A Creative Living (Version 2.0): The Man (hat on) Tour

I’m about to be a part of something really cool.  Next month, I’m going to New York with Xander and Ben for a sort of tour 2.0-type thing.  We’re calling it Man (hat on).  There’s even a logo (and the likelihood of t-shirts).  No, I’m not a musician.  My misguided adolescent foray into the world of string instruments is likely as far as I’ll ever go, musically.  But it doesn’t matter.  Because–although there will be music involved (provided mainly by Ben, obviously), this is really a tour about freedom, and doing what you like, and creating things.

We’re playing with this idea of “sustainable creativity”, you see.  It’s about using communities and ideas to sustain yourself, so that you’re able to do what you love doing.  It’s simple, on paper: if you’re a writer, you find a way to write.  If you’re a musician, you find the support you need to play gigs and write songs.  If you’re someone without a clearly defined path, someone who just likes to play with ideas—it means finding a way to do that.

It sounds easy, but it isn’t.  Creative output takes a lot of time, energy, love, and support, not only from the creator, but also from his or her community.  The problem is that many of us are saddled with a lot of extra baggage.  We have bills to pay and debts to pay off.  We have social and professional obligations that rigidly divide our days. Very likely we’re burdened with a “real job”—which we may find intellectually dull and emotionally empty, but necessary nonetheless (I mostly babysit photocopiers and answer telephones grumpily, for instance).

And in an era where time is money, how do you justify spending a few hours every day on your craft?  How do you find a few hours every day?  It’s impossible to underestimate the negative power of financial constraints.  If you constantly spend your time thinking, I should be making money, not fucking around, you quickly become creatively impotent.

So suppose we make things easier for ourselves.  Suppose, to start, we surround ourselves with other, similarly minded, creatively charged people, and become a kind of micro-community based on the idea of mutual inspiration.  This removes a number of barriers, and in their places, provides us with a number of opportunities.  It gives us an automatic audience, a built-in sounding-board, a kind of creativity support group.  It allows for collaborative effort and means that even an ordinary trip to the pub can result in a great idea.  In a way, it combines the social aspect of our lives with the creative aspect, thus gaining us time as well as emotional backing.

Well, that’s good.  That’s a source of motivation and stimulation.  But we’re still stuck with that bland job, those pesky bills, all the worries that get us down.  Even if we have a micro-community of like-minded creatives, we’re still not going anywhere. Not yet.

The next thing to do, then, is to give up the rock star dream.  Forget, for a moment, that you want to be the next superstar of the rock n’ roll, or literary, or art, or whatever world.  And remember why you started singing, or writing, or drawing, or playing with ideas, in the first place.  Innovative solo bass player Steve Lawson writes prolifically, and very well, about this: “I no longer need to pretend to be a rock-star.  The mythology of rock ‘n’ roll is nowhere near as interesting as the reality of creativity.”  And, Steve adds, “The 80s dream of everyone becoming Stadium rock stars has faded, and more and more musicians are looking at fun ways to get to play music in a financially sustainable way.”  And what we’re trying to say is: not just musicians.  Anyone who wants to make anything should be listening to Steve on this point.

It sounds cheesy, but this is an idea about survival and satisfaction, not about making a profit, not about constantly striving, clawing your way up the celebrity hierarchy.  This is an idea about how you can do what you love doing—what you would be doing anyway–and earn enough from it to justify doing it as something more than a hobby.  To earn enough from it to recoup your costs, eat a meal or two.  Eventually, to earn enough from it to pay all those bills, to live comfortably, to buy a new pair of boots (or the male equivalent) when you need to.  But to start, it’s only about getting by.

Luckily, that built-in creative community—even if it’s just a group of two or three people—is the key.  Gone are the days when any artist can continue to cling to the alcoholic outcast myth and hope that her lonely genius will be discovered.  There’s just too much stuff out there for that to be a viable tactic.  There are literally thousands of other musicians writing songs and putting them up on the Internet.  Thousands of other filmmakers uploading clips to YouTube.  Thousands of other writers with blogs.  Thousands of other painters with thousands of canvases stacked up in their basement.  And every single one of them can publicize themselves, advertise themselves, with the click of a button.  Passivity and sheer luck may work for some; but the only way to guarantee a sustainable, creative life is to actively seek one out.

So you start with a tiny community.  A few friends.  Maybe you start at the pub, where ideas can flow unchecked by the ordinariness of daily life.  And you realize that actually, there’s a lot of overlooked potential in the world.  You buy some tickets to New York.  You decide that you’re going to prove this theory by living it.

So we are three people, with different skills and ambitions but a common goal of creating things and doing cool stuff, taking a week off work.  We’re going to pack up our guitars, our laptops, our brains, and head across the Atlantic, where we’re going to do what what love, and what we’re good at, and find a way to survive.  We’re going to stay cheaply (with friends, on couches).  We’re going to earn just enough to recoup our travel expenses, and hopefully have enough left over for a few beers at the end of the day.

There are, of course, one or two things that anybody sensible might want to ask.  Or maybe not.  Anyway, there are some things that I had to ask myself as I wrote this all down:

But isn’t hunger/poverty/whatever a good creative motivator?

Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t (see my post on this here).  But this isn’t about “making it” as an artist, necessarily (though it certainly could be); it’s about literally surviving off your own work.  It’s not about becoming great whilst (or even as a result of) stealing bread and sleeping on the street, but about using whatever greatness you already possess to buy bread, pay your rent, and get by.  It’s simply meant to be proof that you can, if that’s what you want to do.

Okay.  But by making it as much about money as the creative output itself, aren’t you somehow tainting your work?  Aren’t you basically selling out, on a minute scale?

This is really where the word “sustainability” comes in.  This whole idea is fundamentally about sustaining yourself, as a creative-type, so that you can create more.  Ultimately it’s always about the creative output, and the act of creating, not about the money; the money is simply what allows that process of creation to occur unfettered.

This is all very theoretical.  What’s the end result?

The end result is whatever you want it to be.  In theory this is a limitless idea.  That’s the beauty of it.  In practice, it may have more limitations than I currently anticipate.  But we’re going to find out, and we’re going to let you know.  In the meantime, please check out the Man (hat on) site, and follow our progress, and be a participant in this crazy idea.

My Wandering Days 2009-10-21 19:33:56

Post Return To Work Stress Disorder

Turning to Some Self-Help

Hugh MacLeod

There comes a time in every thesis when you simply must turn to some self-help books.

I had resisted for ages – not (solely) out of snobbery, but because they appeared to be time-wasters, excuses for not getting on with the job (said with gruff Aussie accent).

I have relented, first with Authoring a PhD by Patrick Dunleavy, and now with Writing Your Dissertation in Fifteen Minutes a Day by Joan Bolker, and, a little off topic, Ignore Everybody and 39 Other Keys to Creativity by Hugh MacLeod.

The first book is highly technical and written in a slightly smug, ‘You silly little novice’ style. But it’s a solid attempt at boiling down each of the components of thesis writing. If you’re up for having your structure divided into proportions and number of words, this is for you. The second is more emotionally trustworthy – don’t let the business speak title throw you! It follows the ‘I will first come right down into your steaming mess of a mindset and only then will I help drag you out’ approach, one which allows you to feel relaxed about accepting the advice (which is, essentially, how to become addicted to writing and to recognise psychological traps that stop you from finishing). The last is a bunch of swiftly dealt creativity tips from a cartoonist-blogger.

Here are some of the many tips from them (two each) that have stuck with me:

1. See the literature review as context not conflict – new writers often feel they need to prove that other researchers got it wrong.

2. Manage the readers’ expectations with regular chapter and paragraph length and by watching the conceptual weighting throughout a chapter and then the whole thesis. Well-organized writers signal to readers what a chapter and a thesis will do. They make promises and keep them. You need to give equal weight to each issue if you say you will give equal weight.
3. When you’re stagnating, try writing about what might be troubling you: Are you worried your supervisor might not like it? Are you uncertain if you believe what you’ve argued? Or is there something in the material itself that disturbs you?
4. Try to summarize each of your paragraphs in a single sentence – find out whether your paragraph has a central idea or too many ideas. This then serves as a chapter outline.
5. Don’t worry about finding inspiration. It comes eventually. Inspiration precedes the desire to create, not the other way around.
6. The best way to get approval is not to need it.

Feel free to share any writing or motivational tips that have made things easier for you. Good luck (to me if no one else)!

Some Funny for the Weekend

image

I saw Bill Bailey, one of my favourite comedians, in Oxford last night. I was starstruck for most of his show – I am so used to seeing him on British TV (or iplayer, to be precise) that it took a fair old while for my wee brain to adjust. He describes himself as part-troll, 1985 Meatloaf lookalike finalist, and juggling multiple personalities: shamer, child, philosopher, rocker, and conspiracy theorist. He’s unreal.

One of his gags that just about killed me dealt with his extreme embarrassment about the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympics. He envisions the following:

An inflated Churchill (with peace sign and cigar) on the Thames accompanied by the song, Who do you think you are kidding, Mr Hitler? and a crew of London hip hop dancers.

Then a huge Yorkshire pudding will appear. The top will unfold and out will jump a bunch of dancers representing gravy and mushy peas.

Then we will see a giant, mechanical bulldog with Tesco [Supermarket] Proud Olympic Sponsor shaved into its scrotum.

The dog will open its mouth and the Queen will roll down its tongue on a Stannah stairlift.

A laser will beam from her crown to light the torch.

Then her head will flip back like a Pez and a corgy will shoot out with Union Jacks coming out its arse.

Comic gold. Hope you have a happy weekend.

Things Brought into My Life….

…which I want to pass on to you.

I have been receiving some incredibly considerate emails lately. Most are simply words of encouragement or quick reality checks, some set forth life lessons, while others are solid attacks on the enemy, as if it were shared. All to get me through the next little bit. I think you need all of these at various points along the way, occasionally all in one day.

I have also been given some lovely things from people who get to see me in real life (the lucky few!). I wanted to pass these on, not least because I have noticed a hefty measure of burnout in blogland at the moment – in both hemispheres. Hoping they will help a little.

Aspire Style tea

This exact mug and Happiness tea were given to me by a friend, Emily. Pretend to warm your hands on it and take a sip. It’s a very large mug:

Cath Kidston mug

The boyfriend set me up with the best, chunky (organic) vegetable soup to watch a handful of TED talks. (If you’re not all over these by now, sort it out!). Here is one we watched given by (pop) philosophy essayist Alain de Botton, on a kinder, gentler philosophy of success. Some twitchy eye moments particularly when he makes his conclusions, but certainly some helpful tools to manage the Sunday (status anxiety) blues. (The comments are also worth a browse).

We also watched some oldies. Probably the most thought-provoking of this oldies lot (and certainly the most kooky) was Amy Tan’s talk, Creativity:

And, finally, The Journey, a poem by Mary Oliver (not easy to find without a photograph of a sunset or waterfall), sent to me by a friend whose pretty name is so distinctive that I can’t name her here:

One day you finally knew
what you had to do, and began,
though the voices around you
kept shouting
their bad advice–
though the whole house
began to tremble
and you felt the old tug
at your ankles.
“Mend my life!”
each voice cried.
But you didn’t stop.
You knew what you had to do,
though the wind pried
with its stiff fingers
at the very foundations,
though their melancholy
was terrible.
It was already late
enough, and a wild night,
and the road full of fallen
branches and stones.
But little by little,
as you left their voices behind,
the stars began to burn
through the sheets of clouds,
and there was a new voice
which you slowly
recognized as your own,
that kept you company
as you strode deeper and deeper
into the world,
determined to do
the only thing you could do–
determined to save
the only life you could save.

Thanks to my supporters and as the Brits say: Chin up, tigers!

What’s That Over There?

photo by: goenetix (with 999 uploads!)

I have noticed that my recent posts have been distinctly non-academic, at least in the direct sense. I am in heavy thesis mode at the moment, thrashing out the very last of my empirical chapters. I will then turn my efforts to rewriting the history and context chapter, and then, only naturally, rewrite the introduction and conclusion as if I knew exactly what I was saying all along. Nothing to see here, really. I ride to my Department most days and sit in an open plan workspace. Otherwise, I walk a few hundred metres to my College library or else, I stay home (in College). It all depends on the type of thinking I need to do and whether I am in a focused or excitable mood.

Each day and all day, I receive emails about upcoming seminars and conferences, job opportunities, IT maintenance, washing up (drying and putting away) coffee mugs. I struggle with the habit of writing a good few sentences or paragraphs and then – instead of stretching (I have a clicky sternum from cowering over the keyboard), doing my eye exercises (it’s all about varying that focal length!) or simply ploughing on – finding someone or something on the Internet to make me feel connected to something other than my new ideas or old ideas in tidy sentences and arguments. I am often confronted with Facebook status updates of fellow academic friends gloating about internships, accolades or some garden party or other. I get lost in the anxiety and find myself frantically clicking on a total stranger’s Greek Island holiday. Each time I do this, something (probably sharpening my focus and seeing the strange couple in their swimwear) kicks in to make me stop and return to my work, vowing never to go back to Facebook during work hours.

Nonetheless, if I get up and walk to the Department kitchen for a drink, I then have to absorb the complaints of various students about how long a PhD takes, how the time required for academic tasks is almost impossible to predict, how ill-disciplined and/or inadequate they feel, how someone else in the Department published an article or received some research work from a Professor. The next day, sometimes the next hour, the same people offer speeches on how fortunate (and horribly selfish and without perspective) we all are. We vow to be more grateful. Often I hear myself jumping on these conversational trains or even, I admit, spearheading a theme. But, these days, I am actually quite bored of these types of conversations. I have little energy for anything that won’t help me across that finish line. This aloofness is uncharacteristic. Sitting and typing is the way forward. I am writing a lot. This means my downtime, even at the Department kitchen, has to count as downtime.

By the end of the day, after I go for a walk or to the gym, feed myself, check my emails again, read, watch some BBC iplayer, read again, the last thing I feel like doing is writing an involved blog post about my day, the unremarkable bullheadedness that is academia for me right now. I trust or at least sincerely hope that once I am done with the thesis I will have whole spaces in my daily routine and brain to dedicate to more thoughtful, dynamic posts about the politics, vagaries and practicalities of academia. And I plan to get a whole lot more whingey too, possibly in that ultra dramatic, filthy tempered way that is quite the hip approach in blogland. Maybe not. I suspect having some sort of job security (there are degrees, I am aware) will lead to a blog reblossoming of sorts. I hope so.

So instead of battling on, trying to provide spiffy, insightful posts about academia, I will instead refer you to some far more keen, reflective and/or witty posts about the subject. I am hoping it will serve a ‘Look over there!’ and a counterweight function until I finish my thesis. Here we go. Some inspiration:

1. Academic Cog (2007) Dissertators, Has This Ever Happened to You
2. Academic Cog (2009) Lessons for Girls: Don’t Just Ask Insist on Help (even if it makes you feel weird)
3. Dr. Crazy (2009) One of My Best Qualities: Ability to Meet (Ish) Deadlines
4. Dr. Crazy (2009) How to Succeed in Academia Without Really Trying?
5. Dr. No (2009) Getting Naked
6. Dr. No (2009) I Got Nothing
7. Inktopia (2009) And then my Grading Pen Exploded
8. Inktopia (2008) You Might be an English Professor If…
9. Historiann (2009) What is Good Teaching, and How Can We Know It?
10. Historiann (2009) Teaching and Tenure: What counts (and what’s good?)
11. Candid Engineer (2009) Irritation Yields Clarity
12. Bavardess (2009) Career Angst and the Scholarly Life
13. John Flood (2009) What is Your Research Worth?

Ok. That actually took a lot longer than planned. I intended to include around thirty as there’s some excellent stuff out there. Need to stop now. Too fiddly. But if you have any favourite academia-relevant posts to share (your own or others), please do send them to me in a comment to this post. Thanks team!

p.s. Just in case there’s any confusion, you’re still expected to stay loyal and check my blog a few times per week. I’ll still be nattering away.

Magdalen College Ball 2009

These are some photographs of the Magdalen College ball I attended on Friday night, courtesy of Brett Tully.

You’ll have to just believe me that there was a harpist playing at the champagne reception, where the 1800 (or so) guests first assembled.

At the back of the College is a deer park with benign trees and soft grass scattered with pieces of tree and ivy, reminiscent of an Enid Blyton story. The deers had been replaced for the evening by dodgem (bumper) cars and a big top circus. There were also white food stalls (lamb and cous cous, roast pork and apple sauce rolls, Indian curry, doughnuts with cinnamon and chocolate sauce and an ice cream stand). Young couples sipped their drinks in between the buttress roots. Many of the women (or at least the ones I noticed) were wearing quasi-regency, quasi-Greco-Roman dresses, with empire lines, fine detailing, multiple layers, in white, pale golds and creams, their hair long and flowing and barely pinned back. The men were in white tie.

Then, just in front of the park, the New Building lawn housed a more modern scene: igloo-style cocktail and oyster bars, chocolate fountains, and a large orchestra (which went on to accompany the fireworks that erupted once the pink sky turned dark grey).

In obscured corners of the College buildings, there were massage parlours, hairdressers, old-fashioned performers and large vases of orchids.

When I sauntered through to the Cloisters for the first time that evening, I found myself suddenly caught up in an eerie, purple light and the honey-coloured stone. Then, through the medieval tipped windows, I caught the first glimpses of the most heavenly scene and I squealed, ‘Eeeee’. From a poll in the middle of the quadrangle, strings of fairy lights gently reached each corner. Once it was dark, the Cloisters seemed more Hollywood glamour than celestial. The dance floor was a checkerboard, the singer was suitably husky, and there was a whiskey and champagne bar and an olives and cheeses tent at two of the corners.

In large marquee in a parallel quadrangle, a load of English bands rocked it from 9pm, including The Epstein, The Feeder and The Pipettes. (The last were like The Wiggles for adults, but in the 1960s. I was hooked.) Then, from around 3am, the survivors happily exchanged sweat and shapes at the silent disco as the sun quietly rose.

Yes, it was ridiculous in hindsight, and even during it, there were a few people getting a little intoxicated on their own splendour. But, it was essentially playful and truly beautiful, and, given the scale, the sort of thing I will probably only experience once.

Having quickly read my description though, it’s clear that my tone is far more formal, possibly even reverent, and far less humourous than it is by nature. (That third photo is asking for something, whereas I just left it there.) Maybe the whole thing’s gotten to me. That’s it. The old me is finished. Lavish only from now on. LAVISH!

The Good, the Bad and the Funny

photos by: Kate

The Good:

Surprise mail at any time is good. Surprise goody bag mail to “cheer up dreary thesis-plodding” is the best. Check out what Kate (of love you big) sent me! The rainbow tape that was binding the handmade packaging was very exciting for me, so imagine my inner squeals when I discovered inside an old-fashioned popcorn bag filled with super cute, crafty treats. Thanks Kate! Check out the rest of her goodies, get amongst her free giveaway, and do think about sending one of your friends a pack of colour sometime. It helps. The return of sunny weather, regular exercise, summertime energy and patient loved-ones also help.

The Bad:

Dealing with my thesis, other publications, and ‘What Next’ questions at the same time; inner siren going off at second email this week informing me that I ‘must be almost finished’ (I assure you, I will let you know); trying to come to terms with the situation in Iran; and a non-blog-friendly dull sadness about something personal.

The Funny:

The other night, two ginger friends (who don’t know each other particularly well) were sitting around a table at The Turf with a bunch of non-gingers (including me). They start to size up each other’s gingerness. Ginger boy has to show he is a real ginger by revealing his arm hair. Ginger girl tells us how when she walks past another gingette (my term) there is an implicit understanding between them, as well as a quick scan to see whether the other is wearing the right shade of pink, for instance, given their limitations (and opportunities, I would say. Greens, browns, ruby red and electric blue are winners!). Ginger boy declares that society is intolerant of ginger couples, that if we see two dark-haired people cuddling or walking hand-in-hand, it’s not an issue, not even noticed, but if they are two gingers, we see it as wrong (as if gingerness should only ever be an outcome of a freaky throw-back) or highly suspicious and uncomfortable. Ginger girl replies that she learnt early on in high school that having a ginger boyfriend would be no easy choice.

For some more funny, check out this song from Aussie rednut, Tim Minchin. Hope you’re having a positive week!

Happy Little Oxonians Enjoy a Garden Play

photo by: Lawrence OP

On Sunday evening, I had one of those perfect experiences that Oxford offers from time to time. After deliberating on a punt, a group of us took off to see the Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest presented by the New College MCR. The setting itself was almost enough – New College is breathtaking.

photo by: Hans S

There were around 200 of us perched on fold-out seats or lounging on rugs on the grass. We were encouraged to bring picnic food and drinks and the classics – Pimms, strawberries and chocolate – were not forgotten. It was warm and yellow, with Spring things in the air diffusing the light. We were boxed in by a couple of charming, low-hanging trees and the cloisters which served as the back drop for the play.

The photographs below were taken on another night. I am glad that I can use them here (Thanks Anu) as I didn’t take my camera, but they don’t quite portray just how light and lulling it was on the Sunday. It seemed more like the photos above, but dreamier.

photos by: Anu Devi

The student actors did a pretty terrific job at capturing Wilde’s wit and satire. Also, the director who opened and closed the night was deliciously eccentric which helped set the tone. I know one of the cast members and I can say unreservedly that she was a stand-out. The famous lines made everyone smile and by Act 2 we were all sitting back and laughing together. By the end, were only too happy to oblige the drinking needs of the cast and put our seats away before riding home on our bikes.

Here are some of the many gems for your pleasure. Got a bit carried away, so feel free to stop when you need to:

Really, if the lower orders don’t set us a good example, what on earth is the use of them?
Algernon, Act 1.

Girls never marry the men they flirt with. Girls don’t think it right.
Algernon, Act 1.

Ah! That must be Aunt Augusta. Only relatives, or creditors, ever ring in that Wagnerian manner.
Algernon, Act 1.

Nor do I in any way approve of the modern sympathy with invalids. I consider it morbid. Illness of any kind is hardly a thing to be encouraged in others. Health is the primary duty of life.
Lady Bracknell, Act 1.

I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.
Lady Bracknell, Act 1.

I am sick to death of cleverness. Everybody is clever nowadays. You can’t go anywhere without meeting clever people. The thing has become an absolute public nuisance. I wish to goodness we had a few fools left.
Jack, Act 1.

Few parents nowadays pay any regard to what their children say to them. The old-fashioned respect for the young is fast dying out.
Gwendolen, Act 1.

If I am occasionally a little over-dressed, I make up for it by being always immensely over-educated.
Algernon, Act 2.

I don’t quite like women who are interested in philanthropic work. I think it is so forward of them.
Cecily, Act 2.

Cecily: When I see a spade I call it a spade. Gwendolen: I am glad to say that I have never seen a spade. It is obvious that our social spheres have been widely different.
Act 2.

Well, I can’t eat muffins in an agitated manner. The butter would probably get on my cuffs. One should always eat muffins quite calmly. It is the only way to eat them.
Algernon, Act 2.

Never speak disrespectfully of Society. Only people who can’t get into it do that.
Lady Bracknell, Act 3.

Untruthful! My nephew Algernon? Impossible! He is an Oxonian.
Lady Bracknell, Act 3.

Here’s a picture I came across this morning (Wed) by Brett Tully, another Aussie student (we’re everywhere!) and one who is very handy with a camera. For some more of his delightful pics of Oxford, click here.