​Earlier this month, I finished the draft of my book that I began working on nearly four years ago. What began in 2013 as a kind of memoir of being an artist with a day job morphed over time to be my own creative manifesto about how to make a living and build a life as an artist  The process of writing started off feeling kind of glamorous. I was going to write a BOOK! A real live book of my own.  

You may have guessed--that shiny novelty quickly faded into the reality of picking up the pen again and again and again. This process was long, thrilling, tiring, hopeful, frustrating, and in the end, unlike any other experience I have ever had. I know I will go back and do more editing, finding places to tighten up and to elaborate on, but for now, I am trying to savor the pride I feel at actually having finished what I set out to do.  

It is strange to write a book that no one is waiting for. Many authors have a deadline from their agent or publisher, a sign that someone, somewhere, is waiting to read the words they write. This is to say nothing of the millions of readers that wait anxiously for the release of a book, rush to purchase it when it arrives at the bookstore, and take it home to enjoy with a cup of tea.

But no one is waiting for my book. Well, that's not entirely true. I was waiting and working for it the whole time, and I believe that the book itself was also waiting to be brought into the world. Books are born into the world, aren't they? Still, sitting down to pour the book out onto paper often felt a bit pointless. Who would mind a bit if I just stopped? Or walked away? Who would notice?

There's a million advantages to having the world wait with bated breath on a creative project you are birthing. But there is also a big advantage to making that trek solo with out fireworks and fanfare at the end. Sure, no one is waiting to praise the book, to purchase it, to dive into what you have made, but there is also no one to tell you your style is wrong. No one to criticize your turn of phrase. No one to tell you that you can't hand draw your own illustrations. You are free to express yourself precisely how you want.  My seven year old self, who wrote and illustrated her own books before binding them together with colored yarn got to play again.  With no oversight or interference from an adult. 

I am starting to look for an agent and eventually a publisher. These folks will let me know what edits they think will be necessary to my words, to my style, to the project as a whole. And that's ok. But first, I wanted to get the book out just the way I wanted to.  First things first.

Oh, and one of the best (and most unexpected) parts about finishing the book? I feel lighter. A lot lighter. This book had been renting space in my brain for nearly four years, and while I loved working on it, I had to say "no" to a lot of other ideas or creative whims I had during that time. 

But when I finished this draft? The next day, I had a list of creative risks I want to take, ideas I want to flesh out, and adventures I want to pursue. I didn't even try to brainstorm these new ideas, it's as if the space left by the book became a vacuum, pulling in any and all ideas I have had on the back burner for the last few years into my brain, rushing in all at once. I cleared out creative brain space and creative brain space always wants to be filled. 

The weirdest part is, I not only have ideas that I've wanted to do for a long time, like write and make a short film, but I am now getting really excited about taking creative risks that  I can hardly wait to take that I never knew I even wanted to take.

Stand up comedy? Yup.
Pottery? Can't wait to try it.  
Writing a suspense novel? Let's try it. 

So keep writing.  Or reading. Or rehearsing. Keep going when you think you can't. See your project through and then brace yourself for the joy of finishing what you started out to do and making way for what might be next. 

I'm never been a big fan of sweeping or scrubbing, but creative cleaning is something I can get behind. 

How about you? Do you have a creative project renting space in your brain? What are you excited to pursue once it's cleared out?

As a kid, my mom always had me write thank you notes to family and friends who were thoughtful enough to give me a gift for Christmas or my birthday.  I can recall being quite young, maybe 9 or 10, and wondering why in the world I had to endure hand cramps writing thank you notes to each one of my very large family after a holiday.  They saw me open the gift, right? They could tell how excited I was, couldn't they? Why did I need to write it down all over again? On top  of that, I suppose it also felt very vulnerable to put down my feelings on paper and send them to someone else. Would someone think I was too mushy?

As an adult, I am so grateful for this habit my mom passed along to me. It's a wonderful thing to receive a special gift just for you, picked out and given so lovingly from someone you love who loves you right back, and maybe even more wonderful to get to send them a personal note of gratitude afterwards. When I receive a thank you note, it makes my heart glow. It feels so good to create a small but mighty memento of thanks and put it out into the world. 

Many of us probably write thank yous to people we know, but what about thank yous to the creative people in your life you admire and have learned loads from that you have never met?  Do you ever include them in your thank you habit? I never used to, because I feared being perceived as too mushy, emotional, intense, weird, or stalker-ish (yup, that's a word now).  But I slowly realized that gratitude and enthusiasm are not things to be feared, but expressed. If I never said thank you to a wonderful teacher or mentor or artist I admire, they would never have an idea of the extent of their magical powers to affect others and the world with their gifts. I've seen too many wonderful humans rightfully praised at their memorial services, and all I can think is "Did they  have any idea about these expressions of thanks while they were alive? Did they know how much they meant to other people?" Why do we wait? Why not share it NOW, when the person is still alive to hear it?

Nowadays? I am a Gratitude Queen.  I still try to keep up with  my holiday and birthday thank yous, but have also sent thank you notes and cards to anyone and everyone whose words, actions, or work move me in some way, regardless of whether they are a stranger or not.

High school music teachers.
Professors from undergrad.
Theatre teacher mentors.
Graduate school professors.  
Old bosses.
Old co-workers.
Authors whose work I love.
Musicians whose work I love.
Actors whose work I love.
Politicians whose efforts to support human rights I admire. 
Podcasts that I listen to and that have helped me immensely.

I once gave Elizabeth Gilbert a homemade card at a book signing she hosted in Portland, Maine. When I gave her the card, I said "I'm such a dork, I made you a card." I was so nervous. Would she call security? Nope. She looked at me and smiled and said "Oh my gosh. You made me a CARD?" and later gave me a huge hug and told me I was lovely. I nearly melted. I was so glad I went for it and let her know how much her work and life has truly affected the way I live my life. The butterflies I had in advance were worth it. 

I also got to shake the hand of Matthew Caws, the lead singer for Nada Surf, one of my all time favorite bands once after a show in Boston. I didn't bear hug him or freak out too much, but I let myself grin pretty big and tell him that their album Let Go really helped me during a dark time in my life. "Thank you." I said. He smiled back and said "Thanks. It helped me, too." Is there anything cooler than connection?

When I was thirteen, I *may* have also sent a fan letter to Leonardo DiCaprio letting him know I knew we were meant for each other, and if he could just get over the geographic divide and age different, I know he'd be convinced, too. I imagined him reading it and taking a long walk on the beach to think through how our first date would go.  In reality, as an adult, I am guessing it was probably an unpaid intern who sat in an un-air conditioned office in Burbank, CA who saw this truly creepy letter I wrote, and tossed it into a giant garbage can of other creepy letters from other star struck teenagers (they may not have recycled in those days).  Oh well. It was cathartic for me at the time. 

Push aside the fear that your high school chemistry teacher will think you are strange for tracking down their email or that your favorite actor will have you hauled away for sending a short and sweet expression of thanks for being so awesome via Twitter. Think of the last time you made something and someone actually contacted you to tell you thanks, that is helped them in some way. How did it feel? Most likely, if they were were polite and succinct, you savored the moment of connection.  So why not give that gift to someone who has given so much to you?

Note: It's also wonderful to send a note of thanks to someone who is just starting out with their world changing, to let them know you're really enjoying the podcast, blog, music, or whatever it is that they are making.  Let them know that you look forward to following along! Support early in your artistic adventures goes a LONG way, and I suspect that your note might just make their day. 

The way I see it, life is about sharing stories and experiences to let other people know that they are not alone and that what they are doing every day matters to someone. Go ahead. Embrace the vulnerable part of yourself and choose someone (or three or four people!) today to send a short thank you to. Heck, with technology being the way it is in 2017, you can choose from snail mail, email, Twitter, Facebook, Instagram...the list goes on. Whether they write back or not, I promise you that you will feel good about it.