Photoquote: Allowing Yourself to Create Badly…
Why All Artists Should Go Duck Hunting
It’s time for another classic from the archives! Having just returned from a week at Jazz Camp West, it seemed appropriate to pull this one out, originally published on September 25, 2011, and inspired by a teacher at Jazz Camp West a couple of years ago. Enjoy! xoMelissa
You know that little voice that whispers in your ear, “You suck!” Yeah, that one.
That’s the Suck Duck.*
The Suck Duck sits on your shoulder, waiting for the right moment to quack at you:
“Ew. That’s not good enough! Who do you think you’re kidding? You suck!“
“You’re not qualified to do that! You suck!“
“Man, oh, man, what in the hell were you thinking trying something new? Just stick with what you know, you dummy! You suck!“
“Oh, no – not perfect. Into the trash can that goes! You suck!“
In other words, the Suck Duck is the voice of judgement.
The voice of perfectionism. The Suck Duck is one manifestation of that bain of all creatives: resistance.
Or as Steven Pressfield calls it, in his gem of a book, The War of Art, Resistance.
I love how Pressfield personifies Resistance, as an entity with will and malignant intent. Somehow the metaphor makes it easier to wrap one’s head around. Easier to identify the enemy and take arms against it.
And when the metaphor is a duck,** well, it just brings it down to size, doesn’t it?
A duck, say a rubber duck, could be drop-kicked out the window, for example.***
Or locked up in a cupboard.
Or even, I don’t know, made friends with and transformed into a friendly duck, perhaps.****
It’s all up to you and your personal style.
Whatever, the whole point is, when that voice starts quacking at you, recognize it for what it is: the Suck Duck. NOT benign reality.
Then dispatch it.
Dispatching the Suck Duck
The Suck Duck is hard to kill (and hey, I’m not one for violence anyway‡), but here’s what you can do: Take the Suck Duck off your shoulder, and put it in another room.
Or drop-kick the Suck Duck out the window.
Or buy the Suck Duck an imaginary plane ticket to Timbuktu and send him off.
I assure you, the Suck Duck will probably find its way back, and more quickly than you’d like. So just send it off again.
The point is, make a habit of noticing when the Suck Duck is talking to you (hint: it often sounds a lot like you, and/or a lot like The Truth).
And make a habit of taking the Suck Duck off your shoulder and drop-kicking it out the window (or whatever).
That’s one of the things I do when I teach or lead Playshops, classes or retreats: I remind people – over and over if necessary – to banish the Suck Duck. Because really, not much creative amazingness can happen when the Suck Duck is in the room.
That is why, although I’m extremely uncomfortable with the entire notion of hunting (you know, like with rifles and stuff), I believe all artists and creatives should go hunting for the Suck Duck, preferably on a very regular basis.
Let me know how your Suck Duck hunting goes. How many times did you spot the Suck Duck today, this week, this month? And what did you do to dispatch it?
*Kid Beyond, one of my favorite teachers at Jazz Camp West, was the first person I heard refer to the Suck Duck. I am blatantly stealing his metaphor to share with you here, but I totally got it from him. Just so you know. Visit his website, go watch him perform, love him up. He’s awesome.
**For any Fluent Self/Havi Brooks fans out there, huge apologies to Selma. The Suck Duck is an entirely different species of duck, no relation to Selma. Not a real duck (of either the feathery or rubber variety) at all. Just so you know.
***Obviously you wouldn’t do this with a real duck. I’m very partial to ducks, and would never want to do anything to intentionally or unintentionally encourage cruelty to ducks, or any other animals.*******
****Okay, I threw that one in there for any soft-hearted readers who can’t stomach the idea of dispatching a duck, even of the evil, fantastical and metaphoric variety. Me, I’m all for dispatching. But of course ONLY the evil, fantastical and metaphoric variety. (See *** above.)
***** My favorite charity, fyi, to which I send money every month, is Animals Asia, which works to stop cruelty to moon bears (and also dogs and cats) in China and Vietnam. They ROCK! Check them out!
******With the possible exception of mosquitoes. And fleas. And cockroaches. Though in truth I wouldn’t want to encourage cruelty towards them (I really do believe that cruelty is just plain wrong, even to annoying insects) but I have been known to kill my fair share (sorry PETA).
‡See ***** above.
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Endings, Exits, Edges and Buttered Sourdough Toast
When I was a kid, one of the best parts of the weekend was my dad’s sourdough.
Living in the San Francisco Bay Area, we were lucky to share our home with microorganisms that make the best sourdough on the planet, and my dad had it down to an art form. On Friday or Saturday night he’d pull out the ceramic container that lived in the fridge, mix the weird-smelling sponginess inside together with flour and water, cover the bowl with a dish towel and put it up on the top of the cupboard, near the ceiling, where the sourdough-making beasties were most likely to hang out and add their magic to the mix.
The next morning we’d be treated to a super-sour batch of pancakes (my favorite) or waffles (my brother’s favorite), or sometimes biscuits (okay, I lied — these were definitely my favorite).
Weekend brunches were the best at my house!
In addition to the quickbreads above, there were a couple of years there when Pop also made killer sourdough bread once or twice a week. He even bought a special set of Pyrex™ baking tubes, which made eerily perfect cylindrical loaves, which we in turn sliced into perfect rounds of bread.
Sourdough bread is definitely best toasted, and the toaster in our house got a lot of use.
Which meant, of course, that we got very practiced at buttering said toast.
My dad was the pro — his toast was always impeccably buttered, with an even layer of melted butter (or more likely in our house, margarine) from edge to edge. Mom’s technique was more slapdash, resulting in a big lump of butter (margarine) in the center, with the toast getting progressively drier and more butter-poor the closer you got to the crust.
Mom loves butter (margarine too, actually), and would be happy to eat it straight out of the carton, so her technique worked great for her needs. When you’re sprinkling your cinnamon sugar, however, and you want it to cling consistently to every millimeter of your toast round, a mostly-dry piece of toast with a chunk of partially-melted butter (or margarine) in the center just doesn’t cut it.
I was determined to learn to butter toast like my dad did. What was Pop’s secret?
Edges.
Pop learned a saying from someone else (his own father, perhaps?), which stuck with me:
“Butter around the outside, and the inside will take care of itself.”
Or, to be a little clearer:
“Butter along the edges, and the middle will take care of itself.”
In other words, start spreading your butter not in the middle, but along the outer edges, by the crust. As you circle around your slice of toast, keep spreading the butter at the outer edge of the still-dry part of the toast. You’ll end up buttering in an ever tightening spiral, until at last you reach the center.
It’s a thing of beauty.
What does this have to do with living a creative life?
I will explain, dear reader.
Several months back I had a half-day studio session with Cairene.
(Brief interruption to say: Run, do not walk, to work with this woman! And no, that is not an affiliate link. Virtual hugs to the wonderful Laureen for pointing me in Cairene’s direction. And yes, it’s a random coincidence that their names sort of rhyme.)
When the student is ready, the teacher appears, they say. I was oh-so ready for Cairene, who pointed out (among many other things) the importance of giving attention to the edges of your work: exits, endings, transitions from one “container” to the next.
Exits, Endings, and Transitions
The time I spend writing this post, for example, is a container. At some point I’ll need to shift my attention away from writing a blog post and toward the next thing.
Picking my sweetie up at the airport, say. That’s another container, and something else I have to do today (in about twenty minutes, as it happens).
If I’m going to get to the airport in a timely fashion, so my sweetie doesn’t have to wait out on the curb for a ridiculous amount of time, I need to plan ahead not just for the time it will take me to drive to the airport, but for the time it will take me to transition out of writing a blog post and into the next thing.
What do I need to do to wrap up my writing session? Save the blog post, or if it’s done, schedule it for publication. Bring my attention out of my computer and onto what I need to get myself safely to the airport.
But I actually need to do a lot more than that.
In this case, I need to put on some real clothes (unless I want to drive to the airport in my pajamas), feed the cat — and, oh, yeah, since I’m dog-sitting for my parents’ German Shepherd, Chloe, I also need to let the dog out and feed her, too.
So it’s not really just a matter of stopping writing and *bam!* instantaneously driving to the airport. There is a whole slew of “transition stuff” that needs to be taken into consideration if the rest of my morning is to go smoothly. And just like the buttered sourdough toast, if I pay attention to those edges, I’ll have a much more pleasant experience.
When I get back from the airport, what needs to happen in order for me to turn my attention back to writing, or to whatever container is next?
If I think about these things in advance, it’s truly amazing how much difference it makes!
My Usual M.O.
What I typically tend to do is forget about things like the fact that I have to feed the critters before I can hop in the car, so I extend my writing container for longer than I really have time for. Then I end up scrambling like a madwoman, cursing a lot, and being embarrassingly late for things like picking my sweetie up from the airport.
What I typically tend to do is not think about endings, edges, and transitions, and that means great stretches of otherwise productive time gets lost in a void of never-ending-transition.
My day is in constant danger of becoming a black-hole of spinning my wheels. Or to stick with my toast metaphor, a piece of mostly-dry sourdough toast with a clump of mostly unmelted butter in the middle.
But now, thanks to Cairene, my usual M.O. is changing. Instead of just focusing on what I have to do, I’m learning to shift my focus just an inch to the left and right of that, to how I’m going to end a given container, transition out of it, and transition into the next thing.
Butter around the edges and the middle will take care of itself.
Focus on the edges, endings, and transitions of the tasks, activities, and “containers” of my day, and the whole day flows ever so much more smoothly.
Now I’m going to get dressed, feed some hungry critters, and make myself some cinnamon toast before heading off to the airport to pick up MB.
PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
Photo by Thristian at Flickr
The Great Bedtime Experiment
Part 1 (In which I encounter the End of the World)
Have you ever noticed that when you make a big decision and commitment, the Universe seems to choose that very moment to send you the exact thing that will most challenge you?
Happens every time.
“I will no longer do that kind of client work, so I can make room to bring in the kind of work I really want!” [Cue ringing of phone, with a client on the other end of the line, asking for exactly the kind of work you’re trying to stop doing, with the funds to pay for it.]
“I am getting back to my exercise routine, dammit, starting today!” [Cue the entrance of your youngest child, who has just stuck a rock in her ear, necessitating an emergency trip to Urgent Care during what would have been your gym time.]
“I am going back off sugar and wheat — my body just can’t take it!” [Cue the arrival of an Evite to a dessert party hosted by your best friend.]
Or how about this:
After taking on too much (again — how does that happen?) and falling off the wagon of your lovely 3-Hours-in-the-Morning-Creative-Work-Ritual (again), you are committed to spending even just 15 minutes making art today, AND working on your e-book, dammit!
And just as you’re clearing the clutter off your drafting table, so ready to sink your teeth back into creating you can taste it, the phone rings.
You’re all set to ignore it (after all, the answering machine will handle it), except that the volume’s up, and it turns out to be a past client. With an emergency.
The ketubah arrived weeks ago, but they only just now took a close look at it, and there’s a word there that shouldn’t be.
And the wedding’s on Monday.
Which is a holiday.
And today is Friday.
There goes your lovely morning of creativity.
There goes your Friday yoga class, too, when the replacement ketubah isn’t fully printed by the time you’d have to leave to get there.
(Oh, and there goes $80 — ka-ching — to pay for the overnight shipping and Saturday delivery. Ouch.)
Things like this are going to happen, of course. It’s Murphy’s Law. And when you’re on track, when you’re getting nourished every day, an occasional disruption, while annoying, is not a big deal.
But when you’re out of whack and trying to get back on track, a disruption of a few hours can feel like
So.
Part 2 (In which I regroup)
First step: Notice that it isn’t actually the end of the world.
Second step: Observe that the strength of your reaction is a pretty good sign that you are really ready to make that change.
Third step: Thank the Universe for sending such a clear sign that yes, it is really time to make that change. (Thank you, Universe.)
Fourth step: Look at what systems might need shoring up to help get you — and keep you — on track.
Part 3 (In which I get more specific)
Me? I’m re-committing to blocking off my mornings for creative strategizing, art-making, music & writing.
(Not that this would have saved my sorry ass on this particular morning, but it would have made what felt like a major disaster feel more like the minor annoyance that it actually was in the scheme of things.) (Though I confess that wasting $80 on shipping charges still irks me.)
I’m also looking at the feasibility (ooh — big word!) of shifting my entire schedule over a few hours.
My current M.O. is to work late into the night (in a mad attempt to get stuff done), which invariably leaves me getting a late start in the morning, but still wrung out and in need of a nap (which I almost never actually get).
It’s a system I know is not working optimally, but I’ve been too scared of failure to even try to change it.
The New Year, though, presents a natural “blank slate” in which things that don’t normally seem possible for some reason feel… worth an attempt, at least.
I actually love being up and at ’em earlier in the day. I dream of being a morning person, and truth be told, my body would really, really, really prefer it. (Yes, please!)
It’s just the rest of me that’s not so keen. (No way!)
In short,
I don’t like to go to bed.
I want to keep going, like the Energizer Bunny. Honestly, if I had my druthers, I’d eliminate the need for sleep entirely.
Alas, that’s not going to happen. And I wasn’t blessed with low-sleep-need genetics — I’m hard-wired to require more than 8 hours for optimal health and happiness… and yet I rarely ever get it.
As we launch into 2012, though, and as I think about what I want this year to be about for me, I keep coming back to Susan Falcone’s lovely model of 2011 as her Year of Self-Compassion.
Self-Compassion — compassion towards ME, treating myself, first and foremost, with compassion at the forefront — means a lot of things.
- It means scaling back, streamlining, NOT taking on more than I can handle.
- It means thinking carefully, practicing patience, and NOT jumping in with both feet before I’ve figured out how to swim.
- It means giving myself lots of what makes me happiest (time for art, music, walks, friends…) and NOT filling my schedule with obligations that don’t feed me.
- It means being forgiving and gentle with myself, and NOT holding up SuperHuman expectations (and then beating myself up when I don’t achieve them).
(For example: much as I would LOVE to pursue a full-time art business AND a full-time Uke Diva performing and recording career, AND write full time, AND be a full-time inspirationalist/coachsultant/teacher/”can-opener to the creative spirit,” unless and until I clone myself THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. At least not all at the same time. Who knows — my art or my music may become my full-time primary focus at some point down the road. I may have a flourishing touring schedule in my 70s. But meanwhile, I rely on my Stovetop Model of Life Design to keep me sane.)
Self-compassion also means getting adequate sleep and rest.
So.
Part 4 (In which I disclose the experiment I’ve been reluctant to reveal for fear of massive and embarrassing public failure)
It’s scary as hell for me to share this, but here goes.
For the month of January, I am going to attempt a very radical (for me) thing.
The Great Bedtime Experiment
All you larks will be sniggering, no doubt, but to a night owl like me, getting to bed before midnight (hell, before 2am, most nights!) is nigh impossible.
But I’m going to see if I can do it.
I’ve learned that accountability — especially public accountability — is a powerful motivator. My ArtSpark newsletter got me to make art like nothing else in the past year. I know people are expecting a piece of art to land in their inbox, and WOW does that get me creating!
Knowing I’m on the hook to produce is way more effective at getting me to play in my studio than just about anything else.
Honestly, I find this fact about myself incredibly annoying, but I’m still playing it for all it’s worth!
I’ve also learned that taking on a time-limited challenge — even when it’s not a publicly-made commitment — is very effective.
I never signed up officially to 750words.com, but I faithfully wrote my 750 words every day during the month of November (while riding an exercise bike, no less!)
So.
I’ve discussed it with my sweetie, and he’s ready and willing to support me in my commitment, which is…
(Drumroll, please..)
In service of self-compassion, and with a larger goal of creating more psychic and energetic space for creative abundance, I, Melissa Dinwiddie, hereby commit to getting to bed — lights out — by 11pm every night in the month of January, 2012.
Official caveat: exceptions will be considered and may be made on a case-by-case basis, only for special events, such as plays, concerts, gigs, or out-of-town visitors.
This means:
- I will have to turn my computer OFF by 9:30pm at the absolute latest. (Okay, maybe 10:00.)
- No more “just one more thing..!”
- I
maywill definitely have to scale back in ways foreseen and not foreseen. (Blog post not done? Too bad — it’ll have to go out a day later. Or simply not post at all until next week.) - I will have to do a much better job of planning ahead. (The secret ulterior motive!!!!)
Do I really think I can do this?
Honestly, I don’t know. I may be confessing to major fails very soon, though I hope not. But this is an experiment, after all.
My hope is that the Great Bedtime Experiment will do more than just get me to go to bed earlier. I have a sneaking suspicion that it could have a much larger impact than the behavior changes I’ve listed above.
This feels really big to me.
Whatever happens, I’ll keep you posted here.
Happy New Year!
Do you have a big change you’d like to make? What would get you to take on the challenge of actually trying it?
PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
5 Tips for Staying Sane & Creatively Nourished During December
Oh. My. God. December is just NUTS, isn’t it?
In my Creative Ignition Club call today, one of my Igniters acknowledged that, what with 15 more hours a week at work to deal with end-of-year stuff, visiting house guests, getting ready for holiday events and whatnot, it just didn’t make sense to expect herself to maintain the same 20-minutes-a-day Creative Sandbox schedule she managed last month.
Plus there’s the fact that the projects she really wants to work on take up space, which is currently being used by house guests.
So they will have to wait. (Her projects, that is. Not the house guests.)
What’s keeping her sane in the meantime is incorporating her creative expression into daily life. Turning cookie decorating into an art project. Doing origami while watching TV with her family.
It isn’t sating her creative hunger 100%, but it’s enough that she doesn’t feel completely bereft. It’s a “band-aid” solution, and she knows it.
How to work that Band-Aid
We all have to make do with “band-aid” solutions sometimes. If that’s your situation right now, here are my suggestions for optimal happiness until you can get back to “normal.”
1) Keep your eye on the light at the end of the tunnel
“Band-aid” solutions can get you by temporarily, but unless you know it’s really only temporary, it’s all too easy to get worn down. If you know that in X days or weeks you’ll be able to indulge your creative spirit to the max again, your temporary band-aid won’t feel as frustrating. Keep reminding yourself that your crazy-ass situation is not permanent.
2) Make a hard date with yourself to get back on track
The biggest problem with “falling off the wagon” is not the falling; it’s the difficulty of getting back on.
When we’re in the habit of keeping a commitment — creative or otherwise — it has a certain momentum. All of that goes away when you fall off, and inertia is a formidable foe. It’s all too easy to let a couple of weeks slide into a couple of months, and even years. Put the odds in your favor by making a hard date to start back on your commitment.
3) Get help wherever you can
Count down to your start-back-up day (you might want to make a chart to hang on your wall, or cross off days on a calendar), and improve your chances of following through in whatever ways you can. Here are some suggestions:
- Enlist an accountability partner to check in with you before, on and after your start-back-up date.
- Share your commitment in a public forum, where you know other people will be holding you accountable.
- Determine whom among your friends and family is truly supportive of you pursuing your creative passions (NOT the ones who pay lip service while rolling their eyes — you know who they are) and let them know you could use some encouragement to get back on track.
- Book a session with a good coach around your target start-up date.
4) Eliminate the hoops
The more hoops you have to jump through, the less likely you’ll be to do the thing you really want, no matter how much you want it. Resistance is that powerful! Start preparing for your start-back-up date now by removing as many hoops as you possibly can.
I read about a guy who wanted to establish a daily running practice, but just couldn’t keep it up. Then one night he put his running shoes by his bed and went to sleep in his workout clothes. The next morning he was up and out on a run first thing. From that day on he slept in his workout clothes, and his running practice locked into place like magic.
Figure out what hoops are in your way, and do whatever you can to eliminate them. Clear off that desk or work table and pull out your supplies where they’re easy to access (just as soon as all the guests clear out, or beforehand if you can!) Set up your environment to invite you in. Keep an eye on your calendar and mark off sacred space for YOU, then make sure not to schedule ANY appointments during those times.
5) Grab “You” time whenever you can
There’s a reason I recommend a 15-minutes a day standard, even for Creatives who can frequently manage much more than that. 15 minutes is actually enough to get into that magical state of “flow,” when time stops, you lose your ego, and live wholly in the moment. And it’s a small enough chunk that it’s almost ridiculous to say you can’t make it happen.
But if you really can’t get in 15 minutes, aim for 10. Or 5. Or one. Doodle, for god’s sake. Do something to remind your creative spirit that you haven’t forgotten about her or him. And like my Igniter above, look for ways to feed your creative hunger throughout the day.
To conclude…
We all have extra-ridiculously-insane-crazy-ass periods. Sometimes, making do with a “band-aid” solution for a bit is the wisest, most self-compassionate thing we can do. When those times descend, though, treat yourself with maximum love and self-care by preparing to get back on track as quickly as possible, and do whatever you can to keep yourself nourished in the meantime.
What tips do you have for staying sane and creatively nourished when things get crazy? Share them in the comments below!
PS — Pssst! Know someone who might benefit from seeing this today? Pass it on!
