The Thursday! Newsletter 2-9: Life Happens and It's Okay
Volume 2, Issue 9
I've been thinking a lot about why we artists don't make art.
The last couple newsletters got me on the subject. Specifically, those empty middle sections where normally I'd have a couple or three stories and poems rattled me. It has been a long while since I've done nothing worth sharing for a couple of weeks -- perhaps a couple or three years. Those empty spaces filled with explanations and a Prince side-eye picture made me wonder why I wasn't writing and whether I might have finally run out of gas.
As usual, I'd like to speak out of my own experience, then broaden my net to see if I can't gather you in, because I believe most (if not all) artist deal with fallow periods where they don't create much if anything. The reason they -- we -- don't create, though, is important.
When I don't write, it's because of one of two reasons: other stuff gets in the way and I simply don't have the time nor energy to write, or I try to write but stop myself. The second one feels the worst, by the way. When I hit a patch when I hate everything I write, I can give you all kinds of reasons why: It's too simple, it's too complex, it doesn't stand up beside other stuff I've read lately, or (and this one if my personal favorite) I stink as a writer so why am I even bothering with this in the first place when I could be doing something far more constructive and enjoyable like playing Stardew Valley or Wildermyth. You know, of course, all those reasons are the very hottest garbage -- generated from the vast and savage land of Jimmie Sucks All the Time and So Does His Art (Population: Me). None of them have an anchor in an objective measure. I can't prove any of them; in fact, I can disprove all of them. But it does feel good, in a strange and flagellant way, to bash my art like Al Capone talking about baseball and teamwork in The Untouchables. I may not have control over a lot in this odd world, but I do control how I feel about the stuff I make. Grinding it into a thin and runny paste is at least something I can do.
Then again, so is acceptance.
Okay, I can go on for a while on this topic (and I'm pretty sure I have a couple times in past newsletters) but I'd like to take you down the other path, the one we call life.
Over the past year or more I've seen dozens of writers and artists say their art "output" has dropped off to almost nothing because life has gotten weird, chaotic, or busy for them. Sometimes -- perhaps even most times -- life has become a mix of all three. They have very little room for any creative work because all the other work takes up their time and, most importantly, their attention. That last thing is critical because we know creating art is mostly a mental pursuit. You need "brain time" to work out story tangles or to get from the seed of "what if" to the sapling of a solid story idea. You need time to figure out how to frame your art or how to phrase the lyric line you're going to sing. When your brain is full of new schedule, illness, catastrophe, uncertainty, more work, changing work, financial concerns, second jobs, and all the other things that jump up in your face when life gets a little out of hand, you don't have room for all that creative groundwork. You can feel hemmed in and panicky. The anxiety creeps up because you have so much to do and you chose very little of it. Life has a truck load of demands that you must answer and there's another truck due tomorrow. Who can create in that environment? Not you. Not me either. Not anyone, including some of the greatest artists the world has ever seen. Though art may come from chaos and turmoil, it surely doesn't come in the middle of chaos and turmoil. But let me tell you something, clear and plain.
It's okay.
Let me say that again louder, for the folks in the back. It. Is. Okay.
It is okay if your life fills up with necessary concerns you have to handle. It's okay to set your art aside for a little bit to take care of business. TCB, as Elvis liked to put it, is what a good person does, not only for themselves but also for their friends and loved ones. You can't ignore your way out of bad times. I know. I've tried. The bad times only become worse times. So you handle what you have to handle, and you do it well. You set things in order. Your friends and loved ones get your full measure of love and attention and they are okay. So are you. And you know what? No, really. Guess!
Your art is still there.
You did not forget how to write. No, you did not! I know it feels like you did, but pick up that pen and see what happens. Oh, you'll be a little rusty and slow, but you still have the chops. You know what you're doing. I'll even bet you a thin and precious dime that your brain still chewed on some creative work when you were too busy to notice. That is how your subconscious works. You are here, now, ready to get back to it, and your creative brain might just have a couple things ready for you. All you need to do is take a deep breath, say "Heck yes, I'm an artist!", and get to work.
But...but, but, but, but...there is a small point here. You can keep your hand in, even if life is crazypants. You have to do it on purpose because it won't simply happen. Take advantage of the small breaks in the hassle and hustle. If you get ten minutes, spend five of it creating something, or part of something. Write a line or two that might be a cool opening line for another story. Sketch something simple. Sing that tough passage to yourself a time or five until it starts to feel more smooth and practices. You won't necessarily get big things done, but the little scraps of creativity will help you remember that you are, in fact, creative. It can matter because you might forget. You might forget so much that you don't remember for years and, when you do, all those "second one" reasons I mentioned back near the beginning can get very loud.
I recommend grabbing up those scraps of time for your art, but even if you don't, you must remember: Your art is still there. Promise. Even if you've been away from it for twenty years, it is still there. Even if you think you've forgotten how to even do it, it's still there. Ready. Waiting. It always has been. Life will get in the way. That is what life does. It makes demands and you handle those demands or work them into the hours you have, and you juggle everything else around. You feel ground down, because you have been ground down, and you take a little time to breathe and feel kind-of, sort-of normal again (whether it's a vacation or a few days of playing computer games or hiding in your house and reading a giant stack of books). Then you keep on going. What? You thought you had quit? Nope. You had not quit. You're here, aren't you? That tells me you haven't and you won't. Want to know how I can say that?
Because you are a writer (artist/musician/singer/sculptor -- pick the one that suits you or make up your own).
You are a maker of wonderful things.
Get to it when you can as much as you can.
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What I Wrote Last Week
"Allie's Fairy Tale" is a small story about a small girl with a big plan.
"Savor" is a poem about the difficulty of the moment.
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One Last Thing
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