Hello Reader,
I recently returned from mentoring fiction writers as part of an MFA program on the other side of the country. And although it was a powerful experience, I was thrilled that this opportunity allowed me to rethink my boundaries, put my decision-making prowess to the test, and increase self trust.
I went in treating the whole experience like a creative experiment in which I wanted to find the answer to this big question:
Would my mindset-focused, ecosystem-decision-making approach be valued in an academic space?
Would be it be worth the creative risk?
We don’t make decisions in silos. Each decision impacts some other area of our lives (hence the ecosystem metaphor). It’s all connected. Decision-making is risky because there’s often more at stake than we care to admit.
As writers there are so many ways to take creative risks. These actions can be related to our writing or indirectly connected. The idea is to test yourself in both micro and macro ways. Creative risk doesn’t have to mean writing in a totally different way. Creative risk can look like raising your hand in situations where you’d typically keep it down.
Creative risk can look like exploring an idea or concept with an open mind. Creative risk can be sharing your work for the first time. Creative risk can be speaking your non-negotiables into the room. Creative risk can look like doing so many of the same things so much differently.
On the first day of the residency, I had the chance to meet all of the faculty and my fellow mentors. We spent the full day in a circle just talking, sharing, eating. I knew almost immediately that I was in the right place.
Everyone shared so openly. But I also turned the lens on myself. I paid attention to how I was holding myself in the space. In these situations I am usually a bit reluctant to raise my hand. I become “observer” by default. Sometimes I hide in this observer role, I’m okay admitting that. But something felt different. My body relaxed. I was fully present. Safe. My ideas and thoughts were valued. I raised my hand on day one.
Creative risk.
Creative risk is also very specific to who we are, and what we know about ourselves. What’s risky for me might not be risky for you. This is why self awareness is a skill worthy of being flexed.
My goal over the course of the nine days (and later in the fall and winder semesters) was to help my students understand how to make decisions around their writing and their writing lives that made sense for them. I wanted to help them see the connections to their wider lives. You can’t do this work without self awareness. Creative risk becomes a natural way to boost confidence, and I saw it happen in real time over the course of just nine days. I saw the start of it.
What surprised me:
As part of the residency, mentors were invited to stay on campus. I chose to stay elsewhere. Why? Because what I know about myself in addition to practical needs, I need space. I need the alone time, the separation. I needed the distance. In order for me to show up fully for my students I needed to recharge in a very specific way. This meant I did lose out on all the de facto socializing and bonding. I lost an extra hour and twenty minutes a day too, by choice.
Instead of walking the one minute to my classroom, staying off campus meant I chose to make the 40-minute walk (sometimes I took the bus) from my hotel to campus. This impacted everything: I had to get up earlier. I had to THINK about what i needed to bring each day for class, because I couldn't just trek back if I forgot something. But how could this liminal space benefit me and my own work? The daily commute became a creative liminal space. It became an opportunity to process, but also to just notice a city around me. Living taking place. Bonus return on my investment: I wrote a few new scenes for my novel because of things that piqued my curiosity on the commute.
Making the decision stay off campus (and endure the added expense, time, etc) was not only a boundary honoured, but creative risk. Heck, it was financial risk too! And because I saw how powerful this decision was I ended up sharing it in my big lecture at the end of the week. My ideas were very well- received. Massive return on my investment.
Would my ecosystem-decision-making approach be valued in an academic space?
Yes.
After my lecture, I had a good handful of intimate conversations with students who were thrilled that they were being exposed to that liminal space between writing craft and the business of writing. In that liminal space they could close the door to their own unique laboratory. They could get to work. They could explore, create, try things, make mistakes, extract data, learn something new about themselves. This is what makes writing fun. This is what makes having a solid creative practice sustainable. This liminal space can help us figure out practical things like how to make money from our work, how to self advocate, and how to value all the unique pieces of our own reasons for creating in the first place.
After I returned home, I fell into an article called “Why liminal spaces are your brain’s best laboratory” by author and Neuroscientist, Anne-Laure Le Cunff. In it she talks about how being in this place of in-between is a feature not a bug. Liminal spaces either cause anxiety or curiosity, and you can literally decide which switch to flick. I thought it was fate finding this article after creating a whole lecture on a liminal space in writing that no one ever seems to talk about. Le Cunff says “These uncomfortable in-between spaces have a name in anthropology: liminal spaces. And they’re not just inevitable parts of life. They can be a laboratory for transformation, creativity, and growth.” She goes on to share evidence-based research on how. But this right here changed everything:
“In a world where skills, relationships, and even identities change faster than ever, the ability to thrive in liminal spaces is essential.
So the next time you find yourself in that uncomfortable hallway between what was and what might be, remember: You’re not lost. You’re standing at the threshold of transformation, in a space designed by evolution to help you grow.
Your brain is already equipped with everything it needs for this transformation. All that’s required is the courage to flip the switch.”—Anne-Laure Le Cunff.
I’ve finally completed a liminal spaces offering of my own. It’s called the Creative Ecosystem Launchpad and I’m finally ready to start talking about it.
Later this summer I’ll be announcing dates, offering free spots, and sharing more about why I created it. So please please get on the waitlist so that you hear more about the specifics.
The Creative Ecosystem Launchpad helps you expertly lay the foundation needed for your dream creative life. One that fits and shape-shifts alongside everything else that is important to you: family, work, activism, you name it. Through creative experimentation, you’ll learn how to make decisions that help integrate all the other important aspects of your life into your creative practice.
By the end of the program you’ll have everything you need in order to start making decisions differently, you’ll have created the conditions for your dream creative life by making space for all the pieces that are non-negotiable. You’ll notice cohesion.
Once you start to see the essence of that creative life, you’ll want to protect it. You’ll raise your hand, eager to continue the work.
And you’ll have met a whole community of writers who want to do the same.
The Creative Ecosystem Launchpad is for writers. You are interested in publishing but it’s not your only goal. You want … more. You want to change how your writing life fits with the rest of your life.
One last thing: If anything I shared here resonates or has piqued your curiosity, please forward this love letter to a friend.
with love, Chelene
Founder, Breathing Space Creative
Reflect + Rewrite
This Week's Reflection Question: Is it possible to make writing a seamless part of your life?
After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote.
Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you?
Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause.
Copy that line out. Sit with it.
As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.
