Commissioned stories have been trickling in for the anthology I’m editing for Flame Tree, Climbing High: Speculative Stories of Female Ambition. It’s an exciting time! I can’t wait to see how everyone’s work fits together, including stories from the open submission call once I get to look through the shortlist as well.
May is a busy month in Brighton, with both the Fringe and Art Open Houses going on. I’ve been to some comedy and theatre performances at the Fringe, and every weekend I’ve walked around and popped in to a few of the open houses.
My favourite Fringe performance had to be Comedy for the Curious, with Robyn Perkins. Robyn explored the topic of motivation—what it is, and what causes it—along with a psychologist and a comedian who played off each other in entertaining ways. How so? Well, the comedian found out he had ADHD onstage! “Fun fact,” said the psychologist, “most Fringe performers have ADHD. They’re out-of-the-box thinkers.” A quiz, and revelations, ensued.
With warm weather, and a recent heat wave, the Fringe’s outdoor spaces have been great. Two of the parks turn into performance spaces, with decorations, free outdoor performances, and family activities to enjoy, including circus toys that I saw some kids playing with. An artsy, creative, communal spirit shines. I watched free aerial arts, listened to an outdoor DJ, and heard someone perform his great-grandfather’s poetry.
As for the art open houses? Sometimes, seeing the display spaces and homes is just as exciting as seeing the art. Look at those beautiful details!
Some of the open houses include gardens, shed studio spaces, and cake and tea you can buy and eat in those gardens. Did I have some? Do you even have to ask?
I saw such a variety of work, everything from fabric crafts to pottery to photography to paintings to sound art. As a creative, it’s encouraging to see that there’s room for such a range, and to appreciate this variety. Someday, I hope to have a little home art studio and make time to play in it. My own illustrations feature in my poetry collection The Heart Decided to Move, which came out last year. It’s a start!
My favourite work was Frances Doherty’s giant floral ceramic sculptures. Recently, she’s made some “chimaeras” combining different plants together in unlikely, yet visibly intriguing combinations.
Finally, I saw the “soft machines” sculptures along the Hove Promenade before they were taken down. A public art installation designed by Ivan Morison, with collaborator Heather Peak, “it explores the bodies that make a city, and the plurality of love, intimacy and desire between them.” There’s more information about this Brighton Festival commission here. The sculptures reminded me of fluffy monsters.
I’ve been meaning to finish and review Evan J. Peterson’s occult detective novella Better Living Through Alchemy since it came out last year. Better late than never, right?
Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of books in order to judge the Best Independent Press award for the British Fantasy Awards. There are a few of us judging each award, and next month, I’ll tell you more about what the experience of judging a literary award is like.
Once I finished that stack of books, I looked at my TBR and there it was, waiting for me – Better Living Through Alchemy, which Evan (who I met through a Clarion West writing group) had kindly given me a review copy for.
At 166 pages, this is a slim but satisfying read, a fast-paced page turner. It’s also not your typical detective novel.
Private investigator Kelly Munn uses her magical and psychic abilities to investigate cases in Seattle along with her cousin and assistant, Critter. One day a client comes in with an equally strange mystery for her to look into. A drug called bardo has appeared on the streets. It’s killing people and leaving their bodies mutated in bizarre ways. It’s a compelling case – and paycheck – that Kelly and Critter can’t refuse.
The characters are charming, with the banter between detectives and clients reading as entertaining and the caring bickering between the two cousins as believable. I enjoyed how the story low-key has a mostly queer cast. Kelly is bi or pan, and Critter is trans and some variety of queer as well.
While Critter and some of the other characters use magical techniques like tarot and dowsing to investigate the mystery, Kelly’s abilities are the most interesting aspect of the heroes’ magic. She has clairolfaction – she can smell feelings and images, which help her intuit leads for the cases she investigates. (Her ability doesn’t seem too far off from synesthesia, just a bit more magical.) Her third-person point of view is peppered with experiences like smelling lies, “green words,” and a mixture of “rightness and wrongness” that smells like “wood smoke and rain mingled.”
Like her colleagues, she supplements her natural abilities with an interesting sort of magical technology. She free-associates words to come up with insights and, at one point, uses something called a “Dreamachine” that once belonged to William Burroughs. I think I want one.
The plot drives the storytelling forward, with one thing leading to another. Resurrection! Demons! Tree-people! Lost gods! The appearance of the drug itself! The tension ramps up, backstories are revealed, twists and turns appear, and everything feels engrossing. By the end of the story, things are… mostly explained, and maybe some of them don’t need to be.
All I can say is, it took me too long to read this book. Don’t be like me – read it now.
Author Interview and UK “Speed Walk”
My friend Mikey Belcher is a fellow American-Canadian transplant to the UK. We went to grad school together, and now he has a fantastic Substack newsletter where he writes about art, architecture, and more. I was delighted to do an author interview with him recently.
He asked me thoughtful questions about my new poetry book, The Heart Decided to Move, we share our experiences of moving to the UK on ancestry visas, and the interview ends with a “speed walk” around some of my favorite places in the UK.
It was fun to be asked what building I’d most like to build out of Lego! Portmeirion, in Wales, of course (see below). Read the full interview here.
More Synesthesia Shenanigans
I’m taking part in a research study at the University of Sussex on synesthesia in families. My mom’s participating too. It’s looking at both synesthetes and their non-synesthetic first-degree relatives. They’re still looking for direct relatives of synesthetes to participate, so if this applies to you or someone you know, you can learn more below or click here to sign up. It’s a paid study that involves color matching and memory tests.
Now I have consistency tests confirming my synesthesia. It felt exciting to have evidence that this was real, that I wasn’t making it all up.
I’ve also signed up for a workshop with the documentary In My Mind’s Eye – Unlocking Synaesthesia. The co-hosts, who run the Let’s Talk Synaesthesia podcast, will be leading sessions on neurodivergent wellbeing, music, and art-making. It’s taking place on October 18 in London, and interested synesthetes can sign up on Eventbrite (space is limited).
This past weekend, I went to an art installation at the Barbican called Feel the Sound. I thought the “multi-sensory installations” sounded both interesting and synesthetic. The exhibit had a lot of cool concepts, such as instruments that use light or sense indirect touch, and AI-generated, light-up melodies that match participants’ descriptions of their experiences with music. There was a lot of AI use in this contemporary exhibit, and I’m not sure how I feel about the infusion of that bland AI-generated writing style in the art world.
As I expected, a lot of the exhibit mixed senses in interesting ways, and that stirred up my mixed senses. I suppose I should have expected that something called “Feel the Sound” would have a lot of what, to me, felt like “weird noises.” Some of them were red or green or shaped like triangles. It felt a bit chaotic in some of the rooms, and calmer in others where the sonic atmosphere was more closely controlled. The choir of trans voices in a room where listeners could rest on body pillows was a highlight, along with screens of visuals synced to music and platforms that vibrate along with sounds. Overall, the experience was a blend of hit and miss for me.
That’s how I’d probably describe my engagement with contemporary art in general, as well as my experiences with synesthesia. I recently tried closing my eyes by a busy highway and watching the colors and shapes that the car noises made in my mind’s eye. It was cool that I could do that… but I quickly lost interest in that little game. I’m the kind of curious person who smells all the roses in the rose garden. But some experiences, it turns out, can be both synesthetic and boring.
Five pelicans groom themselves in St. James’ Park, London, during one of my Artist Dates.
During the first year of my undergraduate studies, I encountered a book called The Artist’s Way. A classmate who’d completed a visual arts program told me about the volume and how his class had used it at art school. Julia Cameron’s book has sold over 3 million copies and inspired countless artists, but this was my first encounter with it. I was intrigued by my friend’s stories of how the book inspired an outpouring of productivity and gave him the courage to use masses of high-quality paint rather than being stingy. I wanted to check this book out myself.
I found a copy of The Artist’s Way in a used bookstore. One of my classes at the time involved a project in which we all found something we’d always wanted to do and did it. I’d always wanted to paint, and I used this book as inspiration. I started writing Morning Pages, following Cameron’s practice of writing three pages longhand every morning in which you vent, brainstorm, and babble. I went on Artist Dates, inspiring solo outings, though I no longer remember where I went.
I did Cameron’s exercises, listing activities I’d always wanted to do and “secret selves” who reflected aspects of my personality that I didn’t typically express. To be candid, I only made my way partway through the book, but by the end of the year, I had in fact learned to paint. I hung some of my pieces in my dorm room, and painting entered the repertoire of arts I practiced and believed myself capable of doing. I also tried out other art forms, writing a good song and a not-as-good-but-still-finished musical. The Artist’s Way, even imperfectly followed, was a wellspring of inspiration. Once the year ended, inspired and enlivened, I moved on.
Near the end of 2019, over a decade later, an intriguing call for submissions got me writing a fantasy short story on the commute to and from my editing job. I got started but alternated between chipping away at the story and sitting there with a muddled, unproductive brain. I wanted to keep up my momentum, to keep writing, so I found myself picking up a tool I hadn’t used in years: the Morning Pages.
On mornings when my brain wasn’t up to the task, I used my time on the London tube to ramble in my notebook about what was happening in my life. From there, spurred on by seeing a friend posting about The Artist’s Way on social media, I began to follow the book in earnest. My story coaxed me into taking a second walk down the Artist’s Way.
A lot has changed since my first half-finished use of Cameron’s tools. I’ve moved from the creatively nurturing nest that my university provided for me to the daily routine of a full-time job, moving in a circuitous path that’s included freelancing, multiple careers, and entrepreneurship. I’ve lived in three different countries. I’ve published a successful book and dozens of short pieces. Having come from a place of early success, I’ve also become very familiar with failure. I’ve been prolific at times, blocked at times, and overly reticent with submissions. The drive of creative inspiration has at many points given way to the need to get things done.
This need has given me a new perspective on The Artist’s Way. I’m discovering that it is, in fact, an ingenious organizational tool. The Morning Pages remind me of forgotten items to check off my to-do list and help me organize my creative projects. Sometimes bits of writing emerge from the pages, but more often than not they resemble vacuuming – getting the mind clean and ready for work. The Artist Dates have taken me on walks around the neighborhood where I work, enjoying the splendors of Buckingham Palace and St. James’ Park, becoming familiar with the birds and flowers there. For some, Artist Dates bring a welcome sense of adventure. For me, they’ve brought a deeper connection and grounding in my surroundings.
The first time I tried The Artist’s Way, I was much closer to being that “artist child” that Cameron wants her readers to reconnect with inside themselves. I was less familiar with the challenges of the marketplace and had largely received encouragement in my writing and creative pursuits. I’d experienced the sting of some failures, but not on the scale that adulthood would bring. With this context, the encouragement offered by The Artist’s Way has been much more powerful the second time around.
Engaging with the book’s exercises has not been easy. They’ve opened old wounds and questions about my future. However, the changes have been profound. I’d expected to discover an exotic array of new interests or begin engaging with new art forms the way I did last time. Instead, my inner voice piped up loud and clear that I want to write and need to fight for that desire.
I was reminded of being eight years old and imagining that I would someday write all the things I read – mystery novels, advertisements, nature magazines, newspapers, everything! I remembered submissions that got lost and wondered why I hadn’t followed up. I became determined to follow that voice urging me to write all kinds of things, write what’s fun, and not put limits on myself. It’s okay that I want to be focused right now, that I don’t want to crochet or make a podcast. It’s okay that I’m scared to fail over and over. I’m determined to listen to my inner voice and honor that eight-year-old’s dreams.
So, what’s changed in my life since beginning my second journey with The Artist’s Way? I’ve written a short story and several poems, begun a novella in a new genre, finished revising a manuscript and submitting it to my first round of agents, and embarked upon a “100 submissions a year” challenge. (I’m going for submissions rather than rejections because it’s a concrete goal within my control. One of these has already turned into an acceptance, and I’m certainly not sulking about it!)
I’ve taken the initiative to create a blog for authors at my job. I’ve come up with several ideas for potential writing projects. I’ve started learning about linguistics and spent a morning picking up a few phrases in Swahili. I’ve gotten back in touch with some old friends, reached out to my great-aunt about family recipes, and grown very familiar with the pelicans of St. James’ Park. Fear, realism, and cynicism tango with hope and the excitement of infinite possibilities. Here I stand, in the middle of the Artist’s Way, and this time I’m determined to make it to the end.
Have you tried The Artist’s Way? What was your experience like?
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