August 16, 2001
It’s getting contrived again, isn’t it?
I feel like I should have something amazing to say, something new to share, or even just some random useful thought. But the fact is, I don’t.
I’ve been so busy the last little while that I haven’t had time to really reflect on a daily basis all that’s been happening. I wanted to be busy so I’d have something to write about, and now I’m so busy that I just don’t care about writing it all in here, isn’t that strange?
I suppose that’s one frustration of being a writer – you’re always thinking of something to write. Everything you do you try to fit into a story somehow. You try to think how to describe it, how to reflect on it, how to get meaning from it. Your mind is always working, and sometimes, that can ruin the moment.
So the past week I’ve just given up on trying to account for everything and decided to just do things and go with the flow. For the first time in a long time I’m just satisfied with being in the moment and looking forward to the next, rather than trying to record it all.
The bad part about that, however, is that when I get a little downtime, I try to haphazardly slap it all down into words. Then I feel like perhaps the feeling of what I was trying to say was lost, and all the words seemed too contrived. And I feel like perhaps I’ve failed somehow.
But the strange thing is, if that’s the case, I’m ok with it. For right now at least. I’ve put so much effort into all this, so much thought and motion, that I feel like I’m entitled to start enjoying it all. I’m finally doing what I love, and I’m starting some new things, and I don’t want to let it all pass my by and only remember it according to some words. I want to remember it in feelings too.
August 15 2001
The other day I started to receive an unusual amount of email. And not only was it the amount that was unusual, but what they said. They were all saying, “Congratulations!” The problem is, I had no idea what they were talking about.
Apparently, I had won some contest and my URL was passed out in a mass mailing. In two days, this site that receives around 1000 hits a day received over 30,000. I was absolutely floored by that.
All the email I received was positive. Really positive. I received a lot of beautiful personal stories, a lot of good lucks and a lot of people saying they were inspired. I felt really good.
But then, I also began to feel really really crappy because most of those emails were critical. Critical in a good way, I realise now, but still critical. I was used to people just complimenting about the general tone and message of the website. I hadn’t had people pick it apart before.
The number one criticism was my grammar and spelling. My first reaction was to say, “Well, you try living in 4 countries that all spell English differently and see how confused you are.” A lot of people had thought I spelled realise wrong and added u’s where there shouldn’t be u’s. That made me defensive. I also wanted to point out that my grammar was supposed to be bad! “It’s not an article!” I wanted to scream, “it’s a bloody free flowing writing page!”
But I didn’t say any of this. Instead I just replied and said thank you, and was quietly defiant by not listening to any of them.
“I’ll leave my page as it is. I don’t care what they say – I like it.”
I suppose that’s what we’d call too smug for your own good.
I realised after that I was being stupid, and that what they had to say was not only valid, but right. I claim to be a writer yet I had stupid mistakes like mmore and double word usage.
That night, instead of remaining defensive, I decided to become humbled. I stayed up until 5:30 am re-working almost every sentence on this site. I spell checked, I grammar checked. I rechecked and over checked. Check one two and three.
I felt better after it all, and even slightly embarrassed by my previous attitude.
It taught me to pay more attention and take this all more seriously. Even though I consider this to be only a journal of sorts, it is still a reflection in some ways of my work. And that the message can’t get out there if people can’t understand it.
Criticism – especially deserved criticism – it’s something I have to get used to, I know. I have been lucky with that the current things I am having published were accepted almost as is. However, I know in the future, some editor will tare my work to pieces. And I don’t want it to be over spelling and grammar – that’s for sure.
August 14, 2001
When I began all this, my only intention was to write. At the time, my goal was small and clear. I had a passion burning inside me and I had to let it out. And at the time that I decided to become a writer, not only was I proud, but satisfied.
However, the most amazing thing has been happening to me over the last few weeks. My understanding of who I am and what I can do has changed dramatically. Possibilities along side new directions have been coming my way. I couldn’t have imagined this the day I left my office job.
I think, perhaps, that’s a good thing that I started out small. Because taking that one small step, to write, was scary and overwhelming. If I had tried to conquer the universe back then, I don’t think I would have ever left my office cube.
But it’s like I said once before, your mind starts rolling if you take just one step. One idea can lead to another and in no time at all you’ll have a plethora of ideas where you were once blocked. You just have to make the effort to start somewhere, and have faith that the answers or ideas you really need will come later.
Although I’ve actually been doing a lot of writing, and will be published shortly, I had felt that something was missing. A week ago I was in a state of confusion because I felt I could be more than I was. But I had no idea what to do. I cleared my mind one night and made some self-realisations, and then I had a strange dream that made everything perfectly clear to me.
On that night of the 7th, after I had spent some time alone I had the dream where I was living with my father. He was saying to me how I should move because the bus system where we lived wasn’t very good and wouldn’t get me to the school on time. I asked what school and he said, “That great computer school.”
“What are you talking about,” I asked.
“You’re going to that computer school to get a degree in the Internet. That’s what you’re good at. That’s where your talents are. That’s what you’ve done in the past and that’s what you know.”
I looked at him and said, “No dad, I’m not going there.”
He looked at me in utter disbelief and said, “Why not?”
And I said simply, “I want a career in art.”
Then I looked at myself in the dream, which was eerie. I smiled and at that moment, I woke up. I was in shock.
For the first time, ever, I had said the phrase, “I want a career in art.”
Before I had always said something like “I want to be around art” or “I want to learn art.” I always thought of it as a side thing, because I never thought I’d ever be able to have a job in it – especially since my entire work history has been in the office and geared toward linear jobs. I also felt that I couldn’t ever be an artist, because I wasn’t either good enough, clever enough nor had enough time to learn.
However saying, “I want a career in art,” – even a dream – opened up something inside me. It made me realise that’s what I want. That was the missing link. I didn’t just want to be a writer, I didn’t just want to take an art class. I wanted to have my career be in art. But how? That I couldn’t figure out. Like I said, me entire work history had done nothing but train me for office jobs. I had no degrees, no skill, no previous employment that could lead me into a career in art. It seemed impossible.
The dream had left me with a huge want though; it was the missing link I was looking for. So that morning I decided that I had to figure out how to get a career in art. So the first thing I thought I should do would be to enrol in some kind of introductory art class, to get my mind going and my body physically doing something in art. I’m lucky that I live by two fabulous art centres and they were taking applications for fall classes. I found two brilliant introductory art classes and immediately signed up for them.
It could have ended there, but then I found an even bigger step for me to take. The art gallery where one of my classes is has a nine-month training program for becoming a Docent. It teaches you art history, interpreting art, speaking on art, giving guided tours through the museum and teaching art classes to children and adults. It’s a volunteer program that you have to apply for, and the best part is, it’s only one morning a week. That, I thought would help me immensely. That could point me in the direction I want to go in. That would give me some grounding. So I applied and today I spoke with the education department and I have an interview next week.
I’ve taken bigger steps than I ever thought I could have, and the strange thing is, it’s no longer scary and it doesn’t seem impossible. Not only does it seem exciting, but also it seems right. I’m starting to feel more like myself. I feel like I am taking charge of not only who I am, but also what I want, and that is just one of the most powerful, exhilarating feelings you could ever have.
It doesn’t happen over night, but, if you start with one small step, it does happen. And maybe you don’t have all the answers up front; maybe the first few months are scary as hell. But I am such a true believer, that when you make the decision to follow your heart and take control of what you want, that the universe will provide you with all you need.
Because at this point, how can I say otherwise?
August 13, 2001
I received an email from Andrea Scher, who is a jewellery designer, artist, and all around fabulous person. She said, “To think that by creating art, I can not only make a living, but also be in community with amazing people like you, makes me feel like the luckiest girl ever. If I was just creating a product, en masse, and there was nothing connecting me to the world, I would feel kind of empty. Yuck.”
To me, this was such a beautiful statement; it sums up a lot of my feelings about my website and what I’ve received from it. When I first started all this, I felt like I was the only one going through all these fears and insecurities. I thought if I could somehow be published, that the fear would be gone and I would have “made it.” I tried to focus on the end result. But that didn’t work.
So instead I started to contact artists – not for advice, but just complimenting them on what I liked about their work or their site. And the strange thing is, they all replied to me – every single one. And every single one of them told me that they felt fear and insecure sometimes. That they had the down days and the up days. They told me they related to what I had said.
Now, it wasn’t just writers that said this, it was artists, illustrators, authors, and performers. They made me feel that not only was I not alone, but I was apart of some amazing group. A group that gave unconditional support, encouragement, inspiration and, when you needed it, a good kick in the arse. In any event, my emails and friendships with these artists made me feel more secure about my choice and that I wasn’t a freak or alone. It made me go from feeling like a wannabe, to the real deal. I think it also changed my intention.
Instead of doing everything with the feeling of having to prove something, I was able to relax and just to what I love to do without worrying about its outcome so much. I realised that writing makes me happy, being a part of this community makes me happy, and anything else is just icing on the cake.
August 10, 2001
I don’t think there will ever be a “safe place” or a “safe time” for as long as I’m an artist. I think that has been one of my biggest realisations.
I’ll always get blocks, I’ll stumble over something. My head will be in a funk, I’ll feel useless and scared. Sometimes this won’t seem worth it, it’ll seem too much. I’ll feel less than or just plain stupid. That’s life.
I know, however, that I’ll also feel amazing, more alive than anything, accomplished, happy, at peace, flip flop flyin’.
There’s no guarantee to anything, ever. All you can do is make efforts. I’m learning how to make mine despite the constant company of fear.
It’s funny, but people always want proof. Proof that I’m a writer, or an artist, or that I’m happy or that I’m sad. Why can’t the fact that I just am be enough? Because it is enough for me.
My fear is that because I have no valid proof for some, that what I say or what I do is discounted. I’m not credible. Who am I to be telling people to chase a dream if I haven’t had proof of success? I feel like sometimes that might discourage people from wanting to jump ship and try something they’ve always wanted to try.
I think one thing I’ve learned from all of this though, is that as an artist or writer, you don’t ever feel 100% accomplished, finished, secure, or that feeling of “I’ve made it and now it’s enough.” All the artists that I’ve ever talked to, have echoed this. Each day can be scary or wonderful. The only difference is, you feel better about it all.
August 08, 2001
Last night, after I wrote the last entry, I sat alone in my living room, lighted by only one candle. And I asked myself to be real and truthful and let whatever had to come out, come out.
I wasn’t going to judge it, I wasn’t going to try to write it or share it. I’d just have that moment to myself, and let it all be real.
The moment lasted for over an hour. Tears had come down my face, my nose was crinkled up and I cringed more than a few times. I think I swore internally for a good minute or two. My body was tense and unsure.
But at the end of it, my mind was alive and a smile was on my face.
I discovered what my block had been – it was me. It was me not being real or truthful with my writing.
In my day to day world, I’m real. I’m not fake, I don’t try, I don’t pretend. That is one trait that so many people, including myself, tend to admire about me. But the problem is, when I wrote, I lost that. I lost myself.
I tried to do the “good writing”, and it wasn’t real. It wasn’t me. And that truly bothered me.
The other block was that I had claimed to be only a writer, and I’m not. Secretly, I’ve wanted to call myself an artist. However, I never acted out on it. And it bothered me to declare myself something, but not be it. Again, I felt I wasn’t being real.
So, today, I signed up for an art class to learn what I so desperately want to learn. I signed up to volunteer at the art museum so that I’m involved with what I love but also doing something that I’m good at. After that, something felt lifted in me. It felt like the gates had open and I could run free again.
With that, I wrote today. I wrote those articles I’ve been trying to write but haven’t been able to. They literally wrote themselves, I just moved my fingers on the keyboard. And when I wrote, my emotions came out that lead me to know that finally, I was writing from the heart. I was keeping it real.
Sometimes, when things aren’t going right, or you’re confused or alone, you just want someone to come in and fix it. You don’t want to be responsible for it, you don’t want to admit that perhaps, you’re the problem. I know that’s how I felt.
But I knew that I had to look at myself and try to figure out what was going on here, because it’s my job to reflect on what I see, and if I can’t reflect on myself, then how could I ever write?
I feel so much better now. I feel like I can move forward. I know this isn’t the last thing I’ll learn and that it won’t all be easy from here, but that’s ok. Writing is like life; it’s a process. There are days when you kick ass at it and some days, not so much. And strangely, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
August 07, 2001
I have the feeling that I am more than what I currently am. The only problem is that right now, I just don’t know how to be more.
Part of my problem is the whole linear thing. Currently, I only write a certain way, colour a certain way, paint a certain way, dress a certain way, and decorate a certain way. Slowly that’s changing, but for the main part all that I do is linear and pretty. All that I do makes sense, is practical and acceptable. The way I do things currently is a way that I hate. The problem is I don’t know how to break free of it.
That’s where my frustration lies, because I know I am not linear.
It wasn’t until my 5th year of school, that horrid teacher Ms. Newell started the end of my creativity and free flow thinking. My father and I had a game where he’d write down a letter and then I’d draw one thing on that letter, then he’d draw one thing on the letter and so on until we had a picture. One of my favourite drawings was the “B” bird.
At school I drew it for an art competition. It was wild, colourful, and creative. I can still, till this day, see it in my mind perfectly. It was so vivid, so beautiful and so stunning, that even now I am in awe of what I did.
However, Ms. Newell wasn’t. She took it and in front of the class, tore it up.
“This,” she said, “is a perfect example of what you should not do. There are rules, there are guidelines. If you want to win you have to stay within them. You can’t do “creative.”
From that moment on, everything I’ve done has been pretty, linear, appealing and nice. Even this entry is nice when all I want to do is scream and pout out my heart. All I want to do is pound my fists into the air and shout, “fuck a bunch of nice!” But I don’t. Instead I just write calmly and put together because that’s more appealing than what I have to say. I try to stay within the guidelines.
I don’t want to do that anymore. I don’t want to do pretty or perfect or follow guidelines or be afraid of my own voice. I want to break free, go crazy, and paint like mad. I want to be able to express all that I feel and see with something more than pretty, nice words. I want to burst my own mould.
What I want to do is more than I currently know how to do. I feel like I need someone to come here, hold my hand, and show me how to do art. Someone to tell me that writing isn’t always pretty and you can say whatever you want to say. Someone to tell me that colour is fantastic and that matching socks aren’t. Someone to give me some direction, some encouragement, show me something new, give me some ideas or inspiration, and help me get past myself. Even just a simple kick in the ass would be brilliant right about now.
I’m a writer; I have no doubts about that. But I really think there’s more to me than what I currently am. I think, I am an artist. I just have to figure out how.
August 04, 2001
Someone asked me recently if I’d written much.
“Oh yeah!” I said. “I’ve written 3 novels, 52 magazine articles, 2 short stories and some liner notes.” Unfortunately, it’s all still in my head and not down on paper.
It’s not that I don’t want to write it all; I do. But lately, I’ve just had no motivation despite the fact that several deadlines are looming. Deadlines I have to make if I want to keep my momentum and start my way into being published. I don’t want to let these opportunities go by, but slowly I am.
I tried to look at all the reasons why I’m procrastinating or simply just not doing this. I came up with a lot of really good psychological garb but I think the main fact is that I’ve just run out of steam.
That’s the hard thing about working for yourself or working at home is learning time management or being disciplined, at least for me. I worked like mad for a few weeks and then I wore myself out. My brain doesn’t even want to write a grocery list at this point let alone an 800-word article.
Now, I’m the boss. I decide when I work and how I work and how long I will work for. Sometimes this is a good thing as I work myself to death and produce some fabulous work, other times, I’m far to easy on myself and I let myself get away with too much, like now. I feel like I need some one to whip my arse into shape. I wonder if there’s anyone for hire?
I know it comes down to me just doing the job I need to do, but it’s hard. It’s not like another job where you can just zombie through it. With this job, I have to use all of me to write something, and when I’m tired or just not in the mood, that can be a little hard.
Something had to be done, however. I have to figure out how to discipline myself somehow. Just sit down and get it done.
This is where having a laptop and a desert island would be handy.
August 01, 2001
A lot of people are curious as to how to financial make it if you chose to live out a dream or live your passion. For writing, there is no steady paycheque if you’re doing freelance work and especially if you’re just beginning. I will be published shortly, however, a couple of them are not paid jobs. It’s more for exposure and experience. Money, from my work, is definitely not rolling into the bank – yet.
I am, however, fortunate in that Chris’ income can support both he and I comfortably. Being with him means I can afford to have freelance writing my full time job. If I was on my own, however, I don’t think that would be possible because rent has to be paid, food has to be eaten, lights have to be on, and clothes have to be worn. That costs money. And if you’re living as a freelance artist with humble beginnings, that can be a problem.
For others who want to live artistically or follow some other dream, the fear of not having money can discourage them from ever living out their dream.
It shouldn’t.
Perhaps you can’t quit your “real job” right now and become a freelance artist at home, like I did. I understand. But you can still have the word artist somewhere in your title.
I was reminded of this by a fellow named Dai Giang. He is a true artist, a painter. His works have been written up in major magazines, he’s had showings of his art around the world. He’s well known and quite respected.
Art, however, isn’t his day job.
He works at the last company I worked for. A company that manufactures outdoor gear for backpackers. And Dai Giang works in the least artistic part of the company – the manufacturing floor. He makes the same things over and over with heavy machinery. He doesn’t create there, he doesn’t have anything inspiring around him, and he certainly isn’t an artist in there. He’s a manufacturer.
But when you see his art, you’d never know. When you see his art, you see his passion, you see his dreams, you see what he lives for. Manufacturing just pays the bills. That’s not who he is. Below is who he is:
In America especially, you are defined by your job. In America, you’re supposed to get the best job possible with a great paycheque and a nice title. That’s why people get sent to universities, so they can get an impressive job. They don’t get sent to learn, they get sent so they don’t have to be burger flippers. Because in America, if you’re a burger flipper, you must be young, or stupid, or a slacker. If, however, you work in a fancy office with men in suits, chances are you’ll get more respect and people will think you have brains. In America, your job defines you. And that kind of thing can have people feeling trapped.
At my last job, in the office world, I felt that defined who I was. In order for me to realise I define myself, I had to leave it. I couldn’t call myself a writer until I felt that’s what I was working at full time. Looking back, however, I realise I was a writer all along, and that no matter what else I choose to do, I will always be a writer first. I define me. I chose my title. Not some corporation or the general public.
I think, for me, taking the time off to write, to believe in it and feel comfortable with calling myself a writer, was what I needed. If I ever felt the need to work or volunteer outside the home (which, perhaps soon I will, I need to be around others and be busy) I won’t ever worry about losing myself as a writer. Because no matter what, that’s what I am, and always will be.
Elsewhere