What larks!

At the beginning of the year I was a bit overcommitted (as any polymath knows is in their nature) and going through the fun business of leaving a job that was proving to be detrimental to my mental health.

I had a psychology course through the Open University, a Graphic Design course at Central Saint Martins, and advanced Illustrator training in Angel. I was also working on 'Wise at any Age' during any spare moment, promoting myself as a freelance designer and taking on little projects through online freelance posting sites.

I've been doing my shoe sketches on the train again

In the past few months and in particular, the past week, my circumstances have changed drastically. 'Wise at any Age' is a completed project. I handed in my final essay for my psychology course on the first of the month. All my lovely design courses to get me going and build my portfolio have wrapped up and I've found a stable momentum in the flow of work I'm getting. My promotion at work also means that my finances are (for the moment) secure and I am able to pick and choose the projects I do during my evenings and weekends.

Suddenly I have 'free time'. Time I can use as I please without feeling some obligation to hunt for another client, tweak my website to maximize exposure or network with fellow creatives to build my reputation.

It's quite liberating to look at my giant To Do List of Everything Ever knowing that what I choose next doesn't have to be strategic but can be entirely based on whim.

So I've been doing some fun little doodle projects - playing with my creativity away from a computer screen - and considering what I fancy accomplishing with these glorious pockets of time I'm so blessed to have.

I suspect there shall be some writing projects on the horizon. Especially as NaNoWriMo is just around the corner. I don't know that I fancy writing another novel in thirty days but I can see dedicating the month to editing.

There have also been many new connection of late with talented videographers, game developers and others of a similar sort. I think something collaborative may be on the horizon.

Not to mention the sudden interest I've had from clients looking for custom shoes.

I'm hoping to be littering my blog with these things as and when they happen. Wonderful artful things that feed my soul and add to the incredible energy I get from having a full-time job I absolutely love going to each day.

Life is full of peaks and troughs. I have every intention of enjoying this particular peak to the very fullest.

How to Get Published

Step one:
Write.

Write a lot. Write the novel you always wanted. Write it during National Novel Writing Month. Write it while commuting on a train. Write it on rainy Sunday mornings. Write it during your lunch break. Write it after dinner. But whatever you do, finish writing it before you move on to step two.

Step two:
Edit the first three chapters.

You can edit more of it if you want but most agents want a sample, not the whole work, and they want the beginning because they want it to grab their attention. So edit the first three chapters as much as you can to get them super polished. Find a friend to edit them, if it helps, and be critical. Think about what you enjoy reading. Think about what makes you keep turning pages and apply it to what you've written. Make sure there's tension and intrigue and please, please, please make sure there are no spelling mistakes.

Step three:
Research agents.

Most agents will be based in major city centres, like London or New York. If they're not, be wary. An agent's job is to sell your product and that means moving within the publishing world. Most publishing houses are based in major city centres so you want your agent based there too.

You also want an agent that works with your genre so make sure you identify the authors they've worked with in the past and the sort of books they're looking for.

Also - you should never have to pay an agent to read your stuff. If it says they charge to read a manuscript, don't even consider them.

*You can go directly to publishers if you want but the majority of publishing houses don't accept unsolicited manuscripts or manuscripts without an agent. 

Step four:
Check the submission guidelines.

Some agents want a covering letter that includes a synopsis, miniature biography, word count, and a bit about your experience as an author/writer. Some agents want a covering letter with the title, word count and whether or not you've completed the novel.

Some agents want the first three chapters and a full page synopsis. Some agents want the first chapter or even just the first 500 words. Some want a synopsis like that you'd find on the dust jacket of a book. Others prefer a chapter breakdown, full list of characters and full chapter summary.

Some agents won't care how many other agents you've submitted a manuscript to. Others will be fine if it's just one or two others. Others still won't read your manuscript if they're not the only agency you're considering.

More agents accept online submissions these days, but there are still many that will require you to include a Postage Paid envelope so they can return your manuscript to you.

Step five:
Prep your manuscript for submission.

Follow the aforementioned guidelines and get your manuscript up to snuff for the agent(s) you'll be sending it to. Include everything they've asked for to the exact specifications they've used. Agents are very busy and they won't have time for a manuscript that isn't easy to process.

Step six:
Set it free.

Send your work out into the world. Most agents will get back to you within two or three months. They should have the expected turn around time on their website. It might be an idea to create a spreadsheet of the dates of your submissions. Follow-up when the allotted time has passed if you've not yet heard from them.

Step seven:
Start collecting rejection letters.

Read them. Review their feedback and apply any changes you can to your manuscript. Save them if you want or burn them if you like - that's up to you. But you will get rejected. You'll get rejected over and over and over and over again. Remember: When you get a rejection letter it means someone has looked at your work. It means someone has taken the time to consider it. It means your work is out there, doing something, instead of sitting on your computer or in journals or worse yet, still in your head completely unwritten.

Step eight:
Repeat.

Do it again. Keep writing, keeping researching agents, keep submitting manuscripts and keep collecting rejection letters. Persistence paid off. The most successful people on the planet, the people who are content in their day to day lives because they have build a life they love, worked bloody hard at it. They went out and made it happen. And there is absolutely nothing about them that is different from you.

If all that fails or if you're tired of waiting, publish it yourself. 

No excuses.

If you want something you'll make it happen. 

Wise at Any Age will be available to purchase on Thursday the 20th of June!

Ineffable

Ineffable - Something that cannot be described in words. 

Since I can remember I have written. I have filled over 40 journals since the age of six. I have completed seven manuscripts, including one last November during National Novel Writing Month. I have always been and always will be a writer. 

Telling me to keep writing is like reminding me to breath. 

To be a published author has been my dream. It has been the only thing I've consistently wanted since the age of five. 

Today the proof copy of my first published book was waiting for me when I got home. 

Follow your dreams. Turn them into goals. Make them real. 

The feeling is ineffable but you'll know it when it happens to you. 

Holding my very first published book for the very first time

No idea how amazing it is to see my name on the spine

Fully illustrated and laid out with much care over the past few months

I'm extremely happy with the cover - which I redesigned about
a dozen times before landing on this. 

Adventures in book writing!

I am a polymath and that means I have many talents and many interests - but if someone told me I had to specialise, that my choice was an early death or a long life doing one single thing - I would write. Always, always, always. I would never touch a paintbrush again. I would refrain from doodling. I would cease any sculpture.

But I would create with the written word and that in itself would be enough. 

So I have written a few books and I have, for the past year and a half, focused on getting one of them ready for publication. It's been edited, reviewed, and critiqued. It's been chopped, reworked, and tweaked. It's been laid out, redesigned, and redesigned again.

And this week I finished the final touches to the cover - the last bit of the entire project.

So it's ready. 

Now the question is, when do I set it free? 

All the ideas we have

A new character came to me. This used to happen to me a lot, but not so much since I’ve started sending out manuscripts and sharing all the other characters I’ve written in the past.

I saw a name written down and suddenly he started to talk to me. I could picture what he was like – fair haired, quiet, a little moody. It’s all terribly inconvenient though. Because a character showing up is how I start writing a book and writing a book is something I simply do not have time for at the moment. So I’m making a little shelf and I’m going to sit him on it, to wait.

The inspiring view of King's Cross St. Pancras
from Central Saint Martins

Where there is one more will soon follow. It’s an inevitability. One by one I’ll line them up together, where they can wait for me to find a plot for them to live in. Perhaps in a few months, or perhaps in November, for NaNoWriMo, but not just yet. He’s there and with him are ideas and ideas are fuel for my creativity, so he won’t be ignored or forgotten.

He’s not alone of course. His shelf sits above a chest full of costumes I will one day create which is next to two giant sculptures I have planned. Hanging by their laces from hooks on the wall are shoes I will paint and in a filing cabinet are the frames of animations I will draw. All of them are waiting for their moment.

Right now the moment belongs to a book called ‘Wise at Any Age’, which I’ve been working on for three years. It belongs to three edited young adult fiction manuscripts which I continue to submit to agents. It belongs to psychology studies and design courses and freelancing.

When these things are done they will join the list of accomplishments: The shoes I have painted, the animations I have done, the places I’ve travelled, the books I’ve read, the paintings I’ve brushed, the facts I’ve learned, and all the wonderful discoveries I’ve made.

This is how it should be because these are the things a life is made up of.

It's November! Why not write a novel?

It's November! And thanks to Lorca Damon, I've signed myself up to NaNoWriMo. I believe it's called that because typing 'National Novel Writing Month' repeatedly would tire out even the most fastidious of bloggers.

I also realise that National implies it happens in one nation but evidently Amazon has decided that the Internet counts as a nation and therefore anyone on the Interweb, regardless of location, can sign up.

That's right, anyone can sign up. Even you. So - if you've ever wanted to write a novel you can start right now! For the entire month there is a lovely community of people also writing novels that you can tap into for inspiration, support, ideas and motivation.

I have never attempted writing a novel in a single month. Most of my novels have been written over several years, sometimes with months or years of not writing in between starting and finishing. Getting 50,000 words down in just 30 days will be a different challenge for me but one I'm happy to jump on. 

Whether you've written a novel before or not, this is a great opportunity because there are going to be so many others doing the same thing who will be connected to you through the NaNoWriMo website. No excuses - if you've always wanted to write a novel, what's stopping you from signing up and starting right now?

www.CreativeLifeCoachLondon.com

Cultivating wisdom

Two weeks ago I put the finishing touches onto a manuscript I’ve been working on in one form or another for over a three years now. Last week I posted it off and now I wait, in six weeks time, to hear from the first two agents I’ve chosen. 

The book is my first non-fiction piece (Most of my writing is young adult fiction) and it was initially inspired by my own experience with anxiety, depression, a mental breakdown and heartbreak. 

In my life thus far I have encountered many people suffering due to the stresses of modern life - scrambling to find happiness as though it were a physical thing we could hold or something we could build or buy. I have also had many experiences in which I was able to feel great compassion for people from entirely different backgrounds because I could recognise our shared human experience of emotion. 

This compassion and the belief I have that growing it will benefit myself and others is why I am so passionate about being a life coach. It’s also why I chose to write this book. I have an insatiable desire to help those around me and I believe that all human beings, everywhere, are capable and deserving of happy, content lives. I also believe that the way to attain this is through the cultivation of wisdom. 

Wisdom is on a deeper level than knowledge, which is something I discuss in my book and something which I invite the reader to explore further. As someone seeking to cultivate wisdom I use a multitude of tools and recognise that each one works for a different reason and that not all tools will work for everyone. 

But I believe that everyone has the ability to grow their wisdom. In doing so we can all offer something to those around us, through our shared understanding of the world as it truly is. 

In the coming weeks I’ll be posting some examples of the artwork I’ll be including in my book to http://www.FaunawolfCreations.com/writing.html 

Following on from the cultivation of wisdom, I’m soon going to be offering meditation classes! I’m just confirming the dates and times and will be announcing the details in my next Newsletter. If you want to be the first to know (As space on this course will be limited) you can sign up for the Me First Newsletter. 

www.CreativeLifeCoachLondon.com 

The writer and the artist

When working on my tarot card paintings I would often find myself most frustrated by a lack of time. I'd be completely willing to paint but I had to calculate the time I had available with how much I could get done once set up and take down was calculated. If it would take me fifteen minutes to get my paints sorted, pull out my easel, select brushes and get bowls of water and another ten or fifteen minutes to clean my brushes, pallet and bowls afterwards and I only had an hour available before I had to be somewhere or do something else, it just didn't seem worth my while.

I agonised over this on a weekly basis, resenting time spent at work or time spent away on weekends when I felt I should have or could have been painting. Eventually I began to take a more sensible approach and I made the time, planning on it at regular intervals. This worked wonders and of course, having a blog which needed twelve monthly updates was also a great motivator. Whenever I was lost for an update idea I could use my latest Tarot Card as the subject and write about a new technique I'd discovered or the latest bit of symbolism I was working into a piece.

Now that the cards are done I can easily say that my methods of time management were extremely successful. Once I stopped thinking about how long it would take and began planning on making time available whenever possible the chances for painting became more and more frequent and in short order the 22 cards were completed.

With such an incredible accomplishment done I felt I deserved a break before jumping into the next big thing. The 22 cards marked more than my choice to begin living as an artist - they were key in a lot of personal growth and self discovery which has resulted in a huge amount of positive change in my life. I want to mark this with my art gallery showing, which will be held on the 19th and 20th of August.

But in the mean time I've begun to feel a bit aimless - lost without something to fill those spare pockets of time. I've begun to look at my writing more and edit a lot of the stuff I wrote when I was younger. This involves a different sort of prep than the painting did. I can write or edit anytime, anywhere, whenever the mood strikes me, as long as I've got my computer or journal to hand. I almost never leave the house without one or the other and as ideas strike me I'm finding myself getting back into a flow I've not felt since I was in my late teens.

It's interesting though when I try to marry these two parts of myself - The Artist: the sculptor, painter and creator, and The Writer: the storyteller, the philosopher, and the inventor. This conflict in all the thing I want to do, either because I want too much at once or because one single project requires more focus and time than I feel is available to me, is leading me to take serious stock of my life and how I live it. I've written about this before very recently as I've just begun to embark on a really important career shift.

As I begin to learn about Life Coaching and defining how I want to do this and be this, I'm looking at all the tools available to me which have been essential in promoting my creative work. My creative work will never cease as that would be like asking me to stop breathing, but I wonder about how I'm going to use the tools I've got already with the new career I'm creating. Do I keep this blog as it is and just close it - a record of my Tarot series and other art projects I did for over two years? Or do I keep it going but update it with less frequency? Or, and this is the option to which I am leaning, do I keep this blog and begin to shift it along so it becomes a practical tool for my Life Coaching?

One thing I know for sure, making time is entirely up to me. Whatever I decide for this blog, my art website, my editing and my writing, time is a limited resource which needs to be considered with great thought. In September I'm beginning a course and already I've begun a marketing program which aims to give me a lot of tools for launching my Life Coach services.

These are important first steps which require a lot of focus and attention - a lot of time.

To that end I've come to a decision. Right now twelve entries a month is just not feasible if I've got homework (Yeesh) and classes. So this will be the last month in which twelve entries will feature on my blog... for now. I want to thank everyone who has followed and read it twelve times every month. I especially want to thank everyone who has shared comments and kind words about my writing. It's this sort of genuine appreciation which fuels me and I certainly hope you'll continue to follow it as it evolves.

I'm absolutely giddy to see what happens.

Devon and Sunny - Excerpt II

Cracking on with my editing and I've now gotten back the first third of my manuscript back from one of my editing volunteers. I have yet to go through her notes and see what she's done. To be honest I figure it's best to leave it until I've finished my own edit all the way through before I start looking at her contribution. It's a good motivator though because the more I finish the more I can send her way and the more I get back the more I want to finish my part so I can see how it was received.

See the clever circle I've created?

So here for your reading pleasure is another excerpt from it. At the moment my working title is Devon & Sunny. This is a working title in every sense as I really have no intention of leaving it as that. I'm open to suggestions or ideas for titles so if this excerpt gives you an idea please do share by posting a comment.

...

Devon and Sunny - Working title

...

On Monday morning Sunny slid into her seat in homeroom early, turned to Devon and asked, “Why do you hate me?”

The classroom was empty except for the two of them. Devon always came in early to work on homework. He could never get anything done at home anymore. It was too loud. Things with his dad were getting worse.

“Huh?” Devon looked at Sunny blankly. He was really tired and had a lot of work to do. He didn’t have time for Sunny, who had been dubbed The Weird Witch by everyone else in the eighth grade. If she was the Weird Witch and he spent too much time with her he’d become the Total Loser Toto or worse, Dorothy Devon.

Sunny was on a mission though. She was fed up with Devon’s attempts to thwart her. Moving to Calgary had been a chance to reinvent herself and reinvent herself she would. She was going to be assertive and not take crap from anyone, especially some shy kid who obviously could use a friend as badly as her.

“Why..do..you..hate..me?” she spoke clearly, enunciating each word perfectly.

“I never said I did,” Devon looked away, unable to handle the way she tried to hold his eye contact.

“And you haven’t said you don’t. You act like a totally jerk.” Sunny pressed on.

“I’m not jerk!” said Devon with far more confidence than he felt, “I’m a loner.”

“Even loners need friends. Why are you so uninterested in being with people? You never talk to anyone. I’ve been trying to be your friend and the effort has been killing me,” despite her bravado, Sunny was actually quite afraid this might not work and she would lose her only chance of making a friend in this school.

“Well, maybe I just don’t want friends,” Devon felt how weak his argument was.

“Well that’s just great. Now I have no one to give this invitation to,” Sunny flashed the white envelope, her secret weapon and the thing she hoped would bait him.

“Invitation? For what?” Devon asked, unable to hide the curiousity from his voice.

“Nothing, it’s for a friend,” Sunny slid the envelope across her desk so Devon had to crane his neck to see it.

“But… you don’t have any friends, you said…”

Sunny blinked slowly, daring him to finish his sentence. Then she arched her pierced eyebrow and looked away.

“Oh,” Devon remained still. Then he looked away too and slowly the other students began to arrive and Mrs. Hoober came in and then Sunny slipped the envelope into her bag as she pulled out her binder and Devon couldn’t ask about it anymore.

...

The contents of this blog and all of it's creativity are copyright and property of Kaitlyn S. C. Hatch

A Novel Idea

Twitter is a great resource.

I was very hesitant to use Twitter initially because it seemed to much like a giant game of voyeurism. Certainly, a lot of people do use it for such things, but the great thing about Twitter is, you don't have to follow those ones.

I follow like-minded individuals, people who are seeking to share their creativity and passion with the world and people who support my work or whose work I'd like to support. Essentially, Twitter is a giant universal chat room so I 'listen' and 'talk' with people I'd probably connect with face to face if we lived in the same city or even the same country. It's a tool and when used properly it can open up a lot of fabulous opportunities I might not have noticed. Like when I did my tree art submission for the community show being organised by a fellow artist and Twit in Scotland. Or how just today I came across the link to Unbound, a genius community sharing project to get readers involved in helping their favourite authors published. I'm slightly miffed that the requirements to be an author on it are that you're a)already published or b)have an agent, but I'm not going to let that hinder me. This is a cool concept and one I'm quite eager to get involved in. Just like I've tackled Threadless, I will leap upon and take on this brilliant idea. I have faith in my writing, conviction of my talent and a belief that even if this doesn't get me published, at least it will give me some motivation to self publish before the year is out.

Devon and Sunny - Excerpt

I'm in the process of editing this myself and also having it edited by two other people. I have to say, any fears I had around editing are long gone. I look forward to it, finding the re-writing simple, the purging and cutting back liberating and the ability to try something different rewarding. It helps that this particular novel has gone untouched for years. I originally finished it in about 2000 I think. Since then I've hardly ever gone back to look at it.

I love picking up a piece of my writing from so many years ago. I can see where I've grown, how my abilities have improved and my style has shifted. I can see where I still can do some work but where I'm quite capable.

But now I'm rambling. So here it is, for your reading pleasure - and mind that this is still being edited actively so any comments, tips, advice, or criticisms are appreciated!

...

Devon and Sunny - Working Title

...

“So,” said Sunny’s mum, Catherine Clarkson, “it’s your birthday next month!”

“Yeah,” Sunny said absentmindedly as she drew her comic on the kitchen table. Her mother was often too bubbly, like she was trying desperately to be a cool mum. Sunny shaded in the nose of her monkey hero, hoping her lack of enthusiasm would be conveyed by her obvious interest in something else. The comic was of her own creation, with the help of her best friend, Caley. It was called Gay Monkeys From Mars. Mostly she just liked drawing monkeys with pink and rainbow capes. They all had little antennae growing out of their heads, so you knew they were martians. There were six of them, each with a nose a different colour of the pride rainbow. Caley had come up with the red, yellow and orange monkeys, Sunny with the green, blue and purple ones. They didn’t have a leader but the purple nosed one was particularly bossy. This was the one Sunny currently worked on.

“So, who are you inviting?” enquired Catherine. Catherine worried about her daughter. She seemed to be turning into an archetypal angst-ridden teenager. This didn’t bode well with Catherine, whose primary reason for not wanting children was that she might end up with a girl and she didn’t think she could handle raising a girl. Sunny had been a delightful surprise though, more interested in G.I Joe than Barbie, preferring CDs over the current fashion and riding her bike to putting on make-up. Lately, however, since moving to this city, Sunny had begun to act differently. Catherine felt guilty, assuming that the move was more upsetting for her daughter than Sunny was willing to admit. She’d tried broaching the subject a few times and had been met with an icy glare.

“I dunno,” mumbled Sunny, who wasn’t at all upset by the move. Yes, she certainly missed Caley, but they’d been keeping in touch with regular emails. Sunny was just so happy to be far away from her old life. She could reinvent herself here, be a different person, someone who was mysterious and quirky. Someone about whom her classmates knew nothing about. Someone who wasn’t the school joke.

“How about Derek?”

“Devon,” corrected Sunny. Catherine chewed her bottom lip, a habit she had when she’d said the wrong thing. Sunny didn’t notice as she kept drawing, “And I doubt he’ll want to come, we don’t know each other very well and he’s really quiet and stuff. I don’t think he likes me.”

“You’ve been talking about him the entire two weeks you’ve been there! How can you not know each other very well?” exclaimed Catherine, exasperatedly, “And he seems like the only person who does talk to you in that horrible school, I’m sure he likes you.”

Sunny looked up at her mum to see if she was serious. Catherine’s arms were crossed, her eyes wide and eyebrows arched high. Sunny doubted her mum would be convinced, “He’s just not very interested is all.”

“It could be a way to become better friends,” since Sunny was little she and Caley had been nearly inseparable. Catherine knew the importance of having a close girlfriend in which to confide and find support. If not for the girlfriends she had she probably wouldn’t have managed when Sunny’s dad left them when Sunny was only three, or when Catherine’s position in a small law firm had been made redundant, or when her car was stolen and it took four months for her to get a replacement. A new school was an equivalent crisis for a teenager, as far as Catherine was concerned. Never mind being in a new city on top of that.

If her daughter could only make a friend, someone in which she could confide or go to for comfort and support, she felt that Sunny would be O.K.

“Whatever,” Sunny sighed. She began to put away her drawing stuff, stacking the paper neatly, placing her pencils into their case, wiping eraser bits off the table onto the floor.

“I’ll make an invite for him O.K.?” offered Catherine.

“Fine,” Sunny gathered her things to take upstairs to her room in the attic.

...

The contents of this blog and all its creativity are copyright and property of Kaitlyn S. C. Hatch

On the Bus

When taking the bus in London it is ideal to have a route with a double-decker. My heard sinks a little when a regular bus pulls up to a stop. There is nothing quite so fun as climbing those stairs and finding that front seat available. Perched up so high it sometimes feels as though the bus will tip when it swings around a corner.

It's the best view. From my perch in front of those huge windows I can take in the world. When I have spare time to get somewhere I'll often opt to take the bus, rather than going underground. I happily view London from above and am almost always a little sad to reach my destination.

At the moment the best way for my to get to my writing course is by bus. The route it brilliant. We loop past Victoria station, Green Park, Hyde Park corner and go straight up to Marble Arch. There are so many marvelous sights along the way. This week I was able to snap a shot of this brilliant art instalment. As the days are growing longer the light is better for me to take pictures on this route. I have a few other bits of art and some stunning architectural things I plan on capturing in the next two weeks.

London is an art gallery.

Haiku

Lay upon my leg

sweetest little muse of mine

sleeping while I write

To Do List

I have a lot of ideas and a lot of things I want to accomplish. As a result I tend to spread myself too thin, putting my fingers in so many pies that I find I can't reach and ultimately I end of taking my shoes and socks off so I can pop some toes in too. But then I can't walk so I don't get anywhere.

Good metaphor.

So I make To Do lists. I love my to do lists because they organise my thoughts and when a task is done I get great satisfaction from making a tick next to it and running the ink of my pen through it. There's something very satisfying about completing a task.

I've decided to focus on the above To Do list for February. This is just my creative work, mind. I have another list of domestic duties - laundry, purging my wardrobe, kitty litter - and I create a list daily for my day job.

I like that drawing up my creative To Do list has helped me work towards completing one of the items on it. And now that this blog update is done I must away to tackle the rest.

The Rules

It was my mum who taught me that opinions cannot be 'right' or 'wrong'. I don't know exactly when she first imparted this wisdom upon me, but it was a common subject and one which obviously made its mark. I know I have an outgoing personality and as a result have often been taken as 'forcing my opinion' on those around me, but I assure you, I accept that my opinions are mine and mine alone. They are formed based on my experience and understanding of the world and as easily as they are formed, I know they can change. I know that how I feel about a situation is my choice and I try to be as aware as I can of the language I use when expressing an opinion I have. As a result I am also very aware of when those around me make statements of opinion with the emphasis of fact.

We all do it and unless we question it, in my opinion, we are inclined to simply accept what someone else feels as how we should feel about things. I call this the Rules.

The world seems to be full of these so-called Rules - opinion masquerading as fact and often having negative effects. As an artist and creative, I find people really like telling me the Rules. I suspect this is due to a lack of imagination and a defeatist attitude, but I could be wrong. I only suspect this because it seems like the people who share these opinions to vehemently are doing so in order to discourage you from achieving great things, rather than getting on with their own lives and making themselves successful. Essentially, they find it easier to try and tear someone else down than to lift themselves up.

The other time the Rules come into play is when something works for an individual. The best example of this I have found is with religion. I know Buddhism work for me. It works so well that I talk about it a lot, but I get that just because it works for me, doesn't mean it will work for you. Just like I understand that just because I don't really like oil paints, but I love acrylic, doesn't mean I would be 'right' in telling someone that acrylics are superior to oil. They aren't. They're not better nor worse. They just are.

When painting portraits in acrylic at the class Sadie Lee put on we were not allowed to sketch on the canvas to start. She made us paint directly onto the blank surface. I didn't mind doing this but personally, I like a basic sketch to use as a template. Amusingly enough, when Sadie pulled out the portrait she had prepared for the class, you could see the pencil lines beneath her paint.

Then there was the time I was watching Rolf Harris painting a series inspired by A Midsummer Night's Dream. One of his models asked if he ever drew on the canvas first and he said no, never, because it was a painting, not a drawing.

Point is, that's what works for him. That's what works for Sadie. And that's what works for me. We each have our own techniques and none of them are any better or worse. We just found what works for us.

Last night at my writing course the instructor made a statement regarding writing on a computer vs. writing by hand. He said that often, writing on a computer limits us, and writing by hand makes our work more free. A clear example of someone laying down their opinion as if it were a Rule. I simply didn't let it stand. I explained that my train of thought moves more quickly than I am able to write by hand and as a result my sentences become garbled, incomprehensible and sometimes I miss them out entirely as my hand can't keep up. My method of two finger typing, however, is conducive to my free flow of thought and my preference for writing.

I am very thankful to my mum for this lesson in life. By teaching me that what someone says based on how they feel is theirs and theirs alone, she taught me to question what I am told and to be self determining in my actions. My inherent Buddhism reminds me to challenge my own opinions and never hold them too close. And those lovely troublemakers remind me to be mindful of Rules which might not actually be worthy of a capitalised 'R'.

Bertie and Boo's

In Calgary there was a little tea shop I visited frequently. Oolong Tea House served as my sitting room away from home, my personal office space and my writers studio all in one. It is, in fact, one of my favourite places on this planet. I would arrive first thing in the morning, just as the staff were taking chairs off of tables. I'd take my place at the table in the front window, leaving my rucksack on my seat, before going to the tea wall to peruse the selection. They divide their tea into green, black and herbal. I'm not a fan of herbal as it usually smells delicious but tastes bitter or sour. I am a fan of green tea when the mood strikes me. But it's black tea that I adore and black tea I would order most often. I tried every flavour I could - Raspberry Black, Market Spice, Pacific Sun, Earl Grey Cream, Russian Caravan. Each pot was enjoyed over a conversation, the writing of a blog entry, editing of a novel or investigation into other artist's blogs.

I have been on the lookout for a similar space here in London since the day I arrived. I figured it would be an easy task as the requirements weren't terribly great. A tea shop with a nice atmosphere, excellent selection and free wireless.

I can't say I've been successful with this mission but today I did find a place that met quite a bit of the criteria. Bertie and Boo is a cafe, not a tea shop. There is a tea selection but it's your standard fare of Earl Grey, Darjeeling and green. But the staff are friendly and the space is cozy. There are a few sofas and some counters with high seats at them. The tables that dot the space are old wooden hinge-top desks. Today I ordered a Darjeeling (They were out of Earl Grey.), perched myself at one of these tables and pulled out Sheffield.

The writing course I'm on is less about editing and more about mini assignments to help work on your writing. I really did want something more editing based as I don't really need to explore how to write a conversation or create a character. I have a lot of characters and a lot of conversations. I have entire journals full of biographical information on the characters I've created. Most of my writing is about relationships so conversations are frequent and varied throughout. But from six to nine every Monday I'll be sat in a room with a group of fellow creatives and forced to focus on just one of my novels. In the remaining five weeks I plan to get this book completely filled out and edited to my own satisfaction, so I can then pass it along to someone else to edit. Today I began that editing.

It was lovely to sit there in that comfortable, cozy space, feeling the buzz of community around me whilst my written words held my attention. I'm starting to really get into this editing thing. It's far less intimidating and as I re-acquaint myself with a book I finished writing about three years ago I'm finding myself able to be critical when necessary and appreciative of what I've written really well. I'm also pleased that I've found a space in London where I feel comfortable working on my writing. I can hardly wait to go there again.

Manic Month

Wheel of Fortune progress

Justice progress

The Chariot progress

This past week has been manic! In fact, this entire year feels like it's been absolutely packed. I'm stunned that it's still January.

CS5 arrived last week. I uploaded it to my computer, fully ready to start the layout for an ad and the newsletter I've been assigned at my day job. I was absolutely giddy as I loaded it onto Sheffield (My laptop). Once that was finished I opened Finder so I could drop the icons onto my docking bar. I found Illustrator, Photoshop, Dreamweaver and Flash, but no InDesign. Picking up the box I scanned it for InDesign and realised the wrong CS5 have been ordered. Rather than Design Premium, I had Web Design Premium. I cursed and my manager asked what was up. I explained that the wrong version had come and it didn't have the program I needed in order to do layouts, create ads and develop informative material for the charity. Cool as anything, he said we'd just have to order it as a download from Adobe so I'd have it right away.

It wasn't a 'right away' thing but the faffing involved was minimal so by Thursday I had it successfully on my system and was able to begin the first few steps into being a graphic designer in a professional setting.

In addition to this development, my writing course began on Monday. It isn't what I'd expected from the course description but it's still beneficial in that it's getting me to spend three hours on my writing once a week. In fact, I'm finding myself thinking about writing more and more often. I am finding the return of a familiar feeling, one I've not experienced in such high doses for quite awhile. Its the feeling of tapping into another world, into the storytelling flow of my imagination. I've picked the first book I'm going to revisit and plan to use this course to fill it out and finish the required editing.

On top of that, I'm nearing the completion of the eighth book I've read in 2011. It's an absolutely brilliant book and I think every artist should read it. I use the term artist to mean anyone who creates. Whether you write, paint, draw, act, dance, or make music: The War of Art is essential reading. I cannot begin to explain how sensible, helpful and significant this book is. In everything I've done this week, from dinner at a friends to going to the Science Museum Lates, the book has not been far from my thoughts if not in my bag. This morning my partner and I went to Borough Market. On the train and over a second breakfast I kept talking with her about the concepts it was presenting to me. I only have a page left to read but I'm leaving it, as something to be enjoyed slowly. I don't doubt I'll just start reading from the start once I finish. I tend to turn certain books into 'bibles' for a time. They become an ultimate reference when their words are what I'm ready to hear. I feel very receptive to them and very positive about the energy they provide. The energy fueled my painting today. I have pushed on with all three of my final tarot cards and I'm really chuffed with what I've managed to accomplish today. My plot is to finish at least one of them in the next week. If all three could be done by the end of February that'd be smashing. Then it's just about planning a gallery showing and concentrating my energy on my writing.

...and so 2011 began, and it was good.

The Next Big Thing

The past few weeks I've been working on my final three tarot cards in turn - The Chariot, Justice and The Wheel of Fortune. I usually split my time between two each time I set up to paint. Sometimes I focus more heavily on one for a few days, sometimes I add bits to all three. Either way, the progress is showing and I'm beginning to think about my next big project.

My followers and fans seem to be in the same mind-set, asking me what I plan to do next, hence this entry.

For just over two years I have endeavoured to complete the major arcana of a tarot deck in my own design on 24X36 inch canvases. I have worked on other pieces, such as my Buddha paintings and Dragon a Day project (I'll always dabble and potter and play), but this has been the all consuming thing on my mind as I go about my days. Not having it there doesn't worry me at all. The end of something is always the start of something new and we cannot hope to grow if we do not change our passions and focus.

Of course, sometimes it's about renewing an old passion, or a passion that has always been there but for whatever reason - fear, apprehension, uncertainty - has been put to one side as something to do later.

On Monday I attended my first ever course on writing. I signed up for it over the New Year break. It was described as an "advanced course for writers with a completed manuscript looking to improving their editing skills and prepare for publication." I have one piece which has been edited by someone other than myself. I have several other pieces I've begun to edit. I'm not focusing though and by spreading myself thin I know I'm successfully multitasking my way into not completing anything.

I say it again and again. I am a writer. I've always been a writer. But my soul will not be content until I'm an author, holding a published and bound book of my very own creation. step one has been signing up for this course. Step two is to pick one story, just one, to focus on for the next six weeks.

I will continue working on my paintings until my tarot cards are complete, but the next big project will not involve brush and canvas but pen and paper.

Another bit of writing

I didn't get loads of feedback on the last excerpt I posted but the few who had something to say seemed to enjoy what they'd read and wanted to read more. This is promising!

As a result I've started going through all the writing I have saved to my computer. I have short-stories, a few paragraphs of something started but not yet finished, and my novels, both in progress and completed. I discovered amongst them the first story I ever transferred from a journal to the computer.

When I was ten I wrote this story as part of an assignment in class. I suppose I liked it well enough but my mum insisted it was one of the most beautiful things she'd ever read. I expect that's part of her job, but still, I saved the story.

Yesterday I found that story. I considered editing it but decided I'd much rather post it as is. A story I wrote at ten, typed up at twelve, and re-discovered at twenty-five. I dedicate this post to my mum.

A Dragon mum with baby I made in High School

~

Dragon Tears

~

My name is Kristen. I live in the kingdom of Gwaldwin. I have lived here all my life.

Tonight I am happy, despite the sorrowful story that happened here so very long ago.

Though it happened long before my brothers or myself were born, I know the tale off by

heart. My father has told it to me a thousand times over on nights when I could not sleep

or whenever I was ill and the night after my mother died. He always began it the same

way…

Once upon a time on a night of great turmoil, your story began.

Many houses had been burned. The knights rode through the streets slaying all who were

not loyal to his majesty, Harold the Wicked, as he is remembered now. My father, a

painter, earned what little he could with his talent. My mother, a servant to a noble

family, was earning even less, being a woman. So they could only live in the smallest of

cottages with the smallest servings of food. They couldn’t afford to disobey the kings

wishes.

My mother was pregnant with me at the time. She was also very ill. She had a fever that

ran high and her body was wracked with violent shivers as she lay bundled beneath what

few blankets they had. my father saw death upon her face. He knew what had to be done

to save his beloved wife but it was terribly dangerous. It would be a long journey with

many perils, but the greatest would come upon reaching his destination. He had to go to

the great mountains, a seven days journey, and he would have to get and bring back the

tears of a dragon.

That night he left the cottage, knowing he would have to move as quickly as possible. He

knew my mother may not be alive upon his return, but if he did not go she would die for

certain. He wrapped her in all the remaining blankets and left what little food he could

manage to collect, along with the freshest water he could find, near her shaking body. He

left her with two farewell kisses, one to her fevered brow and one to her soft sun browned

cheek.

My father traveled quickly. He knew his wife had very little time left on this earth.

Despite the small misfortunes he encountered along the way he did not slow down. He

traveled at night even, so he could perhaps cut the time it would take him in half. So, on

the fifth dawn of the fifth morning since he had left, my father, tired and bedraggled,

arrived at the Emerald Caves, where the mightiest dragon known was said to live.

My father entered the largest cave. He knew that the Queen of the Dragons would be

here. After lighting his lantern he walked slowly down the dark passage of the damp

cave. It got warmer as he went further. He could hear the dragon snoring softly. Soon he

was upon her, a massive looming shape in the shadows. Her sides moved up and down

with each breath. My father came as near to her as he dared and sat, waiting for the

mighty creature to awaken.

My father shook himself awake and looked around. The dragon was gone. His lantern

had burned low while he slept, but there was still enough dim light to see that the

looming shape was no longer present. Slowly he got to his feet and left the cave. He

found the dragon outside, sunbathing on a patch of course mountain grass.

He approached her and said in his loudest voice, “Dragon! Awaken from your slumber!”

The dragon did not move and so my father said, “Dragon! Mighty dragon! Awaken and

grant that I may have some of your tears?”

The dragon slowly lifted her red, scaly head and looked at my father. She yawned and her

foul somewhat sulphurous breath caught my father off guard. Then she blinked her

golden eyes lazily and rested her head back on the ground.

“Dragon, wondrous, mighty, dragon! What must I do to have thee grant my humble

wish?” pleaded my father.

The dragon did not move. She only opened her eyes and gazed at my father most lazily.

My father was in great despair, having not planned for such a predicament. He sat on the

ground and put his face in his hands. suddenly, he had an idea.

My father looked into the dragons glistening eyes and began to tell a tale. It was a sad

tale of stupendous and beautiful dragons fighting in terrible battles. One dragon in

particular was the strongest and fastest of them all. She fought bravely and won every

time. She won the final battle most victoriously, only to die a short time later while

giving birth.

As he finished the story my father looked up to see the massive dragon with her head

bowed. A huge pearly tear had run down her snout and was ready to fall with a great

splash. My father grabbed the jar he had brought and caught the tear as it fell. Then he

sealed the jar and thanked the dragon profusely.

When my father arrived home he found the town in ruins. The small cottage was half

burned but his wife had made it onto the street safely. She lay there, nearly dead. My

father dropped to his knees beside her and opened the tear filled jar. He slowly poured it

down my mothers parched throat and over her pale face. She swallowed weakly and lay

still. My father wrapped his arms around her and they slept, side by side, until the sun

came creeping over the valley.

As the suns first rays danced over my parents faces my mothers eyes fluttered open. She

stretched and my father woke as well. My mother stood very slowly. Her body was as

healthy as the day she was born! My father hugged her happily and they kissed. I was

born a few months later.

My mother died giving birth to my youngest brother when I was eight. That was seven

years ago this very day.

I must go now for it is almost midnight. Every midnight on this sorrowful anniversary of

my mothers passing, I turn into a dragon and my mothers spirit and I fly across the sky,

hand in hand.