Creativity is sacred, and it is not sacred.
What we make matters enormously, and it doesn’t matter at all.
We toil alone, and we are accompanied by spirits.
We are terrified, and we are brave.
Art is a crushing chore and a wonderful privilege.
Only when we are at our most playful can divinity finally get serious with us.
Make space for all these paradoxes to be equally true inside your soul, and I promise – you can make anything.
So please calm down now and get back to work, okay?
The treasures that are hidden inside you are hoping you will say yes.
–[amazon_textlink asin=’1408866757′ text=’Big Magic’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’81f583a0-76f7-11e7-bcdd-cff2312e17bc’], Elizabeth Gilbert
At the risk of tempting fate, July has been a bit of a game-changer for me. After a shock to the system early on in the month, I’ve spent the rest of July learning to practise more compassionate acceptance. (Hello, can you tell I’m almost 10 weeks through therapy?!) It’s bloody hard work. I’ve got so used to wallowing in a cocktail of self-pity and white wine, endlessly ruminating about the past or panicking about the future – or, more often, both! – that living mindfully in the moment has proven to be a real stretch. But, after months of demanding reasons and answers that no one could give me, it feels like the best option I’ve got left.
One of the big frustrations I wrote about last month was feeling that I’d been shoved off course so forcefully that I was struggling to even make it back to square one. Like falling down a snake that wipes you off the board entirely, and then scrabbling about in the dark for any ladder that might help you back on track. Lots of the things that happened early on in July forced me to accept that there’s no point trying to get back to square one. I am where I am, it is what it is, and all I can do from here is keep moving forwards. I have to start from where I am now, use what I have available to me, and build something new.
But I’m not going to write much about the emotional journey this month. Instead, I want to focus on the doing: how I spent July tapping back into my creativity, and gently nurturing the things that bring me joy.
Big Magic, Elizabeth Gilbert
If June was 2017’s month of sun, sand and sea, then July’s theme was – without a doubt – [amazon_textlink asin=’1408866757′ text=’Big Magic’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’921cced6-775b-11e7-a3cc-abe33b1abf16′]. So let’s start there. There really aren’t many books I describe as life-changing – although I’m conscious that this is the second I’ve described as such in as many months! – but Elizabeth Gilbert’s [amazon_textlink asin=’1408866757′ text=’Big Magic’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’9a9e62dd-775b-11e7-ba7e-59701e96a591′] really was exactly what I needed to read this month.
The timing of what happened in January – coming so hot on the tails of my restful week of goal setting and planning ahead – has left me feeling really lost and directionless ever since. I started the year with so much creativity, inspiration and passion but, after the crash, fear has blocked pretty much everything in my life. I’ve coasted through the last six months, torturing myself and putting my plans on hold. [amazon_textlink asin=’1408866757′ text=’Big Magic’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’88bfff2f-775c-11e7-bdc1-e7fb84445892′] was just the kick up the arse that I needed.
Gilbert is so straightforward in her discussion of creative living, and of the courage, enchantment, permission, persistence, trust, and divinity required for “big magic” to happen. It really highlighted so many of the obstacles I’ve been putting in my own way, and helped me rediscover the inspiration that’s felt so lacking since 27 January.
Voices from the ‘Jungle’: Stories from the Calais Refugee Camp
I mean, nothing puts your own struggles in perspective quite like a book of stories from the Calais refugee camp! But, beyond my personal journey, this book is wonderful on so many levels.
Created as part of a project by the University of East London, it centres the voices and experiences of a group of refugees who otherwise feel voiceless, misjudged and maligned.
But, unlike many of the refugee stories that have come out of Calais, [amazon_textlink asin=’0745399681′ text=’Voices from the Jungle’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’0c20a78c-7768-11e7-b309-b9028d58ae41′] also succeeds in presenting each author as a whole person. Warm, happy memories of home are presented alongside tales of extraordinary hardship and persecution. The struggles of ‘jungle’ life are described in parallel with each author’s hopes and dreams for the future. And stories of abuse, violence and deception sit side-by-side with fond recollections of camaraderie, friendship, support and compassion.
My full review of [amazon_textlink asin=’0745399681′ text=’Voices from the Jungle’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’f7dad55b-7767-11e7-b9c5-110eae43e770′] will be in Wasafiri International Journal of Literature’s asylum-themed issue, which I’ll share here once it’s published.
It’s All In Your Head: A guide to getting your sh*t together, Rae Earl
When the TV adaptation of [amazon_textlink asin=’B00X7HEJ1O’ text=’My Mad Fat Diary’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’a4297bd5-775f-11e7-95fa-af6396fd7654′] came out it was (and I think probably still is) the first, best, and most authentic representation of teenage mental health struggles that I’d ever seen on television. So I was really excited to receive an advanced copy of author Rae Earl’s forthcoming book for teens, [amazon_textlink asin=’B06WP4ZDLJ’ text=’It’s All In Your Head’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’8a1d16f5-775f-11e7-9af1-335b78a27842′].
[amazon_textlink asin=’B06WP4ZDLJ’ text=’It’s All In Your Head’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’1d7630c2-7760-11e7-b328-39286bc3927a’] is a comprehensive mental health guide for young people – covering everything from eating disorders, self-harm and OCD, to parents, friendship, drugs and alcohol. Like [amazon_textlink asin=’0340950943′ text=’My Mad Fat Diary’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’33ae83a5-7760-11e7-b9b9-437a66bfa537′], it’s packed full of Earl’s trademark wit, no-nonsense advice and raw honesty. It might be written for teenagers, but it also helped me no end!
July has been a bit of a nostalgia-fest in terms of my listening habits. Years since we last went to a gig together, this month my husband and I went to see both Green Day and Blink 182 – bands that were giants on the musical landscape of my teens. In fact we were at the O2, waiting for Blink 182 to come on stage, when I heard the devastating news of Linkin Park frontman Chester Bennington’s suicide.
You don’t ever really move on from the music that defines your teens, because it’s the first music that really seeps into your heart and soul. It’s the soundtrack to all the best and worst of those tempestuous and formative years. There are songs, like 57 – Biffy Clyro or The Middle – Jimmy Eat World, that can instantly transport me back to some of my happiest memories. Equally though, albums like Hybrid Theory and Meteora undoubtedly got me through some of my darkest times growing up.
As a literature graduate it feels almost sacrilegious to admit, but the first poetry I ever truly loved, engaged with, and felt understood by was the poetry of men like Chester Bennington. It felt raw, honest, vulnerable, and authentic. Back then, it touched parts of me that couldn’t yet put my own feelings and experiences into words. It made me feel in the way that all great literature should. RIP Chester, I hope you knew what a difference your words made to the lives of so many noughties emo kids like me. We must keep this conversation going.
(If you’ve been affected by Chester Bennington’s suicide, please call the Samaritans’ free, 24/7 helpline on 116 123 or visit mind.org.uk. Talking saves lives.)
For creative people, not creating is destructive. I’d never really thought about it that way until I read [amazon_textlink asin=’1408866757′ text=’Big Magic’ template=’ProductLink’ store=’saragrah0e-21′ marketplace=’UK’ link_id=’98f76186-7769-11e7-baaf-b79a8fd498f1′], but Gilbert is exactly right: when I’m not channeling my energy into creating I, like her, am usually channeling it into destroying something instead. And lately that something’s been myself.
It’s not that I’ve stopped creating this year. I haven’t – far from it. But I have put limits and restrictions on myself. I’ve focused on the necessary – creation for survival – at the expense of the joyful. I need creativity to do more than simply pay my bills. I need it to nurture me, guide me, and keep me open to inspiration. So rediscovering the “just for the love of it” side to my creativity has been an important part of rediscovering myself this month.
An unexpected side effect of everything that’s happened this year is that, in July, I picked up my camera again. I’ve had my Nikon D40 DSLR for nearly ten years, since my 18th birthday. During so many of my most difficult periods since then, it’s got me out of the house and out of my own head. In my late teens, during my first year of university, and during my year abroad in Paris, photography provided an outlet to literally reframe the world around me.
Between September 2010 and September 2011 I completed a Project 365, documenting daily my life in Paris, my summer adventures, and the start of my final year. And then I stopped. Just put my camera down and didn’t ever pick it up again. I’m not really sure why. Admittedly I’d been looking forward to not having to lug a heavy camera around with me all day every day, but I quickly got out of the habit of taking it out at all. Final year took over. My Flickr account started collecting dust, while iPhone photos and Instagram became the extent of my relationship with photography.
Almost six years later, this July, I picked my D40 back up again. Thanks partly to an unlikely muse, and partly to a night time photography course with my mum, photography has again become an important creative outlet in my life. It’s also got me walking lots – which is especially great now that I’ve finally accepted running is just too high impact for my back right now. I’m excited to see where it takes me!