Skip to main content

Creativity for the Joy of It - and Why I Keep Forgetting That

You know that saying, “Do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life”?
Yeah. About that.

Whoever said it clearly never tried turning their passion into a business.

This week, I’ve been thinking a lot about creativity — and why, oh why, I’ve landed in this weird, exhausting place where being creative automatically means it must make money.

This is a bit of a personal ramble, so pull up a chair, grab a cup of tea (or wine, I’m not judging), and let’s talk about it.

If you’re reading this, chances are you’re creative too. You probably love reading, or painting, or baking, or sketching little masterpieces no one else ever sees. Maybe you’ve got a camera roll full of DIY projects you’ll finish “someday.” And if you’re not doing something creative right now, I bet you dream about it when you have more time.

I’ve always been a dabbler — I design all my own book covers, play around with digital artwork, and I’ve even put some of my abstract art on clothing (yes, really — you can see it over on my Etsy store, blueberryprincess.com). But somewhere along the way, the fun of it slipped out the back door.

I’m about to set up one of my art shows, and as I lined up pieces for display, I caught myself thinking — what will most likely sell? Not, “what do I love?” or “what was I trying to express?” but “will this one pay for coffee?”

Then I stumbled on a few old paintings I did just for fun — experiments in color and texture, messy and a bit wild, but alive. And I realized with a jolt how long it’s been since I’ve done anything purely for the joy of it.

I want to create without thinking about the end result. I want to paint, knit, bake, draw, or make something ridiculous just because it makes me happy. I want to lose myself in that lovely, peaceful place where the process is the reward.

But… (here it comes) …as soon as I start, my brain jumps straight into business mode.

Could this go on my Etsy shop? Would it make a good social media post? Maybe I should photograph it in progress — ooh, I could even turn it into a reel! Maybe the local gallery would be interested. What about a Christmas craft stall?

See? Exhausting.

Meanwhile, Blueberry — my Papillon muse and professional napper — just sits there watching me over her tiny nose, like, “You know you could just draw a tree, right? For fun? Without hashtags?”

Do you do this too? Do you find yourself trapped in the “creativity = income = pressure = burnout” cycle?
And if you’ve figured out how to break it, please — teach me your ways.

Because right now, I’m trying to remember that art doesn’t have to be productive to be worthy. Sometimes, the best kind of creativity is the one that no one ever sees — the quiet sketch, the lopsided cookie, the messy experiment that’s just for you.

So if you need me, I’ll be over here with my sketchbook, doodling something I’ll never sell, post, or promote. Just me, the pencils, and Blueberry — who, by the way, insists that the best creative work begins with snacks.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Absolute Madness of Naming Characters

  Let’s talk about one of the most ridiculous struggles of writing a book. No, I’m not talking about the part where you stare at the blinking cursor like it personally insulted your ancestors. I’m talking about naming characters. It should be easy, right? Just slap a name on them and move on? Oh, my sweet summer child. If only. See, naming a character is like naming your kid—except worse, because nobody is going to complain if your kid and their cousin both end up being named Liam. But if your main villain is named Liam and you accidentally give the quirky coffee shop owner in book three the same name? Cue the existential crisis. Let’s walk through the madness. The Overthinking Spiral of Doom You start writing, and there’s that moment: your brand-new character walks onto the page, full of potential. All they need is a name. A simple name. Something strong, something fitting, something— Oh no. Nothing sounds right. This one is too complicated. That one is too simple. ...

Negronis, art, and the Next Mystery

You know you have the best readers in the world when they politely demand the next book—with extra exclamation marks and not a hint of shame. So many of you have been asking (some quite insistently, and with the kind of enthusiasm that makes my day) about the next Magical Papillon Mystery . Those of you who asked on social media — thank you!!! To all of you, I say — bless your sweet, book-loving hearts, and fear not. Pixie will return! Here’s what happened… Last Christmas, after one (or more) festive Negronis with my very talented artist friend, I made the kind of pronouncement that can only come after equal parts gin, vermouth, and orange. I looked around her house — absolutely overflowing with paintings, colors, and canvases stacked like leaning towers of artistic chaos — and said something like, “Wouldn’t it make a great story if someone inherited a house full of original art, and every painting had a secret behind it, and they had to solve the mysteries one by one…?” Well. One...

Stories Are Everywhere: The Writer’s Endless Inspiration

As a writer, one of the most common questions I’m asked is, “How do you come up with your stories?” It’s a question that often makes me smile because the answer is as simple as it is profound: stories are everywhere. Inspiration doesn’t always strike in grand, dramatic moments. More often than not, it emerges quietly, weaving its way into the fabric of everyday life. Conversations with friends, the sights and sounds of a bustling city, or even the stillness of a room can spark the seed of an idea. Writers aren’t just storytellers; we’re observers, collecting fragments of life and spinning them into tales. Let me share a recent example of how a simple evening turned into the genesis of a new story idea. Over two perfectly crafted negronis, I was discussing the schedule for an upcoming event with a friend. Their house, a treasure trove of artwork, surrounded us. Every piece of art seemed to hum with a story of its own. Midway through the second drink, I remarked, “One day, someb...