I couldn’t sleep last Sunday night. I had no caffeine during the day, and generally everything felt fine when I went to bed at 11PM, the remnants of a thunderstorm rumbling further in the distance as the cool air streamed through my bedroom windows. Post-thunderstorm cool nights are my favorite sleeping weather, and I drifted off to sleep comfortably.

But I woke up at 3AM, feeling hot and stuffy and distinctly uncomfortable. The air wasn’t moving at all anymore, so I put on the fan and went back to sleep. Only…I couldn’t fall back asleep. I had no idea why. My mind wasn’t racing. I felt relaxed. And yet I could not get back to sleep. After while, I got up, puttered around a little like they say for you to do, went back to bed…but still no sleep.

I started to feel stupid-anxious, like Oh my god I NEED to get to sleep, why can’t I sleep, this is so horrible. I could hear the birds chirping now, like they do before dawn. I could feel my body and mind worn out, but I had that weird raw feeling, like all your nerves in your skin are too alive and too sensitive, and even the bed feels wrong beneath you. I could feel myself beginning to agonize and panic, because I had a lot to do on Monday and I didn’t want to do it on so little sleep. Panic, pressure, a buzzing mind: not really the best way I want to start a week.

Finally, I just took a deep breath. I just accepted that fact that I was awake, instead of fighting it so hard. I told myself that in order to make it through the day, I was just going to have to check in with myself often and do what I was capable of, and take things slow. It would be a moment-by-moment thing. Fine, I said to whatever odd spirit has the privilege of overlooking sleepless nights. I’m awake. It’s nearly 5AM. What should I do? I had about three hours before I started my normal day. That free time would normally be a gift, so I decided in my sleepy, hazy way to treat it like one. I actually got it in my head to get a pedicure, but there aren’t any salons open at that hour in my town. (Note to self: 24-hour nail salon here would be a hit.) So, I thought to myself, I’ll go the gym. My gym’s open 24 hours; it’ll be a new experience.

I got dressed, got in my car and headed on my way. I tried playing music, but everything seemed too harsh and loud to me. So I drove in silence, noticing how quiet the streets are at 5AM, how pretty the sky is right after dawn. At the gym, I realized there was no way I could do a long run on the treadmill, so I rowed and biked instead. I people-watched, noting how different the early workout crowd was from the late afternoon, when I usually go. After the gym, I got home, took a shower and revised a short story. I tried writing a new one, but that felt beyond my powers. But revising felt fine, and so did sketching out a few blog posts. Every so often, I asked myself: What can I do now? This is what I can do. And I would do it as slowly as I could, because otherwise I would end up doing it wrong.

The day wore on, and I oscillated between feeling like crap and feeling fine. Every moment, every transition, I checked in with myself often. How was I feeling? What did I feel capable of? And if that fell short of my expectations and desires, I didn’t harangue myself about it. I just accepted the fact that I was incredibly sleepy and tired, and went on with it.

But I noticed something interesting (besides the fact that I craved way more sugar and carbs than I do normally.) I was tired and felt like I was going slow and easy, but I was actually incredibly productive. I wrote. I revised. I got errands done. I filed. I paid bills. I set up accounts. I made plans. I organized my summer wardrobe. I took and edited photos. I returned my library books. I even experimented with a new hairstyle. (I call it “I Wish I Were a Khaleesi.”) Part of it was the extra three hours of the day, no doubt. But I noticed the constant checking-in with myself — and the willingness to cut myself some slack for the realities of real-live actual lifeness — created a sense of ease and gentleness in the day. And we all know what happens when we remove tension and friction from things: they actually work better.

Then I remembered something from my childhood. When I was little, my dad was fond of saying “Be easy with yourself” when my sisters and I were doing things that frustrated us. I remember bashing the shit out of some toy I was trying to assemble when I was a kid, getting more and more enraged in the way that six-year-olds can get. “Be easy with yourself,” my dad said as he watched me, which only got me more enraged. “It’s not easy!” I fume, thinking my dad was talking about putting together the toy. But that’s not what he meant. “I know it’s not easy, but you’re being too hard on yourself. Be easy,” he insisted. Furious, I told my dad to stop Yoda-talking me. (Yoda-talking is what I called it when my dad was trying to offer advice and I was just too young and headstrong to accept it.)

What I didn’t understand then — but I do now — is that the anger and frustration he observed were not just about the toy I was putting together, but my own frustration and even shame at my inability to accomplish this supposedly simple thing — and that inner experience was only making my outer one even more difficult. There is the doing of a task or action — and the way of being you bring to it, which ineffably affects the experience as a whole.

So often “productivity” and productivity routines and systems are designed to automate, to free up your attention from boring, annoying tasks so you can focus on the “important things.” But after my sleepless night, I found being aware of my present moment, practicing a radical acceptance of where I was at and doing things in as gentle of a manner as possible actually helped me do more, and do it more satisfyingly. Even though I was tired, I felt as if I had lived every hour of the day with a certain fullness that my day-to-day life sometimes lacks, as I race from task to task, activity to activity, occasion to occasion. I didn’t “automate” anything; I didn’t “focus.” I was forced to exist mindfully and treat myself kindly, and that made all the difference.

I went to bed that night at the previously unheard-of time of 10PM, finally just too exhausted and fatigued to go on. But I did think about how good the day ended up being despite it all, about how much our own judgments about ourselves and who we should be cloud our experiences and keep them from being as full and good as we’d like them to be — and about how acceptance and ease creates a kind of space in your life for everything to flow throughout the day. And then I kind of laughed at myself. That’s so Yoda-talky, I thought, and finally fell asleep.

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I’m gearing up to send out my next newsletter in a few days! It’s about love, anxiety, relationships and being brave despite it all. If you’re interested, sign up here. I don’t often send my newsletter, maybe once every month and a half, but I consider it my best, most searching, most intimate writing. Also: you get access to an excerpt from my novel, as well as a sample of new writing from my upcoming book.

This year I want to remember that summer is a time to slow down. Springtime has been so busy: I’ve been gearing up to publish my collection of essays soon, and while I thought this would be a quick, easy project, it has not. I’m embarrassed at my naivete, actually! But the long-winding journey is ending soon, and soon I will hold a final proof in my hand, and soon I will approve it, and soon it will be done, done, done and out, out, out and hopefully some of you will read it and it will live a long, thriving life as a book in the world! I’m so excited, nervous and relieved. Relieved, like a thing that has been clogging up my master to-do list will finally be cleared off. Relieved, because my inner sense of integrity and honor and keeping my own word to myself will be appeased. Relieved, because now I have time to work on new things! But in a nice, slow, leisurely way. Not in a push-push-push, striving kind of manner, but one where I take pleasure in seeing ideas unfurl into concrete shapes, and savor the twists and turns. Summer is savor, and I can’t wait. Here is how I’m inching into the season, while winding down the spring.

Baker Baker

This spring I discovered baking, but like baking for really lazy people. I got a cute little Babycakes donut maker, and I’ve been experimenting with different recipes every now and then. Baking to me isn’t just something you whip together — you have to be precise, and you just can’t whip things together, which is something I can do with regular ol’ cooking. Baking donuts is a project, something I have to carve out time to do and gather stuff for. But the good thing is, it’s something that I like doing with my niece and it gives us something to do together. Plus: apple cinnamon donuts are delicious! I’m on the hunt for pistachio donuts now; I want to bake a little more before it’s summer and it gets too hot out to put the oven on. But one thing I like about foodie things: it’s a nice way to feel creative and make something tangible (like my friendship bracelets) without everything being a protracted, agonizing process. As everything gets all big and complex, it’s nice to have those smaller things in your life.

Lazy Type-A Stuff

I’m looking at my hippie productivity bible, my year planner, which I filled out at the end of last year, reassessing my goals, seeing what I’ve made progress on. I’m cleaning out my digital clutter again, going through which sites I want in my inbox, my RSS, my bookmarks. I emptied out my inbox, sorted through my paper mail clutter, recycled all my old magazines. Basically, everything is slowing down, and it’s nice to refine any systems you have in place — or put in new ones where you need them. I’m in the phase of my life when I’m just paring everything all done. It sounds more Zen than it is, I guess, but it’s really just asking myself, Hmmm, do I really need to subscribe to these five fashion blogs that all talk about the same thing in the same way? I don’t, really, so goodbye, digi-clutter.

Corpse Pose

There was a time when “corpse pose” in my mind referred primarily to an Unwound song, not a yoga pose. But then I moved to San Francisco, and it’s practically a state requirement to do yoga. You can’t walk a block without running into someone with a yoga mat or seeing a yoga studio. I did Ashtanga for awhile but kind of burned out on it. Plus, all the weird spiritual high-minded talk from these teachers often sounded really elitist and holier-than-thou to me. So I stopped, plus I moved, and life got insanely busy. But lately I’ve been doing brief spells of yoga — just 5-10 minutes of stretching in the morning and night, nothing major, just enough to loosen up my spine and hips, which can get tight from running. And it’s made a world of difference. I also discovered Tara Stiles, who I like a lot because she’s super-accessible and keeps it all down to earth. So: yes. Yoga: it’s nice to have you back in my life.

Getting Ready to Novelize

I’m so excited: I’m going to start writing a new novel soon! I’ve been itching and itching to get done with my current book project so I have a nice chunk of time and attention and energy to focus on my novel. Outside a few short stories and pieces of writing, I haven’t written anything new in a bit and it is driving me nuts. So once this agonizingly long self-publishing process is done, I am just going to write, write, write. I can’t wait.

Baby Plants, Please Don’t Die

This is my spring-into-summer prayer these days! I never thought I’d be a growing-plants type of person, and my thumb is honestly midway between green and yellow. But I’m emboldened by the success of my basil plant, which has basically managed to stay alive when I started cultivating it in winter. This year I’m also growing cherry tomatoes and cilantro. I was eager for bell peppers, but let’s not get so ambitious yet! One thing I like: I can’t really force a plant to grow faster or slower. I have to think like a collaborator about growing and gardening, and just create conditions in which another life form gets to thrive. It is a nice metaphor, I think, about control, letting go and nurturing. I am all about living good metaphors.

In Which I Make Friends of the Equine Nature

Springtime also means: horses! Riding! Stables! Ponies! Last weekend I went to an open house at a new stable, and as my reward to myself for publishing my book, I’m going to take lessons again. I can’t put into words what I love about riding and being around horses — I feel absolutely myself and yet unburdened by the fears and worries that obscure my self from me at times. Riding demands total focus and calm and equanimity to do it well, as well as a profound awareness of the animal beneath you as you ride. It is really the most beautiful thing, and the connection I feel to a horse is often so much more attuned and subtle than I do to most human beings. When I am being utterly honest, human beings disappoint me — but horses never do. A horse cannot lie to you; it can’t dissemble. It can’t delude itself. It just walks and runs and grazes and nuzzles. A pure creature, really. I love that.

Re-Thinking Webby Things

I think about this space and what I want to do here, and sometimes I wonder if I should blog about more things and risk being unfocused, or if I’m really a diarist and that’s what this should be, or if I want to launch a whole new thing and just write about fashion, music and stuff like I used to, which is sometimes an itch that I get. But is it a sustainable itch? I know I want to redesign this site just a little. To be honest, I like designing things and being visual — sites, mostly, but I took great pleasure in doing my own book cover. Maybe by summer’s end you will see a whole new look or slant here, but the thinking and planting of ideas begins now. You know that whole idea of harvest? In effect right here, though the rewards won’t be seen for a few more months.

Lately I have been feeling like I have to have all my ducks in a row before I do anything, or have it all polished and perfect, before I talk about it publicly. But then it is paralyzing me from publishing on this blog more. So I’m getting over that, starting…now! Ladies and gentlemen, my book All Things Glorious & True is coming out soon! Here is the book cover:

I’m very excited! It was so thrilling to get the actual proof copy of my book and hold it in my hands, underscoring how beautiful and happy-inducing physical objects are. I held it in my hand and looked at my shiny, pretty cover, and felt the rather substantial weight like a strange miracle, like, Wow, did I really write all these words that are weighing me here? I put it on my bookshelf, right between novels by Simone de Beauvoir and Susanna Clarke, and felt oddly happy at the thought that now I have something that people can nestle onto their own bookshelves. It’s 300 pages long, set in Bodoni and it looks lovely. It’s just kind of amazing to put something that reflects, even a little, my journey of how pop culture and fashion brought me just a bit closer to adventure, beauty and liberation.

The idea of people buying my book is equally thrilling. A tiny bit scary, because a lot of the new material and commentary I added is much more open than I ever was on at NOGOODFORME.com, but still wonderful to contemplate. Getting this out has really brought out my inner perfectionist, but at this point, I just need to move on and get it out.

It will be available on Amazon.com as well as Amazon’s international outposts for all the lovely Europeans, Canadians and other far-flung readers. It will also come to Kindle as well, and I hope to make it available to other booksellers as well.

Just for fun, here is my micro-site for the book: allthingsgloriousandtrue.katasharya.com. It has a description, table of contents and a FAQ; it’s a bit rough at the moment, but it is super-pretty, especially on an iPhone or iPad. I can answer any questions here as well!

Anyway, keep your eye out in this space — I plan on running some giveaways and promotions once the book is launched. Yayness!

So one of the unanticipated effects of a long winter was that in March I went on a bit of a fashion bender. After a pretty abstemious January and February, it’s like the floodgates opened and suddenly everything on the sales rack looked good to me. Neon! Weird abstract prints! Lime green jeans! It was like having the shopping equivalent of beer goggles.

Luckily the old habits of caution and discrimination are inculcated enough, and most of my enthusiasm was contained in the dressing room, satiated by taking plentiful amounts of dressing room try-on pics. (You know the ones I mean.) But the will was broken when it came to these printed pants. They are a bit 70s golf lady, but I do not care. I got immediately inspired when I brought them home and tried them on with a zillion different tops. It’s a couple of months later and I still love them. (Yay!) My 5-year-old nephew calls them my “cheetah pants” and gives them two thumbs-up because they “make him dizzy.” (Dizziness is a sought-after quality by most little kids, if I remember.) My beau gets a kick out of them as well. Even my mom loves them! Everyone wins! Most of the time I’m very intransigent when it comes to clothing and pretty low-key, but I’m glad I took this fashion risk and went out of my comfort zone a bit.

I am usually a jeans kind of girls, or I wear leggings on one of those days when I’m running around and I know I’m headed for a run or a dance class or the gym or riding and don’t feel like changing so much all the time. These are very much “today I’m going to play” kind of pants, and I like that about them as well. It’s all too easy for the days to be packed with industry, hard work, tenacity and effort — so it’s nice to put on clothes in which all I can be is playful. Plus: prints! How can you not love prints?

A bit ago my niece got me hooked on making friendship bracelets. She got a little kit, and being an auntie, I got roped into making a bunch with her — and then I couldn’t stop at just one. Though I knit, sew and do a few other handiwork kind of things, I’m not really much of a crafty person. I sometimes enjoy those things, but since film school and full-time work, any of those potential hobbies has fallen by the wayside — almost all my free time outside of family and loved ones is consumed by writing, publishing, blogging or other literary-oriented pursuits.

But there’s something comforting and relaxing about the weaving of thread, the picking of colors, and the fact that within about an hour’s time, I have a tangible object to show for my labors — something that has a beginning, middle and end. I like most that I can’t be on a computer to do it — I like the break away from glowing screens. I like the fact that it has nothing to do with words, nothing to do with writing or editing, nothing to do with electricity. Working with my hands, with a physical medium — it’s such sweet relief, relaxing yet absorbing, and so satisfying when I finish. I’m pretty much on the computer all day due to the nature of my work, and then for hours longer because of my novels and essays — and I’m realizing it’s just not healthy, all this computer time.

But what gives way? I need to make money. I need to write. I can blog a little less, but then I hear the dreaded “should monster” — I should be building a platform, I should be researching agents, I should be taking this webinar or that webinar about publishing, I should be blogging, I should finish my newsletter, I should be better at social media. Should, should, should! Nothing kills a passion more than the should monster! I have been thinking about what it means to be a writer in the 21st century, to constantly hear advice about what we should do, and sometimes I follow it — but it takes me farther away from what I truly love: writing. As much as I enjoy Twitter and blogging, I don’t want it to be a replacement for writing stories and essays. I don’t want to feel a sense of boredom and dread when I turn on my laptop to write, simply because I’m fucking sick of sitting at my computer — I want instead to feel excited to play with my characters and plotlines and language.

(I don’t mean to sound anti-technology, because without it, I wouldn’t have a job, I wouldn’t be so lucky to not work in an office, and I wouldn’t be a working writer. But you can go too far the other way, and while I think the whole idea of “work-life balance” is a unicorn that doesn’t exist, I do think you need to strike a balance with technology — because otherwise it is a vampire that can suck your soul dry. But maybe I’m just feeling a little melodramatic.)

I don’t know if this means blogging less, blogging shorter, writing a novel in longhand, writing it on my iPhone, blogging on my iPhone, tweeting less, focusing more on my newsletter and less on my blog, saving up all my juju for future e-books or chucking it all and disappearing entirely off the grid. (Trust me, the idea is highly tempting.) I’ll figure it out, and figure it out again — I’m sure this is a regular cycle for any active writer. In the meanwhile, I’ll keep weaving threads and knotting string, corralling all the threads until they form a solid, connected strand. In bright, pretty colors, of course.

Yesterday my local paper published an article about me. Many years ago, in high school, I won an award given by them to local high school students for leadership, community and achievement — and for not being a psycho hormonal freak, I guess! The series basically followed up on winners at various intervals; I guess this year was my jackpot. I’m super embarrassed about my picture and I feel like the world’s biggest dork, but that’s to be expected, I suppose, because being in front of cameras turns me into a big dork.

It’s a fine article and I’m flattered to have been asked, but of course deep down I had FEELINGS. When I got the call that the paper wanted to talk to me, it brought me back to a time in my life when I could do everything and be everything to everyone and I had a whole future ahead of me: one filled with the promise of great success, achievement and general fabulosity. When I was 17, I had nothing but a glittering path ahead. I hadn’t disappointed anyone with my life choices. I hadn’t disappointed myself with my failures and my wrong decisions, my own stubbornness and short-sightedness, my blind spots and my willful attachments. Talking to the reporter, trying to explain my life and why I ended up back in my hometown — after years of vowing never to come back! — I felt haunted by the ghost of who I was then, by her idealism, her great expectations, her perhaps typically arrogant adolescence, her general feeling of how huge and vast and epic the future was going to be.

Of course, the future — always a big vague place, I guess — came and went, and here I am, 20 years later. In truth, I could never picture myself at this age. When I was 17 — and now I think what a baby-age that was — I could only see up through college. At the end of college, I could maybe see up to 23 or 24. And at 25, I could maybe see to 30. Anything past 30 was vaguely old — settled, ensconced, patterns established. If you had pressed me at 17, I felt vaguely I’d still be in a big city at the age I’m at now. I thought maybe I’d be partnered and had an idea I’d be hugely fabulous. At something equally vague but fabulous, no doubt. Somewhere along the path, I became a creature of moments.

Of course, there were surprises on the way, and the most surprising things of all that you discover in the course of living your life are all about yourself. How your eyes drink in a wide horizon. How fragile your father’s hand becomes when he’s lying in a hospital bed. How you fall in love with someone in the very place you once regarded as a romantic desert, barren of anyone who could think of you as beautiful. The surprising things that change who you are and the sense of what life offers you. The future still looms in front of you, even years later — only you walk forward with stronger, surer footing, knowing better who you really are.

Moving into spring this year was a little difficult, because winter was so long and a spat of Daylight Savings-induced insomnia derailed me a little. But now I wake up in the mornings just as the light streams into my house, casting temporary paintings of light and shadows onto the walls.

I like going outside in the morning, when the air is brisk and the light is clear. It’s refreshing — something about the snap of it clears out the head-down, shoulders-up huddle you develop during the cold winter.

You look up and suddenly seem more alive to the odd yet strangely riveting sights around you, like how a garage can frame a tableaux. Everything becomes a frame and tableau.

I am really looking forward to spring, and to growing new things. I am feeling adventurous: my basil plant is still going, and I have my eye now on cherry tomatoes. I want to grow my own caprese salad!

And just because: Goth trees at night.

I hope your springtime is emerging beautifully — maybe slowly, but with great and inevitable purpose.

Here’s a piece of fun news, in case you missed it on Facebook or Twitter: I have finally hit that certain zine girl milestone and published a short story over at Storychord. It’s called “The Professor and the Bikini Waxer,” and I have my former compadres at nogoodforme.com to thank — the lovely Elizabeth Barker and Laura Jane Faulds, as well as their ace illustrator and partner in crime Jen May — since it’s part of a special issue curated by Strawberry Fields Whatever. I hardly ever submit to publications because my stories don’t ever quite fit and I honesty have no idea where to even begin, but this one did fit into the mold of a “literary fiction.” (Lack of goofball elements like werewolves helps.)

But it’s always a trip to publish anything, no matter where it ends up. It’s always very mortifying but the best part is: it’s truly done. The story is out there, it’s in the world and is ultimately completed when it’s in the imagination of people other than you. And that’s really why we fight so hard to publish as writers, I suppose — nothing ever feels truly complete until it’s being read by other people.

Now that my little story’s journey is complete, it’s nice to finally trace its arc from beginning to end. Usually I’m like a shark with writing; it’s easy for me to jump into the next project without looking back. But in the interest of growing as a writer and not wanting to commit the same mistakes again and again — or just being able to diagnose patterns as patterns, if you know what I mean — it’s nice to remember where a story began, the turns it took and how it finally rounded the bend. Whether a short story or an epic novel, it’s always a struggle in some way or another, no?

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Like a lot of my ideas, it began as a joke…this one was a crass half-joke on a shoot during film school. I was brainstorming ideas we could make with very few locations, and I thought it’d be funny to do a short or even a web series about a bikini waxer — a kind of wisewoman-savant that ladies would line up to talk to for her advice on life and men and everything else. I just thought the idea of this love and relationship guru existing in such a profession was a funny, fascinating concept. We never made the film, though I did outline it quickly. I think the outline still exists somewhere in Google Docs or Dropbox or whatever cloud service I was using at the time.

The idea of a bikini waxer as a central character stuck with me, though, even long after I left the film industry. At some point, perhaps about a year ago, I decided just to write it in short story form. It initially began as a lark, just a “see where this character takes me.” I thought it’d be a lighter story, like the genesis of the short film/web series idea, but then as I wrote, I thought about the profession itself: how does one end up waxing bikini lines for a living? What would it be like if you discovered that this was one of your talents in life? And what if no one in your immediate sphere recognized it as legit and valid? I thought it was such an odd yet dramatic conundrum. What kind of person would this be? Maybe slightly embarrassed? Maybe trying to compensate in some way or another? Maybe a bit recessive and shy? I didn’t know. I basically wrote to find out, cheating on my novel by drafting the short story. And of course, being me, it went into slightly darker, more alienated territory, because that’s how I roll when it comes to me and writing. And: I have a pervy, fucked-up sense of humor, and that always seems to come out in a weird way.

I’m embarrassed to say, though, that this story went through a hella amount of revisions — it only took a few days to write, but almost a year to revise. Embarrassing! But it’s like any matter of the heart — sometimes you need to let the truths settle in before you can approach anything at a new angle. And honestly, I thought the story was weird and I couldn’t figure out what it wanted to be. This weird ingredient — the lost Germanic warrior tribes my little bikini waxer dreams about — kept popping up and wouldn’t go away. And so did the image of these intellectuals floating above the sprawl of Los Angeles, swilling wine and talking Greek and Latin classics in some crazy modernist house nestled in the Hollywood hills. That image, transposing a weird East Coast sensibility into a denuded landscape devoid of history but full of a Didion-like glamour — kept lingering as well. I had all these elements that wanted to be together, but I couldn’t figure out how they related to each other. So I wrote and wrote and wrote until I kind of figured it out.

There was initially way more action, and in an odd, subdued way, it became slightly “Heart of Darkness”-y but in a Hollywood spa. (There was even a “Heart of Darkness”/”Apocalypse Now” moment where Nina, my waxer, smears her face and body with mud mask and stares into the mirror in a very Travis Bickle kind of moment.) I finished it, and then I left it alone for a good long awhile and basically forgot about it as I finished up revising my novel. But then I’d remember it, and I’d pick it up and take a stab at revising it every now and then — and slowly each element came into its proper place and proportion. I realized it was basically a “shift in consciousness” story — like so many of my short films! (Talk about tracing patterns!) Once I realized that, I stripped away much of the action, until the story focused on just those moments that considered her thoughts and feelings, and the incidents in the story that created the changes in consciousness she goes through. Sometimes you have a wide lens working; this one was a very tight macro one.

It’s a tricky business to write a character like this. She’s essentially a passive person, though she does act and make decisions — but those actions and choices generally preserved her status quo because she feared change. I actually had some weird residual film school guilt about her not being more “active” of a character, but then I realized: it’s writing, not film, and especially on a short story like this, the change in point-of-view and perspective is the fulcrum of the action. She actually doesn’t make any changes in her life in the story, but the tale is really about laying the groundwork in her heart and mind before she makes concrete changes in her life It’s just a moment, just an inhale before you leap from the precipice — but so much can change in a breath.

Build a good name. Keep your name clean. Don’t make compromises, don’t worry about making a bunch of money or being successful. Be concerned about doing good work. Protect your work and if you build a good name, eventually that name will be its own currency. Life is like a roller coaster ride, it is never going to be perfect. It is going to have perfect moments and rough spots, but it’s all worth it.

— Patti Smith

That’s advice that Patti Smith offers to young artists in this video over at the Louisiana Museum of Modern Art’s website. There’s lots of good stuff there, featuring smart, creative people like Sophie Calle, Nicole Krauss, Thomas Vinterberg, just to name a very few. Check it out! But if you’re looking for some quick hits of creative thought and inspiration, here are a few bolts I’ve collected since my last post on creative manifestos. The last one’s from John Cage and Merce Cunningham, which is pretty righteous. I’m currently in a very “admin” phase of getting a creative project out, and it’s so annoying…but reading these and listening to Patti are making me excited to get down to the next project. It’s always about the next project!

Do you ever have times in your life where you’re preoccupied with nothing but minutiae? Maybe it’s tax season and I’m thick in the middle of preparing mine — I’m surrounded by forms and receipts and spreadsheets, ugh — but lately I’m going through one of those phases where all I notice are details, dates, dress codes, tiny repairs around the house, and various other kinds of nitty-gritty — and I don’t really see the patterns or big picture. It’s a strange way to exist, and it makes my thoughts similarly higgledy-piggledy. And you know, semi-neurotic: definitely feeling more so these days. All I’m capable of are random thoughts these past few weeks. Like:

Taking the Idea of the Photographic Memory A Bit Too Far?

I enjoy taking pictures on my iPhone of loved ones and families, as well as the usual artsy shot. But I also take the pictures of the weirdest things with my iPhone. I take pictures of recipes in magazines so that when I go to the store, I can shop for the ingredients. I take pictures of my outfits so I can remember what looked okay on me. I take pictures of nutritional information on foods, just because. I take pictures of random things in stores I want to buy later when they’re on sale. I take pictures of inspirational thoughts, ideas, product mentions and such in magazines that I read at the gym when I’m on the stationary bike. It is the weirdest habit. Sometimes I wonder if this is warping my memory and brain in some way, like I’m not exercising my memory enough. And you know, if I was in an accident and somebody looked through my camera roll, what kind of person would I appear to be to them? It’s really crazy how having a good camera in your phone really changes your habits.

Closet Cleanout Madness

One night over the weekend I was feeling agitated about my closet. I would open it and just emit this little “Pfffft!” of disgust, like I had too much stuff but nothing satisfied me and I had nothing to wear. This is ridiculous thinking: I have plenty to wear, and my closet is tiny. But just looking at everything chafed, if you know what I mean. Then I realized: there’s still tons of winter clothes in there. I’ve talked before about cleaning out my closet and the strangely Zen peace it brought me — the evolving approach is that you have to edit your closet regularly to keep your sartorial equilibrium, and keep it up with the seasons. It’s like digital clutter — you just have to tackle it.

And so I took out and stored all my winter things, then rearranged and re-sorted what’s left by item type and color. I felt better, like I had done my small part in banishing this over-long winter. But I was still bugged out, so I took out all the more fun, frivolous, playful things and gave them their own space off to the side, like, “Hey hot pink dresses and polka dot tops! I like you, but you’re just the spices in the pantry that is my wardrobe.” And suddenly everything was better, like I had a clearer sense of what was in front of me and who I was, fashion-speaking; I didn’t feel those weird spasms of guilt and obligation that a poorly organized closet can subtly instill in you. And I felt less of that “itch to shop just because you can’t deal with your closet” feeling. Sounds ridiculous, but when your mind is just bits and pieces, arranging bits and pieces is a nice tonic.

My Rave-Inspired Workout

I used to go to raves in college (it was the 90s!) and so I naturally enjoy these Kinect dance games. This is my workout. Work on this about 5x in a row and you will feel it. It’s embarrassing how much I enjoy this and how dedicated I am to nailing five gold stars. I can get five stars pretty easily, but the gold ones are pretty special:

Also this one — it has cool Michael Jackson-style moves:

And this one just because it’s ridiculous and hard:

Funnily enough, the more complex routines soothe my mind a bit more than the easier ones. You have to focus and pay pretty close attention to get the moves precisely right (especially in Dance Central, which is a lot harder to get a good score on), but when you do, it’s sooooo satisfying. You nail it, you get to that little oasis of pleasure and accomplishment for just a few second — and then it’s onto the next routine.

Stable Shopping

I am looking into stables in the area to start riding again in the spring time (my treat to myself for finishing my freckin’ taxes), and it’s giving me an identity crisis when it comes to equitation — should I just do pleasure riding? Dressage? Learn hunt seat and jumping? If there was ever a discipline concerned with fine details and minutiae, it’s riding horses. It makes for very boring yet urgent thoughts that no one else but your fellow riders can understand. But! Horses! It’s nice being around animals; they can’t really overthink things like humans do. I should really pick this up from them, no? I just need to jump on top of a horse and chill the hell out.