Spoiler: It takes time, it's tedious to explain, and sometimes the creator may die before what they imagined finally comes into existence.
I see this in video game criticism, too. There's a term called metroidvania, used to describe platform games featuring exploration, abilities that unlock new paths, challenging bosses, and other mechanics. But sometimes it seems that certain critics discover a sophisticated word and believe they've explained the entire game simply by using it.
Well, to me, that's all Mario Bros. I'd rather describe things differently:
Vampire Mario: Castlevania.
Shooting Mario: Metroid.
Spy Mario: Metal Gear Solid.
First-person Mario: Call of Duty.
Greek Mario: God of War.
Relax, I know it's not exactly like that. Or rather, it's not only like that. But that's precisely the point: what changes are often the mechanics, elements, setting, and the way everything comes together. That doesn't make the games identical, but it also doesn't mean we need to treat every combination as if it appeared out of nowhere.
The problem begins when classification takes the place of criticism. Everything becomes a metroidvania, and I get tired of critics who seem incapable of explaining what makes a particular game unique. It's as if someone who only plays one specific genre decides to try something different and, instead of analyzing the work, spends more time talking about its genre than the game itself.
And this doesn't happen only in gaming. It happens in cinema, literature, and music.
Creating something new requires references to the past. We can copy, transform, and combine. Without the past, there is no future. The problem is that we're surrounded by a flood of games, movies, and books that seem to change only the cover, the colors, and a few details while repeating familiar formulas. There are also older works whose creators have died, allowing their material to be reused without royalty payments, depending on the rules applicable to each work. The market knows how to exploit what has already been tested.
But what happens when someone presents something genuinely different?
An editor shouldn't be concerned with the image of a writer who considers themselves a guru, nor should they allow an author to take over the role of someone who understands editing and the market. Everyone has a job to do. The problem arises when an editor encounters something different and declares that it won't work, as though their experience with what has already succeeded were enough to predict everything that might succeed in the future.
Deep down, perhaps they want something new, too. They just want a new thing that respects tradition, follows familiar rules, and can be explained in a few words. They want innovation that doesn't force them to reconsider their assumptions.
And there's another issue: the market doesn't necessarily want a great work of art. It wants a product it can sell. The author pays for the editions, assumes the risks, and if it succeeds, great. If it doesn't, the loss is theirs. There's no mystery here: something new doesn't put food on the table simply because it's new.
But it's interesting to see how a conventional idea can be wrapped in a thematic package and received as genius. Imagine a finance book titled How to Build Your Own Drug Cartel with Pabllinho, written in a children's-book format, with colorful illustrations and educational explanations. Someone might consider the concept brilliant simply because the presentation is unexpected.
See the contradiction? Sometimes the market accepts an old idea in a different outfit but rejects an idea that genuinely rearranges things.
The new doesn't have to invent every element. It has to make those elements work in a different way.
But creating something new also requires letting go of the things that keep us stuck.
Perhaps you own a camera you barely use. Or a car sitting in your garage that you take out only occasionally. You have no obligation to sell them. They're yours, and nobody can demand that you give them up.
But it's worth asking yourself: could the thing you're holding on to for security help finance a project, open a path, or bring you closer to a dream?
Perhaps that object is a burden holding you back. Perhaps it's precisely the resource you need to bring an idea out of the drawer. Or perhaps you don't even have a revolutionary idea, just a project that could change your life if you brought it to fruition.
There are no guarantees.
And I'm not talking about gambling on luck, much less turning your life into a game of chance. Be patient, my dear friend. Bet on your future, but be skeptical of yourself, too. Be afraid, question your decisions, and recognize that not every idea that seems brilliant in your head will work in the real world.
Still, if you've created something different, rearranged elements everyone recognizes, and made them work in a way nobody had noticed before, perhaps there's something new there.
The new is frightening. It takes time to be understood. Sometimes, it's rejected precisely because people don't yet have the references to explain it.
The good news is that today we have more opportunities to present our creations to the world than we did forty years ago. There are projects that have been shelved that might never have found a place back then but could find their audience now. That doesn't mean success is guaranteed. It simply means more paths are possible.
You do need to take risks. But you don't have to destroy everything you know or completely abandon your comfort zone. You can expand it.
Imagine you're a fish in an aquarium and you want to explore the ocean. Leaving seems frightening because the aquarium offers what you know: food, protection, and predictable boundaries.
So instead of simply abandoning the aquarium, imagine building an underwater vehicle powered by solar energy, capable of carrying your little environment through the ocean. You take some of the comfort you know with you, but expand your horizons.
Is it an absurd solution? Perhaps. Is it an imperfect metaphor? Certainly. But that's the idea: you don't have to stop being who you are to try something new. You can reorganize what you already have to reach somewhere you've never been.
Even so, it's not easy.
Because after all this talk about creativity, courage, innovation, and the future, we arrive at the real problem.
It's not just doing the work. It's enduring the work.
You can have an extraordinary idea, buy the equipment, set up the project, and get started full of enthusiasm. But can you repeat the necessary tasks once the novelty wears off? Can you keep working when nobody is watching, when results take too long, and when what once seemed exciting turns into a routine?
Creating something is one thing. Sustaining that creation is another.
Perhaps the new doesn't depend only on the courage to leave the past behind, but also on the discipline to keep going when the future hasn't yet given you any sign that it was worth it.
So let me ask you:
Do you really want to create something new, or are you simply in love with the idea of being someone who created something new?
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