The Artist’s Way Week 8: Recovering a Sense of Strength

I like the idea that creating art is primal. I failed to recognise for years that the urge to tell stories was a fundamental part of who I am. I found my voice in my early twenties in nightclubs and after parties where I would spout nonsense until the last person wandered off or fell asleep. Except that it wasn’t nonsense: it was me trying to connect and bring groups together. We were sitting around the campfire that evolutionary biologists and creative writing teachers love to talk about. But I lacked the confidence and the tools – I had no clue there were tools – to develop this basic storytelling and it fell by the wayside. The nascent artist did not survive the distracting imperatives of everyday living.

This week’s chapter begins with Survival: ‘All artists must learn the art of surviving loss...hope...face...money [and] self belief.’ The problem is (and here I agree with Julia) that we tend to hide these losses rather than air them. As writers, we know that suppressed secrets and shame are fertile ground for drama, yet we don’t recognise them when they are right on the end of our noses. Since embarking on The Artist’s Way, however, I have begun to talk about disappointments and defeats and you know what? I am learning to weigh up the pros and cons, sift through the criticism and learn and move forward. Criticism is particularly interesting: emerging writers can live and die by what other people say about their work. It’s hard to imagine that one review can be spot on whereas another can be fatally (for a project) wrong. It’s as though our critical faculties go awry when it comes to what other people say about our work. You have to learn to trust your instincts, because if I have learned anything it’s that my gut reaction to critique is often the one to follow. It takes courage and confidence to defy a tutor or editor or anyone with power and influence; and I don’t know if it’s the exercises or the affirmations or the repeated focus on me, the artist, but this programme is giving me the strength to do just that.

Is it ever right or useful to think of artistic loss and failure in terms of grief? It’s difficult to get on board with a statement like ‘every end is a beginning’ when so many lives are ending prematurely, but I imagine that for every empathetic artist there is another more pragmatic (and productive) creator who can step back and ask ‘How can this loss serve me?’ This same person will turn pain into energy and will paint a silver lining into a cloud. I ponder for a moment and realise that this is exactly what I have been doing: I would not be writing this article if I hadn’t acknowledged the loss of my creativity; I found The Artist’s Way gathering dust on a shelf and spun the loss into a new beginning. In the last sixty six days (that was the number at the top of the page when I came to write my morning pages) I have written poetry, essays and articles, whereas before my focus was exclusively on fiction; I have had poetry and non-fiction published, have (almost) shrugged off rejections from editors, and I have even been phlegmatic about competition failures. I’m not finished with fiction, but I’m rethinking what it means to me to be a writer. This newfound grit and flexibility is enervating and encouraging. That last word is apposite: I had plenty of support from those around me, but what I needed was a boost from within.

Something else I am learning and enjoying is to focus on the process and not the product. In this age of late capitalism we are constantly directed towards the end product without considering the process – does anyone ever think about the person who made their dress or cooked their meal? – and by the same token, artists risk losing the pleasures inherent in creation. I have rediscovered the child-like joy of having a go at something with no idea what will come of it. In doing so I am amazed to have reignited a long-dormant sense of adventure. I have never been able to stick to a to-do list, but now I don’t care. I use the list to remind me what I want to achieve, but I’m not going to waste energy feeling guilty when I spend a day or a week on one item. Here’s a new mantra to chew on: ditch destructive deadlines and relax. Of course, this transformation is neither complete nor permanent, but it’s an achievement to have got this far. How have I done it? Julia has a phrase for it: ‘filling in the form’. She is talking about ‘taking the next small step’ and the one after that and so on: a book consists of chapters that consist of pages that consist of lines that consist of words. I start with words. At the end of the week I select five new affirmations to work with, two of which seem to hit home: I am a good person and a good artist; and I now share my creativity more openly. The latter is what’s giving me a boost.

POST-SCRIPT: Still 100% with the morning pages, but the artist’s date has become something more nebulous than what Julia prescribes. Instead of a dedicated hour or two once a week, I’m open to creative and artistic diversions whenever they appear. I’m looking at paintings and photographs, listening to and watching writers and I’m taking new directions for longer runs. Like most of us, I’m enjoying what I can of the sunshine and can’t help but feel the optimism of summer’s approach.

Click here to read about Week 9.