, and shifted to give the impression of a scene more than rendering it realistically. The “establishment" didn’t react favorably. Monet, you may recall, formed a group of artists that held their own exhibition in another part of Paris. Today, their style seems normal to us, quite appealing, but it shook the art world of 19th Century Paris. Aren’t we glad Monet took those creative risks?