Both went well. Feedback on the novel was enthusiastic, and the blog’s subscriber list grew quickly. But something nagged. I wasn’t as inspired to do the work as I wanted to be. And after a lot of, um, navel-gazing, I realized: it was that word. Should.

Should is so tricky. In many situations it’s a good thing: you should help those in need, be true to your word, floss daily. (Okay, that last one I’m still struggling with.)

But should also means safe, status quo. You’d think creative types would have no problem ditching that kind of thing, but surprise – sometimes we do.

I spoke with a few folks about when they’ve ditched the should, taken a leap, and landed way ahead of where they’d been before. What I heard was some good advice about living a creative life.

Job security isn’t everything.

A paycheck and benefits are excellent, because who doesn’t like regular meals and health care? But are you really going to come home after a long day, or get up early and make art? There’s no shame in having a day job, we’ve all had them, but after awhile they wear you down.

Artist, musician, and filmmaker Rick Aragon spent 15 years working his way up the ranks at the Atchison Topeka Santa Fe railway, where he had good pay and benefits.

“But I was totally unfulfilled,” he said. “It started off as a summer job, and it turned into a full-time job before I knew it. I never meant to stay on that path, and from day one, I was always looking for a way out.”

Aragon thought that since he had a family to support he should stay, but then luck arrived and he was offered a job buyout. He could have taken a similar job, but instead he took an unpaid apprenticeship in graphic design. That bold move eventually led to paid work doing design and animation, and he’s worked in the arts ever since.

Writer and musician Eileen Wiard came to Taos on a Wurlitzer residency, but told herself when it was over she’d return to her teaching job in Massachusetts, where she’d get tenure. But something else was at play when she spontaneously asked the director if they ever gave extensions, and was told someone had just canceled and she could stay a few more months. She did, and never went back east.

That primed her for another bold move later, when she took a full-time job that took everything she’d give it. She quit after six months. “I left without anything to go to, violating a family rule.” Family rules are tenacious, but she got back on track and now has a job that allows her time to write.

Don’t limit yourself.

Writer Susan Carpenter Sims got a master’s in creative writing, and pursued academic writing and publishing. Which was so uninspiring she gave up writing altogether. But then she saw a movie that inspired her to try something new: Julie and Julia.

“(It) made blogging seem like a good idea, not because Julie Powell ended up getting a book and movie deal, but because of what her character says about blogging being a ‘regimen.’” So Sims started a blog.

“I had no idea what I was going to write about or who my target audience was and knew nothing of SEO. I just wanted to be writing again.” Sims said blogging has not only hugely improved her writing life, it’s improved her life in general.

Being selfish isn’t always a bad thing.

In the ‘80s Wiard won a $5,000 grant to record her original songs. Though the grant couldn’t be used for living expenses, her then-husband wanted half the money for bills.

Even though it seemed like a reasonable request, “what he didn’t realize was that I had never had money in my life that was only for me and my creative project. Always before I had scraped together pennies and, coming up short, usually said no to things that cost money that might have been an investment in myself.” So she said no to him, and has been pursuing her creativity ever since.

Last wise words, from Wiard: “Someone told me there comes a time in life when you just have to say yes to the work that only you can do.” And from Aragon: “The only ‘should’ I subscribe to (is) – you “should not” strive to meet other people’s expectations for your own life.”

Amen. I ditched the shoulds and am now pursuing my true love, travel writing. What about you?

This column first ran in The Taos News. Photo credit: designsstock.

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Other than the Hall of Fame, my favorite thing about the city was The Bluebird Cafe, the premier listening room for emerging talent. They generally do two shows a night, the first one being free, and even though you usually get what you pay for, at the Bluebird, free is worth something.

Three of the four singer-songwriters were incredible, and the room is tiny so there’s no bad seat in the house. (You can reserve tables, but I showed up early, waited in line, and snagged a seat at the bar.)

The night I was there the MC was this dynamic, hugely talented young woman, who had just come off tour opening for Reba McIntyre:

She was the best guitarist of the bunch, had a killer voice, and her songs were sassy and smart. She rocked. At one point she was telling the story of how she’d been making music from a young age, and how her parents moved her and the family to Nashville when she was ten so she could pursue her dreams of the Grand Ole Opry. Then she offhandedly said, “That was five years ago.”

Yep, you got the math right. Our MC was FIFTEEN YEARS OLD.

Anyone else feeling hugely inadequate right now? Like a big giant slacker? Anyone? (Her name is Caroline Kole, for future superstar reference.)

Okay, I’ll tuck my insecurities back in and get on with it. You know how cities will host a big expo and do all kinds of special construction for the event? In 1897, Nashville hosted Tennessee’s Centennial Exposition and decided they were going big. As in, Ancient Greece big.

Picture that guy on the bench in a toga.

It’s a full-scale replica of the Parthenon and houses the art museum, which I didn’t visit because it was a gorgeous day and I wanted to let Sam have a long walk in the park instead. The building seemed a bit grand for the landscape, but what do I know. My life’s dream is to have a second, bigger RV for really long trips and enough disposable income to fund regular rounds of fish tacos and margaritas. No Doric columns or ancient artistry required.

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Happy New Year! Whether 2012 was your best year ever or one you’d rather box up and stuff in a closet, I hope you’re excited about 2013. New year means clean slate, a chance to let go of mistakes or missed opportunities and push your creative life to new heights. Let’s kick it off with my favorite quote from poet Mary Oliver:

“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”

If you don’t know how to answer that, you’re about to find out. First off, I hate resolutions – they’re way too drill-sergeant for my taste – and I’m guessing you hate them, too. So let’s not make any. Deal? But it is important to take time before the new year gets rolling to look back at the last one and consider three questions:

What went well? What didn’t? What do you want more of in 2013?

It’s tough to know how to go forward without reflecting on the past, so take the time now to get clear on where you’ve been. Revel in the good stuff from last year and learn from the less so. You had some successes, but some bombs too? Join the club. Live and learn, c’est la vie, you can’t cry over spilled Malbec. Move on.

Once you’ve done that, here’s an exercise to jumpstart yourself into wild and precious mode:

#1: Make a “Wouldn’t it be fun to…” list.

The items on the list can be small (sketching once a week), or big (publishing a novel). The only requirement is that they sound truly fun, not something you think you should be doing. Go a little nuts with your list, and don’t worry if it seems crazy.

#2: Worst-case-scenario test each item.

It’s important to define the worst-case scenario because repercussions are scary, even when they don’t exist, and they stop us from doing the things we want to. It’s that devil you know versus the one you don’t – taking your desires and needs out into the light makes them seem more doable.

Really, it comes down to one question: Will it kill you? If not, keep it on the list.

#3: Pick one item and commit to it.

It doesn’t matter if it’s small or big, but pick one you can start on now. Here’s what you need to remember: You have your whole life to do everything you want to. You don’t have to do it all at once. Pick the first thing, make it happen, then pick a second. Rinse and repeat.

#4: For the item you’ve picked, lay out the steps it’ll take to accomplish it.

Writing a novel? The first step might be doing a rough outline of the plot. Then maybe you’d write profiles of your main characters, or there’s historical research to be done. Just keep asking “then what?” until the novel’s ready for readers, step by step.

And these steps, even if they’re small, might seem overwhelming, so remember – one step at a time. Don’t look too far down the list, because you’re thinking big but taking small bites.

#5: Put the steps on your calendar.

This is key, because life is so full that even though it might only take 10 minutes to do a step, if you don’t give yourself a reminder it won’t happen, but it must. You owe it to yourself.

You could create a task on your phone with an alert, or on a wall calendar. It doesn’t matter. But make sure you block out the steps and commit to doing them.

It also helps to get an accountability partner. Pick someone you trust – not your snarky sister or anyone else not fully committed to your success. Tell them what you’re trying to accomplish, and ask that they check in with you every week or so to see how you’re doing. They’d ask what you’ve accomplished, if you’re stuck how they can help, and what’s next on the list. Making your plans public is a great way to increase the odds you’ll keep going.

Remember, there’s huge power in daily action. For example, if you wrote a page a day, in one year you’d have a draft of a novel. It might not be a great draft, but still, you’d have a fat chunk of material you can craft into something great.

Lastly, if you’re not exactly sure what you want to make happen, know this: Motion is more important than direction, because direction will emerge if you stick with it.

First, motion: Throw stuff against the wall. Then, direction: Notice what sticks. What do you keep coming back to, or what do others seem drawn to when you do or talk about it? Then: Do more of what sticks, and watch as your creative life blooms.

What’s on your list this year? I’d love to hear.

This column first appeared in The Taos News. Photo credit: Tom Brakefield.

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There’s a special room dedicated to Patsy Cline, who was only 30 when she died, and I cried reading the letter she wrote to her mother-in-law about how she couldn’t pay the phone bill. She seemed so normal, despite her fame and incredible talent. Such a loss.

They’ve got a fascinating exhibit about the Bakersfield sound, featuring Buck Owens, Merle Haggard (who I was surprised to learn is still alive – Sorry, Merle!), and Dwight Yoakam. There’s also a ton of archival video footage, audio clips, photos, and artifacts.

The real shoes Carl Perkins wore! Would I be excited to see someone else’s smelly old shoes? No. But they’re THE blue suede shoes.

A re-creation of Owen Bradley’s office. Notice the pile of cassettes. Nice.

The original lyrics to Dolly Parton’s song, “Jolene.” The museum had a lot of lyrics, and some seemed written without any revision, like this, while others were scratched out and rewritten all over the place. Note the “Jolene Jolene etc.” at the top right.

Like any journalist worth no salt at all, I completely forgot to take notes, so I’m not sure who the next couple items belonged to. Maybe someone out there knows?

I’m not a gun enthusiast but when I saw this I thought, wait, you could have guns for door handles? Sign me up for that NRA membership right now!

Also! My dream suit: corn cobs on the knees, and farm boys carrying pails of water to my crotch. I’d never wear anything else.

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(I’m battling a serious flu bug, and if it were up to me I’d be curled up in that bed with him right now.)

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But what does it take to make that leap, to go from giving away your creations and keeping your art close to home, to going big and going pro? Is there a turning point, some sort of epiphany?

I talked to a couple successful locals to get their experiences, and even though we can’t point to their answers as definitive, they are instructive.

Painter Leigh Gusterson said, “it was definitely when my first daughter was born, when I was 24. I was a single parent, and I realized if I wanted to spend any time making art, it would have to make me an income.”

The lesson? Get out there and have a baby! Okay, maybe not. But seriously, her point is a good one – her circumstances changed so dramatically, they forced her to stand at the precipice with her art and make a decision on how it would fit into her life. Gusterson made a bold move and instead of setting her art aside, she jumped and knew she’d figure out the details on the way down. Much to the delight of her future fans.

Photographer Geraint Smith described his transformation as more of an evolution than one moment in time. The first big shift happened when he was 24 (oddly, the same as Gusterson) working for the City of Pasadena in Southern California. He’d been fooling around with photography for years, and taken some “pretty good” pictures, but it was just a hobby.

Then a spare office opened up at work, so he took it over and hosted a show of his photographs in his off time. To his surprise, “people bought them up.” Hurray!

Encouraged by the fact that people were forking over cash money for his photos, his confidence grew. His employers then hired him to be their staff photographer, which he did for five years, while he freelanced on the side.

But that’s not the end of the story. Smith moved to Taos and worked with a man building furniture, which he did for 15 years. He said that even though making furniture wasn’t his “heart’s desire,” selling it so successfully gave him even more confidence that he could make a living with his creative talents.

Meanwhile, Smith’s health was deteriorating because of the work, and he had children who needed him at home (maybe my joke wasn’t too far off?), so he took another leap and built a website to sell his photos. His newfound web design skills led him to building sites for others, as well as offering his clients photography services for their sites. A new business was born, and all of this eventually led him to becoming a full-time photographer.

Writer Steven Pressfield (“The Legend of Bagger Vance” and others) talks about the idea of “turning pro,” meaning taking yourself seriously as an artist, leaving dilettante or dabbler status behind.

Pressfield explains how the turning-pro moment usually comes right after the “all is lost” moment, when you finally recognize that you’ve deluded yourself your whole life and feel hopeless because of it.

Deluded how? The most common one seems to be that you’ll never make it as a full-time artist, so you don’t even try. You’ve spent all that time diminishing your true calling to mere hobby, when you could have been steadily working, practicing, and becoming the artist you were born to be. To paraphrase Pressfield, you hit bottom so then there’s nowhere to go but up – to turning pro.

Interesting, don’t you think? Here’s some final advice:

Gusterson said, “Having a deadline to enter a piece in a group show or a solo show gets the work finished and out there. I started off signing up to do shows at banks, hanging work in restaurants, and even created shows and opening receptions for my work right in my own little apartment. 90% of being a successful artist is being able to meet deadlines.”

Smith said, as his story exemplifies, “Capitalize on every opportunity and always be open to change.”

Smith also described his change in attitude – what took him from amateur to pro – as a feeling of intention. “You have to believe you can do it,” he said.

I’ll end there, and you know why? You can do it. Artists like Gusterson and Smith did, and so can you. Don’t let yourself or anyone else tell you different.

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This column first appeared in The Taos News. Photo credit: Natasha-R-Graham.

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What surprised me the most was how communal it felt. Only a couple of the dressing rooms have their own bathrooms, for example, and everyone else has to use the group bathrooms down the hall. (The Opry does have separate facilities for men and women. They’re not savages.)

The tour guide explained that they encourage performers to mingle, hang out, and swap stories, though presumably they’re not doing all that in the bathrooms, too. The Opry was nice enough to provide a sitting area for country-star confab.

It’s a big deal to get invited to be a member of the Opry, and with that exclusive membership comes one’s very own mailbox:

I asked if that was real mail – not planted – in those boxes, and the tour guide confirmed it was. (Yes, I’m that person who asks suspicious questions of tour guides.)

The theater was smaller than I expected, but there’s no shortage of lights:

The Opry used to be housed at the Ryman Auditorium, and when it moved to its current location they transplanted the circle of wood from the stage where so many legendary performers once stood:

Patsy Cline, one of my favorites, sang there. You really can feel the energy of all those talented people in the room.

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This isn’t a criticism, because I get it. Making art and making money don’t naturally go together in our minds, but why not? Why are we so willing to put our work out there for free, without any plan to have it pay the bills or, gasp, make plenty to live on and maybe even get that retirement account going?

We live in a small town, and it’s not like we have a huge market right outside our door. In places like this we have to get more creative on the business end – on getting our work in front of the market and making the sale. Taos is a fantastically creative place, but it’s also pretty isolated, the limitless reach of the Internet aside. This adds another layer of challenge to selling our work.

(By the way, our success means Taos’s success. The more thriving artists we have, the more money we have circulating locally, and the more we all benefit. Just saying.)

So I’ll ask it again – why not plan to make a living making art?

Is it because creatives don’t have a choice but to make art? It’s not as if we’re thinking, Hm, why don’t I become a doctor, or get a job with XYZ Corp.? It’s as if we don’t have any other options aside from making art, so money isn’t the first or even fifth consideration. We’re compelled to create like we’re compelled to breathe, and we’d make it even if no one were looking, much less paying for it.

Maybe it doesn’t seem valuable because it comes naturally to us. It’s a spin on the Groucho Marx quote about not joining a club that would have him as a member. Play with paint all day? Concoct new worlds on paper? Not that there isn’t a lifetime of practice involved but still, maybe we feel a bit inferior about that, as if we’re not allowed to make a living off something so fun and satisfying.

Is it that creatives are so right-brained, we don’t easily think about the making money part? Numbers and organization are left-brain skills, and creatives aren’t generally, um, known for those things. Maybe it’s that making art takes so much of our energy and brainpower, we have little left to take it to the next level of sustainable business.

Is it that we consider selling antithetical to making art? That it feels like pandering if we dare to consider what might sell – this book or that painting over another? I’m not suggesting we start only creating what we think people will pay for, but there’s a way to stay true to our art and find paying fans, too.

What you can do now to start making a living making art:

• Realize you deserve to be paid for your creations. Unless you really, really love your day job, then feel free to make art a hobby. (And not to be harsh, but this is assuming you’re putting out your best work. If you’re not giving it your all, you’re not ready to sell.)
• If you need help on the business side, get it. Take a class, read books or blogs, talk to another creative with a thriving business. There are tons of people who know how to do what you don’t, so tap them for their knowledge. Take best practices and make them your own. It’s all trial and error – you’re not expected to know this stuff out of the gate.
• Envision yourself making a living from your art. What would that look like? How much are we talking, and what would it take to get it? Be realistic but also, think big. Sometimes it’s just a matter of clarifying, then declaring what we want to set the wheels in motion. If you can’t picture yourself selling your art, you won’t. Start picturing it.

Remember: even if your goal is to make a living as a creative, it won’t happen overnight. Building anything is about momentum, and the more sales you accumulate, the more likely you are to keep accumulating them.

Start small. Write a book, publish it online, sell it for 99¢. No one buys it except your mom? Write a different one. People buy it? Write another one. See what works and what doesn’t. Repeat.

Don’t be afraid to experiment. This is no race; it’s your life. Make great art, and let the rest of us reward you for it. You’re worth nothing less.

This column first appeared in The Taos News. If you like it, feel free to share it with the buttons on the left!

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