Category Archives: Writing

Confessions of a Bookaholic: Creativity and Writing

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I seem to go through phases of high creative output and then these doldrum-y weeks where I don’t want to do anything but lie on my fainting couch, watching Netflix and eating frozen M&Ms. Granted, lately some of that lazing about may possibly be due to several weeks of go-go-go and temperatures many many degrees higher than I ever agreed to.

However, I have missed writing, I’ve not painted in months, and the extent of my creative ventures have involved mastering sunscreen application techniques. In the last few weeks I’ve read (ok, listened to) two books about creativity…and it seems the biggest lessons I need to learn are 1) it doesn’t have to be perfect or even important; 2) do something creative every day, anything.  I often feel crushed by my own internal need to create (write, paint, conjure) something AMAZING…when, truly, I just need to do something, to get into a habit of doing and then let the repetition and practice hone my skill and the dedicated space for doing to provide a platform for inspiration.

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Creativity Inc: Overcoming the Unseen Forces that Stand in the Way of True Inspiration, by Ed Catmull & Amy Wallace (5 stars). I loved the idea that failure is not actually failure, it’s just part of the process of creating, it’s part of refining an idea, or a story, or a piece of art. It’s not a negative, it’s an essential stepping stone for moving forward. I think parts of this book are very workplace or manager-style specific, but I also think there is a lot to learn as a creative-type, or a creative-wannabe-type, on how the process is not usually a BLAM of inspiration and, 10 minutes later, a perfect finished product. It is a PROCESS with a lot of back and forth and revising and more revising. It’s work to create something, and it’s okay if not every single decision you make in that process is, ultimately, one that leads to your finished product. It’s all part of the process.

I’m not sure if it is because my whole life feels like it’s in a state of flux–workplace things included–but I responded SO WELL to this book, the ideas and principles Catmull talks about for success, and all the little factoids and stories about his time in digital animation.

Big Magic, by Elizabeth Gilbert (4 stars). Many years ago I read and loathed “Eat, Pray, Love” and while I maintained Gilbert was a great writer, I really really hated that book. So, I was pretty hesitant to pick this one up, however I was pleasantly surprised by how much I liked it. Gilbert’s ideas on what to do with creativity, how to not think of your creative outputs as your babies, or unchangeable, or needing to be perfect are things I have struggled with of late. I love to write, but I want it all to be brilliant and witty, and the truth is, I am not 100% brilliant or witty, there are a LOT of parts of me that I can express creatively that have nothing to do with brilliance or wit, and THAT IS OKAY, HARRIET, IT’S OKAY TO BE A LITTLE VULNERABLE SOMETIMES. I love to paint, but I often get bogged down in not having the skill to express on paper or canvas what I see in my mind’s eye, and THAT’S OKAY! IT’S OKAY TO BE AN AMATEUR, HARRIET! So….clearly I have some internal things that I need to work on when it comes to creativity and writing and expression, and I also need to remember that this space, in particular, is not for a shiny finished product. This little corner of the internet is for me, in all my unfinished and work-in-progress glory. That is why I made this space in the first place, for the process.

Overall, there were a few parts I think some parts of Big Magic that were a little too hippy-dippy for me, a little too woo-woo, and even a little too Elizabeth Gilbert, but, I really enjoyed her take on the creative process and it has already inspired some additional creative ventures of my own, so in that respect, this book is a success! In may ways this book reminded me of Gretchin Rubin’s book on habits, and Anne Lamott’s book on writing.

Other Books That Inspire Me:

Bird by Bird: Some Instructions on Writing and Life, by Anne Lamott (4 stars).

Writing About Your Life, by William Zinsser (5 stars).

Instead of grouping book reviews by month or quarter, I’ve decided to group them by topic instead because that seems to be how I read them anyway. What are you reading lately?

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In which I discuss control freakishness and my need for a new script writer

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It is a fairly well documented fact that sometimes I can be a bit of a control freak. Popular definition may give you the impression that my “control freakishness” means I have crazy-psycho reactions if even the teensiest detail is not My Way. Not so much. I also do not turn into a crazy Lifezilla type if faced with something I don’t want to do. Nothing like that (I hope). The Harriet version of “control freak” is more along the lines of “I freak out when I feel like I have no control,” with said “freak out” being something along the lines of absolute despair with a side of living in a perfect graveyard of buried hopes. I really really REALLY don’t like feeling like I’m being tossed around my Life and there’s nothing I can do about it. On second thought, perhaps this doesn’t make me a control freak, perhaps this just makes me normal…?

I feel like I am finally on the tail end of months YEARS of being tossed around, I’ve got a few weeks of craziness left and then I have a solid stretch of what should be no big plans and a general calmness at work.

Should be. And so help me, Karma & Murphy, if you throw a wrench in that dream simply because I vocalized it I will destroy you.

I’m sick of being tossed around. My freak controller has taken a serious beating of late and I am worn out. I’m tired of not knowing what is going to happen next, of not even having a vague idea. I have repeatedly thought that my life would be a fantastic soap-opera, what with the relationship drama, the crazy family situations, the “Past,” the events that border on completely bizarre…those three kids I didn’t know were mine…wait. No. Scratch that last one. That’s not a thing. (I promise, NOT a thing.) I just…I need a vacation from all of this crazy. I need Life to slow down a little bit so I can recenter and find my groove again. I need to give my battered controller a break so she can recoup and re-prioritize.

And then, after I have fully recovered, THEN we can go back to the crazy soap opera stuff, mmmkay?

As far as this My-Life-As-A-TV-Show thing goes, I want a better script! I want a new director with a brand new artistic direction! I want a new wardrobe lady! I want softer lighting and a team of airbrushers! I want better snacks! I need better snacks! I want a mini-series in an exotic location; Belize or Iceland or Myanmar. (And no cheating and using Manitoba as Iceland. I want the Real Deal.) I want more air-time with Mr. Blue Eyes! I need more time with him, just us, figuring “us” out in peace and serenity.

If I was the lead actress in that show I would sooo be lounging in my own (air conditioned!) trailer sipping Diet Dr. Pepper and rolling my eyes with my assistant (oooh! I get an assistant!) and rambling on about how “I can’t work under these conditions”, and “artistic differences” and blah blah blah.

…Do I sound like a freak yet? Maybe a little? Ok, as long as we’re on the same page. In fact, if only to emphasize how serious I am here I think a scathing letter is in order:

Dear Life,

Please stop with the crazy. Really. This has been going on for months years and it’s enough already. Besides, it’s The Holidays–summer totally counts as “holidays”–can you at least stop sucking for The Holidays? Or forever? Kthxbye.

Love, Harriet

…Ummm, so “scathing” may have been a bit of an overstatement; I’m exhausted and not quite cranky enough for “scathing.” Hopefully, Life will still get the message.

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Stormy Road

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Once upon a time, in the middle of the afternoon, in the middle of summer, a tremendous storm rumbled over these mountains, shrouding the valley in darkness, temperatures dropped at least 20 degrees as the freezy rain and hail shot like tiny cannons from the sky. Blue Eyes and I were driving through Grand Teton National Park in Wyoming, enjoying the views and trying to decide what hike to do next. As the wet road turned into a slippery, steely ribbon I started to get nervous, we finally found a place to park and watch as the thundering clouds stormed east followed by a thick cape of streaming gray rain.

In less than 30 minutes the storm had passed–summer storms in the mountainous West are ferocious, but usually short lived. Thirty minutes. I can wait out anything for thirty minutes. Sometimes, you need to take each day thirty minutes at a time. Sometimes that’s all you can manage. And sometimes you’ve become so used to living thirty minutes at a time that you forget how to live bigger than that. I can’t stop thinking about my breakthrough in yesterday’s post. Live bigger. Live broader. Pick a destination and work towards it. My thoughts are still kind of jumbly on the specifics, but I already feel like the realization has brought me more clarity than I’ve had in a long time. I’m still in the middle of the storm but I’m finally off the slippery road that has been leading me to nowhere.

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Life, or something like it

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There is something so soothing about watching the waves; small ones lap gently on the beach while large ones crash furiously over treacherous rocks, leaving white foam and tide pools in their wake. Poetically, the ocean seems self-cleaning, constantly changing, spitting out shells and garbage and mermaids, sucking sand and unsuspecting tourists out to sea. Ok, so my poem is kind of twisted. (Also, mermaids aside, I am well aware that the health of our oceans has been on a constant and steady decline for years.)

My soul belongs in the mountains, so this ocean thing is kind of a tricky analogy for me (I want SO BADLY to make a “fish out of water” pun, but can’t seem to work it in properly, so you get this parenthetical instead. You’re welcome.); I feel like my whole life is somehow caught right on that line between sand and sea, being pulled both ways at every moment, trying to straddle two competing forces and stay upright. I’m not just talking about a split between my home here in Arizona and my heart-home in Salt Lake, although I’m sure that division is a contributing factor. I feel like I’m waiting for something big to happen, waiting for forward movement, just waiting. I feel anxious and kind of discombobulated most of the time, restless even, not sure what to do or say. Sometimes I’ll be on the verge of a weepy break-down for DAYS at a time. This is…not a normal state of being for me, I feel cramped and irritated in my own skin. This lack of confidence is a really uncomfortable admission for me, and I wish there was an easy fix…emphasis on the EASY part.

I know, I know. Life is not easy. It’s not supposed to be easy. Any major shift or movement requires a lot of consistency, small and progressive goal making and achieving, and a long-term goal to work towards. Maybe that’s my problem right now…for most aspects of my life I do not have a long-term goal, no guiding star to help me navigate. So here I am, stuck in  the waves, without any real direction or urgency for getting unstuck.

The Cheshire Cat says that if you don’t know where you want to get to, then it doesn’t much matter which way you go. So, here I am, all Alice in Wonderland-ing my way through the days and weeks (and months?) feeling like I’m wandering in circles and starting to tire of the endless journey. The last few weeks I have kept thinking about ways to pull out of this wander-y funk, and I tend to gravitate towards extravagant grand adventure type solutions. (Road Trip to Prince Edward Island! Or Alaska! Hike a Dozen 14,000′ Mountain Peaks!! Spend a Year Doing A Thing To See If It Makes Me A Better Person!!) Each suggestion seems more maniacal than the last. But, really, my restlessness in daily living will be right here waiting for me when I get back.

I need some long-term goals, Life Goals that can help reshape and redirect my actions and modify my behavior. That’s a very fancy way of saying: I Need A Plan. I hardly recall a time in my adult life where I didn’t have a solid idea of where I wanted to be in two or five years, but suddenly when I try and conjure that up, I draw a blank. I mean, I’ll be here, in this house in the desert, with Blue Eyes and (on occasion) his kids. But that’s all I’ve got. And, truly, that is not enough for me. A healthy marriage and a safe & comfortable home is a really solid base, for sure. But I need more than that.

For my own sanity, I need to fix this. I need to find some long-term goals that will stretch me and be something to work towards. I am actually kind of embarrassed to admit that I don’t have any solid long-term dreams right now. Embarrassed and sad, I am legitimately weepy. I don’t quite recognize this version of myself, the sort of sedentary content-with-the-status-quo person.

Do YOU have long-term life goals right now? In your relationship? With your family? Finances? Work life? Personal life? Athletic life? Academic life? What do you do to remember how to dream big?

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Pretending Gives me Anxiety

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Some days it is almost all I can do to just be myself. I feel like I don’t fit in my skin, my brain and my heart are not on the same page, and sometimes panic attacks that come out of nowhere send me spiraling down to the fetal position where I hug my knees and try and remember how to breathe.

Real talk, ya’ll. Sometimes being Harriet is just hard.

I am thirty-three, and it’s only been the last couple of years that I’ve realized something: it’s actually much easier to be myself than to try and be anyone else. The general discomfort and lack of self-confidence most often come when I am trying to pretend I’m someone I’m not. Did you catch that? Pretending to be someone else ultimately increases my anxiety: pretending builds a beautiful but completely unstable house of cards, impressive, but ready to crash at any moment.

I don’t get far trying to pretend that I’m cool; I’m not. I can talk to someone for hours, but I very much prefer conversations about things that matter over Small Talk. Small Talk is boring. I am a nerd. I get excited about volcanoes and elephant psychology and North Korean history/politics. I will always love reading dense-ish non-fiction over watching some fluffy Netflix crap or devouring the latest YA series. I don’t like most popular TV shows because I get irritated at the messages that are being sent about how we should probably live our lives, I don’t like the social commentary that most often uses minorities or those who are somehow “other” as a jokey subplot linked with the laugh track. I think, more often than not, it sustains or increases prejudice against already marginalized groups instead of generating critical thought or inciting social change.

I don’t get (or even really care (anymore)) about what makes someone popular in the real world or online. I was sooo not popular in school, or in my 20’s, and doubt I ever will be. I do try to be kind, but sometimes when people are assholes basic kindness is impossible, and I don’t feel that badly about treating assholes with a hefty dose of their own snarky medicine.

Clearly, I am a barrel of laughs. I often have to force myself to not be so serious, to lighten up, to not pick apart every little thing. But, the truth is, I am serious-minded, and all the fluffy unicorn memes in the world can’t undo that part of my personality.

A few months ago I read, and mostly disagreed with, Marie Kondo’s Tidying-Up Magic. However, thinking about her ideas in the context of my online presence and blog (and not the physical objects in my home), perhaps she was on to something. What are the pieces of Harriet that truly bring me joy? It’s not a bright and shiny, well-lit and well-curated “lifestyle” social media feed. It’s not a styled online presence at all, actually. Every time I think I should post about X, Y, or Z to attract more traffic or get a few likes or a few shares, I feel like I stumble and fall flat on my face. I’m not a lifestyle blogger, and probably never will be. And…that’s okay. At this point (and I do give myself permission to change my mind), I don’t want to employ SEO tactics to increase traffic, I don’t feel any need to link up with sponsors to get my foot in the door (the door to what?) or to gain better visibility to brands or campaigns. Am I jealous of the fancy big blogs that bring in a livable wage? Sure. But I’m not a lifestyle blogger, I’m a writer. Or at least trying to be. I’m trying to figure out how to write down the stuff in my head.

I am feisty, I am a feminist, I will talk your ear off about social injustice for minority groups or whatever geeky book I’ve read lately. I cannot pretend that world events don’t affect me; they do. I critique advertising much more than I follow it’s not-at-all subtle nudges towards consumption-based buying behavior, and will quickly make mental notes of the pieces that feel disingenuous. I don’t care about being popular, but I do care about fostering individual relationships–meaningful relationships–with people both IRL and online. I do not have time for disingenuous, give me your real self, your authentic self, even just a small part of it. I don’t know what to do with the shiny and the pretend, but give me something ragged around the edges, I’ll take extra care with it. Give me something a little broken and I’ll bust out my Scotch Tape and a cup of tea and something to snuggle with and if I can’t fix it I’ll just employ gentle hair pats and the occassional one-liner to break the tension or make you smile.

And maybe, ultimately, that is more what I am than who I am. Perhaps I am the rough edges, the broken one, the lonely one, held together with non-decorative Scotch Tape and a hope for compassion. Maybe I’m just trying to fit in, knowing for damn sure that I’ll never make it as a Styled, Curated, Shiny Harriet because Harriet The Feisty Nerd will always get in the way, say something candid and honest and decidedly not “on brand” or “campaign approved.”

Remember how I said that it’s much easier to be yourself than to pretend to be someone or something you are not? Yeah. This is me. Messy and feisty, opinionated and sometimes jealous, unfiltered and sometimes a little sweary or ranty and almost always ready to fight for the underdog. Sometimes I’m selfish and sometimes I’m kind. Sometimes I’m forgiving and sometimes I guard that grudge to somehow protect my own hurt feelings, and sometimes I keep it just out of spite. Sometime I have my shit together and sometimes I eat raw cookie dough right out of it’s store-bought plastic-wrapped tube–not vegan, not gluten free, not free-range, not responsibly sourced. Just a tube of sugary trans fats.

I am a work in progress, and it’s easier to admit that than it is to pretend that things are great and everything is fine. Is it scary? Yes. Is doing something scary easier than sustaining something fake? For me? A million times easier, there is no house of cards that I must build and/or maintain, no illusions to feed, no shareholders to please.

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