The Creative Identity

Here Come The Freaks!

For quite some time I've been thinking about giving you an update on how my earliest interviewees are doing. As I'm in touch with all of them, to ask for another catch-up really isn't that hard, especially when I've got a reason as good as this one. Remember Caroline and Nik, two of my very first Twitter posse, one of whom (Nik) also recorded a podcast for the eCourse that I ran two years ago? They've written a book together and had it illustrated by a wonderful artist as well. 

Look at it, isn't it gorgeous my dear reader? When I first heard about Freaks, back in the depths of last summer, I thought it was a marvellous idea. In fact, so marvellous an idea was it, that I rolled my eyes, sighed and scoffed and told myself, why don't I have these ideas??? I could do the obvious thing and tell you about these freaks and their super-powers, but why wasting precious typing space when I think you'd be much better off getting your own copy? This is a highly imaginative book that will appeal to contemporary fiction fans, comic book fans and short stories fans alike. I'm all of these, hence the opportunity to review a copy was a gift. My gift to you is straight from the book itself: the very adorable 'Invisible'. Read on.

Invisible 

[Super Power: The ability to make oneself unseen to the naked eye]

If I stay totally still,

if I stand right tall,

with me back against the school wall,

close to the science room’s window,

with me feet together,

pointing straight,

aiming forward,

if I make me hands into tight fists,

make me arms dead straight,

 if I push me arms into me sides,

if I squeeze me thighs,

stop me wee,

if me belly doesn’t shake,

if me boobs don’t wobble,

if I close me eyes tight,

so tight that it makes me whole face scrunch,

if I push me lips into me mouth,

if I make me teeth bite me lips together,

if I hardly breathe,

if I don’t say a word.

Then,

I’ll magic meself invisible,

and them lasses will leave me alone.

 

I have a digital copy of the book, which you can buy here also, but you know me well and, to me, a book that is worth having is worth having in hard copy. So mine is on its way, fresh off the press as it was only published last Thursday. Oh and lest I forget, a couple of questions before we go...

Caroline, what's the super-power of your ideal man?

He time-travels!

Nik, what's the super-power of your ideal woman?

She would have the super-human ability to put up with me and to listen to me babble on endlessly about this thing I just wrote/saw/heard/read. 

Artist's Journal Workshop

It's Easter Monday and it has been pelting down all day long. Not that I really mind, for I much prefer a dark and stormy spring to a bright and mild one, but even though the past four days have been very good in many ways, they've also been not quite so good in others. I've come down with a cold and, worse, my back has been extremely painful. I soldiered on, as I try and do most of the time, but the copious amount of painkillers I've taken since Friday morning has left me in a slight daze in which a vaguely upset tummy and vacant stare blend so well together.

But, my dearest reader, this is really no time for whining, is it? I'm so glad I am setting fingers back to keyboard that nothing else matters much. I've thought so many times about you! And you dear reader! And you at your desk! And you at work! And you! You! You! All the 1,500 or so of you who keep checking in every week despite the radio silence. When I last showed up on here, in the midst of the Crimbo hols, never in a million years would I have expected to disappear for so long. It's just not the way I operate at all. Yet, things just happened, as they do, and as I am a firm believer that if a job is worth doing, it is worth doing well, I did not go down the route of lots of intermissions and links scattered your way. Oh no, I wanted to be back to writing in the real sense. 

So this particular post has been lingering at the back of my mind for many weeks, precisely since October last year when an Amazon parcel dropped through the letterbox and the arch-fabulous Artist's Journal Workshop flapped out of it and went straight for my heart. This is a book so highly rated in my personal ranking that I store it on my bedside table, sandwiched between The Creative License and An Illustrated Life. As I never miss an opportunity to mention my muse, Danny Gregory, you understand that this is the greatest compliment I could ever pay to anyone's book. I don't say this lightly dear reader.

It turns out that the completely wonderful Cathy Johnson also features in Danny's Illustrated Life as one of the artists who talk about her method and her reasons to journal. Her own book, published only last year, is a shiny, brilliant gem that is likely to prove inspirational for anyone with a deep (or passing) interest in illustrated journaling. It's full of fabulous ideas and great Try This exercises, such as throwing together a handmade journal or sketching in coloured pencil or painting one's own palette. I must confess, however, that its greatest intrinsic quality, as far as I am concerned, is the beauty that lies within; in short, I adore looking at the pictures as I swoon over styles, content, ideas, common threads, uncommon ones, suggestions and then some.

At times I find that all of this swooning, however well-meaning, stifles me a little. Yes, I have the horrid tendency to think, WHAT'S THE POINT I'LL NEVER BE THIS GOOD. But this usually only happens when I secretely resent myself for not having made time to journal, to develop my own style, to record my life in the most unique way I know. Cathy's wonderful book comes with a companion site which I often read and where I am at times found in the depths of the comments. The very best thing about the blog is that it is multi-authored and gives you the opportunity to find many other artists whose work you're sure to fall in love with. 

In related swoon-talk I should tell you that today I bought another new favourite: Matthew Rice's Village Buildings of Britain. It is illustrated by the author himself in some of the most beautiful watercolours I've ever seen. I don't judge a book by its cover but I surely choose it because of it. With this one, it was dead easy.

 

Original

It’s past 4.30 pm and I do find it slightly odd that I should be sitting here, committing thoughts to screen, as I’m still in the middle of the holidays. I’m not one of those over-zealous, weird creatures who return to work the day after the party; I like to protract Time Off as much as possible. I’m returning to England at some point on Saturday afternoon and will resume work doings on Monday morning. If I could, I would go from plane to office, but I do have things to sort out, such dogs to pick up and a shower that doesn’t work. And maybe a fridge to stock up as well.  

Meanwhile, I’m having what I can only describe as One Heck of a Great Time, as I live on a diet of pistachios, champagne, video-games, cakes, new shoes and new books. I planned for many days this interim post, part-review, part-greeting, yet in truth my thoughts are scattered as they flit from book to book. 

I brought a few with me and bought a few in a few different languages. Yesterday seemed like a good time to crack open the new diary and send it forth to prosper in 2012 with a list that enumerates items as disparate as ‘learn Chinese’, ‘buy a bed’, and ‘lose ten pounds’ (because, I don’t know about your New Year’s Day lists, but mine aren’t really mine unless they include a bit of self-flagellation).

What I’ve yet to add to the list, and I’m gonna do it the second I log off here, is ‘read books in the original’. This is hardly ground-breaking stuff; piles of Vogues in many languages have always littered my living spaces since before I could actually read them, but as the other day my eyes travelled across spines all the way to Le Petit Nicolas (as an original Folio) right next to Le Petit Prince (also a lush Folio), it was with a mixture of surprise and disgust that I realised that I have read plentiful Nicolas stories, and yet, never in French. But, dear reader, I can. So, why not?

I must confess that, due to this hideous hybrid accent (which, thankfully, you cannot hear), and despite my extensive English-speaking education (since the undergraduate days, if you must know), I’ve lived in anguish at the prospect of being thought of as a Johnny Foreigner who buys books in French, Spanish, Italian or German because she cannot understand them as well in English.

As hordes of my friends tell of their struggles and victories as they teach themselves a new language, I always nod pleasantly and swiftly change the topic. I’ve lived in England for over half of my life, and for my entire adult one. To think that the way I speak, coupled with a foreign text under my arm,  pigeonholes me as someone who needs to read in a language other than this, revolts me.

Yet, reading a book (reading anything, but let’s say a book), in the language it was birthed in is an immense privilege, not the scarlet letter of intellectual inadequacy. Why this dawned on me just the other day and not before is something that I cannot quite explain. As I keep looking inside of me for answers, a melange of repressed whispers chant at the back of my mind. I do know that my reticence is down to a profound issue of identity at odds with itself. In simple terms I could tell you that it’s not the labelling itsef that I take exception to. It’s the labelling of myself done by others that preoccupies me because I, and only I, know that, in the grand scheme of all things Steph, the way I speak, and the reasons why I speak in this way, is not particularly telling of who I am. 

When I find that it’s the first (and very often the only) thing that is significant to others about me (how so very depressing), a host of contrasting emotions tear through me. Often, I feel very nearly offended, even though I know well that chatting for a bit about my way of talking is a fantastic ice-breaker for anyone who wants to know anything at all about me. Except, I don’t want to share it. 

I cannot imagine what being black or brown or yellow must be like. At least I look unremarkable enough around these parts not to arouse subconscious thoughts of categorised knowledge by those who do not know anything other than a standardised way to pigeonhole people as if they were dead moths. 

I ought to explore the complexity of these feelings one day. After all, we make judgments about others every moment of every day. It’s when we realise that we too are being judged that we start shouting and protesting that hey, that’s not it, that’s not any way near it, rah rah rah!

I’m not ready to delve into this yet. I’d go as far as telling you that I do not feel thoughtful enough at present.

 

 

Stephanella Meets Christine Mason Miller

Artist and writer Christine Mason Miller is one of those individuals whom I did not discover because I was hobnobbing with bloggers, but because I was in genuine awe of her work. Obviously, one only needs to take a quick gander at her online space to fall for it. I find that, amongst a plethora of copy-cat offerings, it is Christine's site I always, invariably, return to, because for me she is the original artist who demonstrated how art can pay, and how resilience and business savvy can take those of us who have stamina as well as great talent to sublime places.

 

It took me an absolute age to summon the courage to ask her whether I could be a Book Fairy. I think that, at least at the back of my mind, I thought I was a bit 'small' and 'insignificant' in the grand scheme of online things for her even to take notice. But in fact I was silly; as you will recall, I have been a Book Fairy rather successfully, thank you very much, and deposited Christine's precious Ordinary Sparkling Moments at Tatton Park, where I often walk my dogs. 

Now Christine has published a wonderful new book, Desire to Inspire, where she collated the experiences and wisdom of twenty women who have harnessed the power of their creativity in order to make an impact on the world. This drool-worthy book (check out the inside!) is released on Wednesday this week and I am thrilled out of my wits to have Christine answer my questions about her writing life. And one more thing: take a look at a raft of 60 second-interviews with the girls featured in book over at Christine's digs.   

I have a copy to give away dear reader! I'm enabling comments so that you can place your entry. Please do so by Wednesday 14 December at 8 pm UK time. YAY! And thank you Christine!

***

What is your idea of perfect writing?

At the beginning of this year, my ex-husband had a baby. While this wasn’t necessarily a huge surprise, it was still weird, and for many weeks I walked around thinking to myself, “I need to be writing about this now, because eventually I’ll lose interest and I won’t be able to capture these feelings again.”

I finally sat down one afternoon to write about all of this, and a fifteen-page story about the baby and so much more came pouring out of me in a voice I never even knew I had in me. It was one of those experiences of being “in the zone”, where I felt like something was moving through me. For the next few days, I was totally obsessed with the piece, editing and revising it until I felt like I got it right.

That is the kind of writing I love – stories that have a force of their own, and that take me places I never expected.

What is your greatest writing fear?

I don’t ever want to get so comfortable that I start playing it safe. I don’t ever want to lose the spark that inspires me to take risks, be vulnerable, and write with total honesty.

What do you consider your greatest writing achievement?

A few years ago I decided I wanted to steer my work life more towards writing, and without having a long list of specific goals as to how I might go about that, bit by bit I managed to secure writing projects… that were paid! Getting paid at all for my writing feels like an incredible accomplishment. 

What is the writing tendency you most deplore in yourself?

I have this weird unconscious habit of using identical words and phrasing within a few sentences of each other. It isn’t until I’m editing that these redundancies become obvious to me. Even knowing this is a strange tendency, I still do it all the time!

Which living writer do you most admire?

Mary Oliver.

What is your greatest writing extravagance?

Time – time to get utterly, completely lost in something I am working on.

What is the quality you most admire in somebody else's writing?

I think there is a fine line between honesty and sensationalism, and I admire writers who are able to balance the two gracefully – to tell the truth of their experiences without dipping too far into over-exposure.

What or who is your greatest writing love? 

I love Dinah from The Red Tent – that was one of those rare books that I was sincerely sad when I finished it. I wanted it to keep going.

When and where were you happiest with your writing?

The weekend I was working on the piece I discussed in my answer to the first question. I was obsessed with the story, and loved feeling completely taken over by it.

If you could easily modify one of your writing tendencies, what would it be?

I would like to be more disciplined with my writing practice.

What is the most marked characteristic of your writing?

I would say it offers a solid expression of the entire truth of my experiences – the ups and the downs, the honey and the thorns – while still being ultimately positive and inspiring.

Who are your writing heroes?

Ayn Rand – for her conviction
David Sedaris – for his humor
John O’Donohue – for his spiritual beauty
May Sarton – for being willing to share her personal explorations
Chris Bohjalian – for his ability to tell extraordinary stories
Alice Walker – for her passion

What is your writing motto?

Don't write to please everyone or to appeal to the masses. Just tell the truth.