Kinks in the story and 'the paprika effect'
The role of the right questions in life and creative work
I’ve been reflecting recently on the potency of questions.
Questions allow us to peel back the layers of the truth we perceive as ‘reality’ to see what’s underneath. They provide a reframe, a new perspective. Questions bring direction: when we stray from our initial purpose or intention, they guide us back to the right path. In this sense, asking questions is a fundamental part of integrity—of staying aligned with our vision and values.
Questions allow us to see others differently. When we approach people—and their thoughts, opinions, feelings and actions—with curiosity rather than judgement (the single, subjective ‘truth’ to which we sometimes cling), it allows space for empathy.
Inquiry—this generating, posing and responding to questions—is a verb and a noun. In the context of the verb, to enquire (British English) or inquire (in the US) results in us responding to curiosity and, ideally, acting on those insights to make changes for the better. Inquiry is also, of course, a noun: both a process of investigation and the dedicated container (physical space; a specific time period) in which that investigation takes place.
When it comes to creativity, we employ both forms of inquiry. For me personally, one of the best ways to think and be curious is by expressing it on the page (as I explore in this post) in a way that is both process and a space for thinking and reflection.
Questions can help us powerfully develop the things we want to make. In creating something, we piece together separate yet related elements, shaping them into new form. What makes this possible is inquiry, when we ask ourselves questions like: how would it look if I put that there…? What happens if…? Where does this element belong…?
To the degree that creation is improvisation—in which we follow flow and intuition—questions bring direction and structure. Creativity is in part a problem-solving process and questions that lend clarity to emergent form.
Considering all this, questions may begin to emerge about questions.
Question 1: when is the right time to ask questions?
In the creative process, there is an art in knowing the ideal time for question-asking. If we ask too soon in the process questions that are too specific, we risk losing the generative energy of the work and the plural forms or manifestations it might take. The trick is to know the right questions to ask at the right time. At the outset of a project, the questions may be wide-ranging and open-ended. They are intimately connected to possibility. As the project develops, we need to zoom in, to use questions to interrogate ourselves about the best direction of the work; to iron out wrinkles and solve the problems that crop up in the process of creation.
Question 2: how do we know we’re asking the right questions?
In the fantastically-named The Road Less Stupid (a book about entrepreneurship and business, but nevertheless with a direct application to creativity), Keith Cunningham advocates thinking as a discipline. If we consciously create blocks of time to think within a specific structure, not only do we achieve more clarity, we avoid the blind alleys that cost us time and energy. Cunningham describes these blind alleys as ‘the paprika effect’:
Suppose you are baking an apple pie. You have the perfect recipe. You’ve bought the same kind of apples Grandma used and they are precisely ripe. The dough is flawless, the sugar correctly measured, the pie tin perfectly proportioned and appropriately greased. The oven is preheated and the temperature is accurate. The timer is set. But suppose that during the preparation a teaspoon of paprika was inadvertently added to the mix. Despite everything else being perfect, this one small slip caused the entire pie to be a disaster… Finding the dash of paprika that is ruining your pie requires careful thinking and close observation.
Thinking we’re adding cinnamon to the pie, we mistakenly put in paprika. But we can create a formal process for inquiry, using questioning as a micro-practice to continually check and ensure we stay on course. Setting up this inquiry is straightforward: we just need to allocate time on a regular basis, to settle on the potent and relevant questions to avoid the paprika effect. What’s not working and why? What changes do I need to incorporate?
Doing this kind of questioning alone is possible; doing it with others can be ten times more powerful. When I was writing my audio drama The Cloistered Soul, my producer at the BBC was a wonderful sounding board for the development of the play. She continually asked questions about the way the plot was developing: so-what? and what are the implications of that? and how can it be even more powerful/impactful/dramatic? Ironing out these kinks in the story also meant that we planted what my producer called ‘story questions’—the right ones that would hopefully keep the audience engaged, connected and committed to the unfolding experiences of the fictional characters.
Finding people who can help you see what’s not possible to see alone--and who can pose powerful questions—is one of the best acts of kindness we can do for ourselves and our creative work. It’s for this reason that I love building, and being in, a community of creatives, leaders, inquirers and question-askers.
Whether we have a regular creative practice or not, the right questions—asked at the right time—permit us to act from a place of leadership. By leadership, I mean possessing the ability to spot when things are drifting off course and the courage to correct them; to have the fearlessness to dig into mistakes and figure out how to put them right. To act proactively, rather than reactively, and with more agency.
In the end, questions allow us to connect to the insights that will push us (in the best kind of way) into the evolutionary edge of our growth as humans—and to live life with more awareness, more artistry.