Last Tuesday I walked into my hotel room in Cleveland. The television was blaring and set to the Welcome screen.
You know the one. It reads: WELCOME GUEST NAME.
Beside it, on the split screen, was playing an endless loop of promotions for vacation packages at various hotel properties all around the world. Marriott, in this case.
The problem was... I couldn't change the channel or turn the television off.
I pointed the remote at the screen and clicked.
NOTHING. Screen ON; volume HIGH.
Maybe I am standing too close...? The featured package is a romantic trip for two to Marriott's premier resort in Bali.
What if I stand by the window...? This resort is nestled in one of the country's lushest locations. You'll find it has an understated opulence... catering to both the business and the leisure traveler.
Am I pressing too firmly? I click lightly, thumb hovering like a hummingbird. Enjoy food and drinks at the more casual poolside bar and grill, with a selection of savory fare consisting of both Balinese specialties as well as
international favorites. Bali truly offers something sure to please every palate.
Lie down on the bed and sneak up on the OFF button...? Whoa the prawn dumpling looks good.
NO NO NO.
NO to Bali. NO to dumplings. (But that infinity pool! I could swim for... an infinity!)
YES to a working remote
and a television that needs to shut up already. I call down to the front desk for a little help here.
* * *
Minutes later Russell from maintenance is at my door. As he pulls the chatty television out from the wall to troubleshoot, he notices a children's book sitting on the desk beside the screen.
It's a book about the size of an iPad with a simple white cover: The Book with No Pictures.
He reads the author's name out loud: "Bee-Jay No-vak," he sounds out, in an exaggerated way.
"You know," Russell says,
turning to look at me. "I had a third-grade teacher named BJ Novak. Her name was Betty Jean Novak."
And then Russell looks beyond me, into the middle distance, as if remembering third grade and
Betty Jean Novak—a time when he couldn't have fathomed this career as a repairman, a career that would lead him to Marriott and eventually to me and make him—and only him—indispensable to a weary traveler who just wants her television to stop marketing Bali to her.
With a far-off look in his eye, Russell now says softly. "She was the best."
Russell was born and raised in Cleveland. He last saw Betty
Jean Novak 4 years ago, when she was close to 90.
* * *
Last Tuesday, on May 7, 2024, the community of Cleveland, Ohio, was privileged to hold within its city limits not just ONE BJ Novak: third-grade schoolteacher Betty Jean Novak, who throughout her storied career influenced the lives of
countless schoolchildren, teaching them how to read and write and setting them off on career paths as critical as ditch diggers, icons of industry, and saviors of travelers who opt out of Bali but who would eventually fall asleep to the soundtrack of dreams being made on Shark Tank.
(It was a faulty wire, in case you're wondering. Russell replaced it.)
No friends... last week, the city of
Cleveland was home for a brief period to a SECOND BJ Novak: writer, director, and actor Benjamin Joseph Novak, who throughout his storied career has similarly influenced the work of countless writers, creatives, and temp workers—the latter of whom finally found prime-time representation in BJ's breakout role as Ryan the Temp on The Office.
* * *
Which is really just my way of telling you this: That last week I had the honor and privilege to interview that SECOND BJ Novak.
BJ Novak and I sat down for an on-stage interview at the Content Entrepreneur Expo, produced by my friend Joe Pulizzi and the team at Lulu Press.
I'd never done a celeb interview before. Yet BJ was a joy to talk to. We talked for an hour. I wish I could share it all. But really... we'd both lose patience with that.
Here are some highlights of our discussion:
1. Prepare for inspiration; plan for execution. BJ's creative process has two components: inspirations that he captures in a small notebook he carries everywhere (he pulled it out of his breast pocket onstage); and execution.
Every few weeks he blocks time to review the notebook, transferring the richest observations from his hand onto his computer—grouping and expanding ideas as he goes. That becomes the peat moss where insights and ideas take root.
2. Artists notice things; then we notice that we're noticing. Many people notice curiosities as we go about our daily trips to the post office or airport or coffee shop. We notice when a repairman named Russell talks about Betty Jean.
But only artists record it. Only we use it. Only we notice that noticing.
3. Pay attention to what doesn't
fit an expected pattern: Dialogue, signs, behaviors. Notice the moments that make you pause.
4. Subvert ideas and common assumptions. This
is what I noticed about BJ's work: How they can be the root of creative inspiration and human delight.
Common assumption: Children's books have pictures. What if they didn't?
Common assumption: Aesop's
tortoise/hare race is so deeply embedded in our culture as a metaphor for slow and steady as the best approach. What if the hare demanded a do-over? (This is the focus of my favorite short story of his; I talked about it last time.)
5. The word writer is wrong. The word writing is wrong. It's not about the mechanics of words to page; it's about composing and imagining ideas. "If you can CREATE something... you're a writer," he said.
6. Creating anything in 2024 is akin to being a stand-up comic, in the sense that hecklers and haters are part of the package.
You'll always have detractors who don't resonate with your work. As artists, the challenge is to stay true to what is important to us and the people who do enjoy our work.
How do you avoid giving the audience too much of a voice in your work? "Include things that make you laugh; keep things that make the audience laugh."
7.
Keep your characters familiar 95% of the time, surprise your audience the other 5%. Characters should evolve, but only a tiny bit at a time: Any less, and the character is stagnant; any more, and they lose their identity.
