Help Them to Help You

Creative sorts often blog about the many ways to rescue yourself from a creative block, but a great deal of them are hyper-focused on self-care and even a bit too much faking your way through it.

Don't get me wrong--those things do help, but sometimes you exhaust the list, constantly overlooking a really precious experience.

Be a mentor.

I'm not talking about going on group forums and giving sometimes insincere pep talks to everyone brave enough to post their work. Crowd boosting feeds you only the general energy of a crowd, which in turn, actually isolates you from the benefits of real problem solving and learning through a genuine meeting of minds. Pick a passion project. This means to find one person's work who screams at you, no matter how rough, and pursue working with them. No strings attached, no swaps, no fees, no using them to boost or talk about your own work.

It takes serious discipline, to reach out and offer your own expertise without seeking a possible client or fan. You don't have to give it anymore than you're willing to, but make good on whatever you tell them you'd like to help with. Give a brief intro of your experience if you like, but focus on giving them real feedback. Personalized feedback is going to endear them to the idea of sharing, but giving them a piece of your intentions and integrity is a responsibility you can't give lightly. If you agree to take on work outside of what drew you in, don't get squeamish there. Bluntly tell them that that work doesn't interest you, but still commit to telling them why. Even if it's just as simple as not liking the genre or not connecting with the characters, offer something specific, but encourage them to keep offering samples because of that initial connection still keeps you interested.

Remember to set boundaries if they push huge tasks on you that you don't have time for. It often helps to commit to reading only short stories or first chapters. Ask questions that show you've made the effort to pay attention. The more honest you are about how interested you really are, the less you'll corner yourself into reading more work that doesn't grab you, to the point you'll regret and even resent the work and possibly ruin a valuable relationship.

Remember, if you run into the opportunity to genuinely like someone's work when you're hitting blocks with your own, be sure to tell them that their work may inspire you in your own and you may become unavailable. All the same, be prepared to wrap up your obligation to them. They may even happily tell you to postpone it, simply flattered they've given you that spark and send you off to patiently await your availability again.

I've very gladly taken on many beta reading projects without an expected return and I've spoken about this before, but when you take out money or deadlines or expectation, you truly open yourself and your work to amazing new opportunities for personal growth. When asked why I don't charge for it, it's a no-brainer for me: as a professional, I would be paid for work someone wants me to do, but it is not entirely selfless when it's the other way around. I am asking for the privilege to pursue work I enjoy, work that I believe can help me become better at what I do. Through selected experience, I am able to later charge others more.

This isn't the same as working for exposure. As I've said, my offer is extended in the honesty that I am offering only the time I am willing in such a way that doesn't disrupt my own work. I am not looking for a résumé entry, although you can bet your ass that if one of my selected projects gains notable success, I'm attaching my own contribution to it. 

Leading from there, this also why I contribute my expertise to sites like Quora. Even though the platform is crowded with absurdly vague questions, I like to select the ones where I can establish some real solutions. Livelihood is about contribution, not just for myself, but for the benefit of others... And then feeding it back to myself again. I do expect my efforts to come back for my benefit, just not in the exact way some might expect them to.

As always, my choices are about growth and change and when something isn't working, the problem is often with the way I'm approaching it. Am I holding myself back by not proving to be more mentally flexible to the problem? If so, it's time to use my skills to broaden my horizons, acquire new skills or start a new professional relationship.

Since marketing is a weakness, I knew one of those relationships would need to involve that. In return, I offered my own skill set and found a beneficial trade there. 

These things don't exactly fall into your lap just because you want them. Often, months or years have gone by before that opportunity comes along. You can't spend the time in-between anxious, wistful and desperate. Just like it's near impossible to attract a romantic relationship by wallowing in self-pity rather than bettering yourself, you can't expect people to want to work with you when you haven't shown what you are actually doing. My books have been out for a couple of years now and the sales are low and I have no reviews. Rather than letting that get me down, I acknowledged early on that the work had to keep building. More books, more stories, more drawings, more planning. I've had to start investing in new technology and what I'll need to successfully run a convention or trade show booth.

Ahem. So. Essentially, what you sometimes need is a passion project that isn't your own work. Some writers really get mired in their own ego, afraid that liking someone's work more than their own will cripple them. So stop being afraid and lose some ego. Get lost in a new story and remind yourself why you turned to writing. You still get to use some of your expertise and even some degree of empathy, knowing that you're actively working with the author who cares about the work. It's passive yet interactive and a truly wonderful experience in most cases.

This may not be the same for you, but the benefit of using a group to find these projects is that I look at how they are responding to criticism of their work. If they are getting too defensive, wounded or hostile, I back away whether I like it or not. It's important to find some compatibility when it comes to exchanging honesty. If I spot someone who writes well, is interesting AND handles themselves diplomatically, I'm in. I can handle young and inexperienced writers, but diplomacy is very important to inspiring the process that can help both of us.

So don't overlook an often untapped fount for inspiration. The prospect of working with people who I truly believe have a shot at success is thrilling. I'm not looking to hitch my success to that, just to improve the quality and passion of my own.

But I'm gonna brag on them every chance I get, with every milestone they achieve. Isn't it always a bit more gratifying when your favorite garage band becomes an international sensation? Being that day one believer is always a bragging right!

In the Land of Beta

I consider myself very lucky here, but I have yet to read for someone where I was devastated that it was a disaster or I didn't like it. I would say I'm careful about vetting but generally, I'll pick someone's request based on 'this is my genre, this-many words, and here's a one sentence description.' That is a huge gamble, but I also know how frustrating it is for writers when they hear crickets instead of interest, so sometimes I just go with my gut.

My latest beta read was a middle-grade science fiction novel by Jill Creech Bauer. Now, usually I stick to a critique, but when I feel a connection to the story I sometimes go ahead and play content editor and really get into scene order and overall style. In this case, I went all out and threw in a six-page assessment-- this isn't something I normally do since it's above and beyond. I would certainly charge for content, copy, and proofreading work, but sometimes I like to show off my chops and build a solid relationship with a writer instead of hedging on what falls under 'free work.'

This is a very important distinction. Artists and writers are indeed open to windows of generosity, but it has to come from our own desire to do so. It's almost never okay to ask someone to 'do them a favor'. Number one, it eliminates the ability to enjoy surprising someone with the extra effort when it's expected. Number two, we often work in our 'good Samaritan' bursts in the lulls of big projects. Our windows sometimes close at the end of this effort and only open again after another long, grueling session in our own aspirations.

I always consider it a success when I get back a reply that they loved my effort and have more that I can look at if I would like to read more. It's not a demand or a scheduled proposition, but it is an open invitation to continue the good rapport. This is a good way to get into my address book. It might take 3, 6, 9 months for me to get back to them, but they also understand this as creators themselves and often have a great memory for the experience and are genuinely grateful for the interest.

I'm juggling some concept building for my UnQuadrilogy while I'm poring over a screenplay for another established writer, but as I tell other writers all the time-- I do not expect reciprocation for helping with their work. I'm also not seeking to put other fine editors out of work by extending my availability. For me, this is a superb chance to help people past the blind spots in their work and look more keenly at the blind spots I have for my own. This isn't one-sided by any means, and it's even uplifting to do something kind without keeping count. I often see techniques that I haven't thought about using myself, so it absolutely does pay into my own work in that respect. 

Also, it's hidden treasure. This isn't a mainstream book/work that everyone is talking about (yet). I'm getting first dibs and real input and insight. I get to feel this secret hope that they DO find commercial success and that I get the bragging rights of working with talented people. Yes, I am a 'talented people' but they say it's lonely at the top. I'm not sure I could be content just getting to the top without using that fortune to help others. Who knows-- maybe they'll need a good assistant/editor/artist and think of me first. Maybe they'll forget me-- again, if I did this with any expectations, I'm doing it wrong, but it also doesn't hurt to dream of the possibilities. Right now, I love the social interactions, the boost of learning and growth, and the hope of what I am capable of.

This was never about fame, but fulfillment. If fortune could come without fame, I would take that too. But even in this stage where I just quietly plug away and test every pond for magical waters, there's simply no downside to doing what I'm good at. When you're in better health than you've been in a decade (mentally, physically, emotionally) and you're taking creative risks to learn your potential, it's humbling, amazing, and frightening. My grind isn't a 9-5 with insurance and a stable paycheck. As much as I miss the security, it was a dead-end misery that I failed at again and again.

And holy hells, I got my nephews interested in reading! I gave them my gaming enthusiasm but reading was a lost cause until I started writing. Being able to tell them about amazing books and the delights of tapping into their own imagination has been another great way to interact. They are very visual still so I love finding interesting science videos for us to watch together, but getting them interested in reading is no mean feat!

The Climax and Cost of Accomplishments

Once upon a time, I never finished anything I started. It was easily a painful time of my life for more reasons than that, but more so because I was both angry with and willing to concede that I was full of wasted potential while doing jack shit about it. Focus was not something that came easily and new ideas would lure me away from the old. Abandonment was a pattern I couldn't quite escape, even when it was in my hands.

I'm going to ditch the "What Writers Should Blog About" advice and not attempt to make the whole concept a general one we can all get chummy and 'me too' about. I'm going to dance over some of my own history, but I'm going to apply the evidence of changing that attitude.

The first thing I ever completed wasn't high school; it was getting my GED. I did it so I could get into college. However, the arrangement was difficult since I had a lot of things piling up on me--

• I'd quit working as a pizza cook. No financial independence, but I'd started moderating in share hubs and learning how to operate a computer, including hardware installation. I also ate a ridiculous amount of hotdogs. When you're 19 with the metabolism of a hummingbird, that seems like a foolproof diet.
• I hated riding the bus and was even followed off of it a couple times. I can't tell you how many days I pretended I needed to shop at the grocery store at the bus stop, just to make sure I wasn't being followed home.
• My grandmother was lecturing me about money, which is insulting in most cases, but especially so given she was wealthy and I was quite aware of how to pinch a penny. Enabling was frowned upon, unless you were my mother. Someday, I'll memoir all about that double standard, but I'm not bitter enough to care to dwell on that these days.
• I wanted to enjoy being a 'new adult'. I reunited with a friend I fell out with in high school(a sort of soul mate). When the old college try didn't pan out, she actually got me a job at Subway until I worked for Border's and then worked with her again at Target.
• The counselor that signed me up for courses screwed up my major and basically told me I'd have to 'lock in my position' and take classes which wouldn't credit towards my major (and after having my grandma snap at me for finances, I was mortified of bringing that up). Seriously, government needs to crack down on the deceptive practices colleges are allowed to use. Keep in mind, this was University of Cincinnati, a public college, not a private one. And these are supposed to be the 'good guys'. One girl was in limbo for three years waiting for a coveted space to open up in Photography.

A lot of things that just added up to walking away from a shitty liberal-arts-that-should-have-been-fine-arts degree. I did get a single credit in the elective basic drawing class I took, so guess what it takes to get me to the finish line?

*Back then, I didn't realize that my confusion and moods were related to BPD and ASD. lol Back before these were on the radar, my sort were just kind of the clowns, court jesters, off-color, or eccentric sort. It's not really unfiltered or even brutally honest, but social acceptability tends to fall pretty low on the list of why I should probably not share something. Either way, I like the adjectives over the letter crap, but the letters were a good baseline for understanding what dumb shit triggered me. It took a lot of lost jobs and hospital visits before I realized that I have to approach life Mission Impossible style. I kind of have to risk looking dumb to show I know what I'm doing.*

Me, except setting the alarm with my boobs.

Either way, I learned then that 'winning' isn't really a pattern or a streak. That everything that reaches an end is a battle with time, priorities, self-doubt, even isolation. Again, life started piling on against my aspirations. I started college again in my mid twenties, this time online so I could take the pain in the ass of transportation out and just focus on the work. A few months into it, I had a breakdown (again, memoir-- this one had to do with more toxicity and abuse). Just woke up in the middle of the night thinking I was having an heart attack because it felt purely physical. Even though my BP was in stage 2 hypertension, the culprit was a panic attack. On medication, I just got sicker, which led to another ER visit. I admitted to a nurse I was fantasizing about how I wanted to kill myself. Sure, that wasn't exactly new, but it was the first time I ever told an adult as an adult myself.

I don't know; goodbye, cruel world?

What tipped her off is that I was very matter of fact about it. I was numb to everything, just going through the motions. I signed myself in to psych, spent a week looking for where I left myself. Disassociation is a weird bitch. You're sharply aware in a way, but you kind of feel like you're a placeholder for yourself, holding your seat until you get back. I ate well, drank a lot of juice and watched people. Nosy as fuck, I'll admit, but I wanted to know what put us there and since *I* was a placeholder, things like reputation and self-consciousness were out to lunch too. Essentially, I was more like my childhood self, the me before trauma started its uneven layers, surrounded by more child-adults. Were we weak? Broken? Did we get a scarlet letter now? But no, they were mostly just people pushed too hard on one side of life and couldn't avoid a face plant. Most of us were kind of in a state of shock when we first got there, like when blood is gushing out of your nose and your first instinct is to try to put it back in. I wouldn't say the bullshit little groups we had to go to were actually valuable, but I think ultimately, they knew that too. It didn't really matter if we participated. We were herded around so we could relearn the basics of function. Really, they could have talked about how to make grilled cheese with Elmer's glue, but instead they told us how to breathe and scribbled on a whiteboard. I also remembered I was still a college student, but we'll get to that.

My new friends for the week. Some I'll never forget. I like three-story-verbatim guy and his rivalry with the sniveling angry guy who kept asking if he could call home to ask his wife if she let the dog out. They both wore their shorts and socks too high and I'm convinced this is why they were rivals. Three-Story kept going on about baseball (he was a friendly dude, just a broken record on a nostalgic loop) and the other guy was flipping his shit because he couldn't take the repetition. When my dad and brother came to visit, I whispered to my dad 'shhh, watch this' and repeated the next two sentences of the guy's story when he said them. I'll never forget my dad's face because there are few times my quirkiness can genuinely surprise him. I think it was mostly relief that I'd gotten my weird sense of humor back.

What happens after you lose your shit is often this laser focus on the order of things. I started to say this when I brought up the groups, but it's pretty important to how all people 'work'. It's never more true than after a breakdown. In fact, the morbid aftermath isn't just embarrassment or disorientation, but an underlying sense of relief that the simple things are still there after the chaos blew everything else to shit. I was in reboot with a bunch of people reorganizing their life code. When I ate, it wasn't about enjoyment (even though the food was good)-- I took a bite of everything in a clockwise direction one time. Another time, I worked on eating all of something before eating anything else. It wasn't even because of the limited stimulus or boredom or burn-out; it was more akin to reprogramming ourselves with conscious attention to ritual. There was no indoctrination here. We still had to go it alone, but we didn't have to explain it to our audience-- there was a cathartic understanding that we were all on training wheels. For me, every day was on autopilot until I was able to update. It took a lot of fruit juice and some pretty amazing nurses too, but I graduated from placeholder to person again.

When I found part of myself (again: group activity-- what were you most proud of?), I immediately panicked. I had a big project due in a 3D modeling class and if I failed, I'd have to retake it. They let my dad bring my laptop and watched me in an observation room while I scrambled to turn in a passable final project. I got a B.

Appropriate share time! A room modeled from a source picture. I was in my 20th week of school and finishing my model creation class. Side note: the rest of my models from that class are in my FaceBook photos, so add me and check them out!

I wasn't yet hip to the scam that private schools are, but I don't think you could have stopped me from doing it anyway. My credit was already shot to hell and I didn't think school was even possible. So when I got in and got through a mental breakdown but kept my head above water, I think my intent to fight was just stronger than my vulnerabilities at the time. They sprung on me that I needed to pay several thousand to make up for what financial aid didn't cover. When I got into this school, I made it clear that I had no income so I was devastated. I didn't want to give up! It was one of the few things that made me want to stay alive at the time. Instead of dissolving, I started looking at transferring to a more affordable school. I couldn't find another animation program, but I switched to graphic design. It wasn't exactly a downgrade either since the idea of getting better at digital painting was appealing too (and turned out to be what pushed me into learning how to publish my work).

I worked my ass off and nabbed my associate's degree, but financial aid was dancing on some more deceptive crap. In order to get my AS (which I achieved cum laude honors on), they wanted more money I didn't have. I applied for grants and decided to continue for a bachelor's and this covered it (somehow-- I think that legally they're just allowed to lie to some extent to extort you). Financial aid kept shitting on my doorstep throughout. The stress of busting out my best work was hard enough, but add to that the dreaded phone calls every few months that needed me to maneuver through loopholes to plug their loopholes. I had taken on a part time job even though service jobs never worked out well for me. It still wasn't enough when FA decided to bend me over again shy of that second degree. I wrote an essay writing contest and secured a grant that let me walk away with two degrees (and $60K in debt).

Another personal victory was achieved. Petco was the longest job I've ever had, at 20 months. And I didn't get fired for acting out/insubordination. For the first time, I handed in a formal two weeks notice and got to leave with dignity.

After college, I still wasn't 100 percent what I wanted to do. I had a lot of teachers that asked to use my projects in future classes, graduated with honors-- I knew I was damn good at what I do. It felt... Beyond gratifying to be more than just a job monkey for once in my life. A writing teacher told me I'm organic, deep, funny and faithful to my ideas. I'd already begun reviving the longest story I'd written to date-- sixty pages-- after I found it while rummaging for old word docs prior to rewriting a fairy tale for that class. That book became The Truth about Heroes: One of Many. It became seven books by the time my mom died.

I've already talked about the impact of death over the course of writing those books. I was able to bend my mind around finishing the series at nine books. I'm currently working on my 11th book. If you've been reading my blog, you know how much my mom was a part of the process, so I won't go into that again. I grieve best when I don't let it paralyze me, so stopping was never an option.

Huh, what? You mean these books? How ever did they get on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and digital retailers all over the world? Could it be... sheer stubbornness?

There isn't a turning point to nail down here. Over time, I even stopped imagining what things would look like when done because I stopped believing they would be. I don't regret going to school and it wouldn't have mattered if it were Yale or some rusty shack out of Deliverance-- my instructors and my knowledge are irreplaceable. It taught me how to trick myself out of a pattern of walking away. Because I was so fixated on 'the end' being years away, I was amassing a body of work after each class, finished work, and before I could self-sabotage, it was too late. I couldn't pretend I was destined to flounder because I'd found the mental shortcut, a way to finish by always putting the end out of reach.

The downside here is that my victories are something almost transient, more like an orgasm than a trophy or a tiara I can wear everywhere. In a way, I became a sort of Daenerys, Collector of a Million Titles, a character more about adapting and determination than pride. What I did is something I still fail to connect to at times because it's also a mind-altering drug. I'm addicted to seeing big projects through so the victories pass when the next idea twinkles ahead. I finished things, but what else am I capable of? Again, mobility towards my goals was possible because I always keep a big fat carrot on the end of the stick, but it almost means I am TOO far-sighted creatively. For now, it's enough that I am actively working towards goals, but it does need some work.

I'd be lying if I didn't say the obstacles are there. There are a lot of people that assume what I'm capable of as a woman or a white person (we're unfashionable in identity politics and trends these days) or presume to tell me what I could or should write about. There are people who don't realize that my drawing style is intentional and not because I can't keep up with the trends in realism, that I love exploring ways to incorporate realism into my style, but am still a comic book artist and fucking proud of it. And yes, people swear by one discipline in their career but what makes my talent so healthy now is that I know how to feed it.

Drawing, nom, writing, nom nom, comics, nom nom nom. Notice the one cookie dangling juuuuust out of nom.

The cost of accomplishment is exposure, which creatives are wary of in its many forms. People will either swear you can't do better or can't do worse (AKA you suck). You're naked to this, but once I've broken through my prison, my hell, my tormentors, there's this thick extra layer, air tight and a perfect fit, this layer that de-weaponizes words, silences trolls, tunes me into my purpose. I can take in what I need to realize my vision, to share it, but it doesn't really matter how precious people think their tastes are. It doesn't get to decide if we're worthy of seeing it through.

Get around to reading my work sometime, if you haven't already. I'm learning to be a bit less humble about it. It's a very different creature from my blogs-- I have a lot of fun with fantasy that is worth a try. While I have to admit, it's a dream of mine to write for a video game company some day, I'll stress again that I use THIS medium to ITS benefit-- my books are books, not just the basis of a show, movie or game. They'd have to be reworked into those mediums because I optimized them as books, first and foremost. I know my way around a story. And yes, swearing and sex happens in my adult books, but just like their appearance in my blogs, they're not accidentally there. Them being there at all seems to be 'gratuitous' without exception to some people. On the upside, they're... not really that long. Maybe someday I'll do a page/paragraph count just for the hell of it.

There's a market for me. And one of these days, I'll look for it. I keep saying that, but someday I'll mean it more than the other times.

You know... now, when I think of that stupid interview question 'where will I be five years from now', I can feel a secret smile twitch at my cheeks. Just me, you, and my ceiling... chasing dreams.