Dana Bowman Creative

Talent Show.

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This is a throwback post from February 7, 2020 on Momsieblog. I thought it made a lot of sense to re-publish today. I received a few snarky comments lately on social media and I have to admit, they stung.

But we creatives? We just keep on creating. The snarky audience might always be there (oh why are there so many folks out there who seem to really love tearing other folks down?), but so is your God-given talent. I wonder which one is more important?

——-

Things At Which I am Talented:

  1. Making sure prepositions don’t go at the end of sentences
  2. Writing really wonky sentences
  3. Understanding addiction
  4. Understanding relapse
  5. Understanding my own story is wonky but it’s the best one I’ve got
  6. Reading reviews that weren’t thrilled with my books and then obsessing
  7. Reading over my own writing and then thinking, “Hey, this is not that bad. Back off, people. Jeez.”
  8. Writing really really badly some of the time
  9. Writing some good stuff, some of the time
  10. Figuring out how to finally turn off the humidifier in our living room which refused to turn off after I pushed the Power button like fifteen times and it would NOT, I SWEAR turn off and decided it was kind of possessed but then I just googled it because isn’t that what everyone does now and I get it and feel a tiny private moment of triumph each and every time I turn off something and hey, I take triumph where I can get it. 
  11. Run on sentences. 
  12. Repeating my children’s names so often that it ends up sounding like I’m a rapper and therefore so very cool. Sorta.
  13. Pointedly ignoring parenting articles that tell you not to repeat your children’s names endlessly because it supposedly trains them to ignore and then you have horrible children. Pfft. My rapper name is Biggie Sighs, btw.
  14. Having faith in my parenting. It’s terrifically wonky and it’s all I have.
  15. Having faith in my God because without him all of it is wonky. All. Of. It.
  16. Having very little faith in anything else. SURRENDER, DOROTHY.
  17. Leftover night.
  18. Collecting boxes and then tossing them down in the basement where crickets go to die. I have a thing for boxes. Every time we get an amazon delivery, I caress the box and think, “Oooo. What a nice box. I should keep it,” and then down it goes. And now our basement looks like one of those hoarders episodes. But only the basement, so it’s ok. You never know when you’re gonna need a nice box.
  19. Tangents.
  20. Just plugging along. Acting as if. Doing the next right thing. All of that business. 

Recently, I made the silly mistake of reading negative reviews. I have written two books, and that in itself is a miracle. A straight-up gift from God. But sometimes… I like to torture myself and try to make all the people like me all of the time.

Also this: Did you know, snarky review writers, that there is a HUMAN behind the book that you didn’t like? Did you know that?

Sometimes my writing is solid. Sometimes it’s not. And that just really makes me nuts. I write about my own life, so when people don’t like it? It’s tough. It’s like standing in front of a crowd and having some people point and shrug. “Meh,” they say. “I quit half way through.” 

Yep. That was a tough one.

So, this morning, as I was praying in my laundry room (my prayer closet) I came to this conclusion: My talent (or lack thereof) is not my own. It started out as God’s and then he funneled it my way. Just poured it on me, and said, “Go write about getting sober and see if you can help.” And, like so many things about faith and following, sometimes I grip onto it and say, “Mine.“

Not mine. Not perfect. Not for everyone. Not easy. And not ever enough. 

Talent is tough. 

But so am I.

My Favorite Books from 2022

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Prescription for 2023: Read more.

I’m wondering if anyone else out there had a hard 2022? Things were… weird. I’m not in the mood for a recap, because I do that in nearly every other post I write. So, today? Today we are steely-jawed, eyes on the future, standing straight and tall, stepping out into our destiny that is 2023. Are you with me? *cue bagpipes* They might take our liiives but they canna take our freeedommmm!

(For those of you who are curious as to why I suddenly escalated my 2022 into a scene from Braveheart it’s because I am always trying to find a way to use Scottish dialect in my writing. It’s lovely.)

Instead of rehashing battle wounds, let’s talk books. I’m pretty sure William Wallace didn’t have much time for reading, but I did, and for that I’m grateful. Books make great weapons (ok, not literally, William). But also? They heal. They’re paradoxical and surprising and lethal and loving, and I must have all of them.

So, in no particular order (except for the last one) here are my favorite reads from 2022:

1.Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad. Austin Kleon. I read Kleon’s book as a refresher for a college course I was teaching on creativity. Kleon’s writing is like a comic book for your brain. His ideas seem to come out of that jumbled craft drawer you had as a kid, where you could dig around and find all sorts of goodies for your diorama on the platypus. For my class (no dioramas, unfortunately, but it’s an idea for the next time I teach the class) I planned on suggesting it as a supplemental read, but I ended up buying each student a copy. It is that good, and necessary, for them to have.

2. Flow: They Psychology of Optimal Experience. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi. This was also for my class, and we spent the entirety of the semester skirting around the issue that none of us could figure out how to pronounce Mihaly’s name. So, we just referred to him as Big C. This book was science and story, combined, which is the best possible combination (You know how I love story; I created a whole podcast around it). It’s very research-y, but it also gave me lesson ideas like writing a love letter to your younger self, and when the students read them aloud, I cried. This is optimal. Subsequently, I let my students out ten minutes early and forgot about the homework. Great job, Big C!

3. Remarkably Bright Creatures. Shelby Van Pelt. Uh, an octopus that communicates with an aging woman because they both feel a bit forgotten and lonely? And then they sorta become friends? And there’s an addiction and recovery side-story? Yep. It’s in there. Also, you will fall in love with the octopus, and now I want to go find a lonely octopus of my own *waves hands about* out there somewhere and befriend it. Yes, I live in Kansas, but books that give you big dreams? That’s the stuff right there.

4. The Artful Edit. Susan Bell. I’m reading this because I am enrolled in this course to become a certified book coach. Now, I have authored two books and have been a writing and English teacher since the dawn of time. I’ve had my share of editing experiences. This process can cause me much despondency and gnashing of teeth. One time while editing, I threw my pen across the room and it scared Bob, but she forgot to unhook her claws from her bed before she leapt about, so that ended well. Bell’s book is creative, full of story, and massively helpful. I’d put it up there with Bird by Bird and On Writing.

5. The Fox and I. Catherine Raven. I don’t really know what prompted me to take this one off the bookshelf at the library, but I’m glad I did. Now I want to go find a fox and befriend it too. This book is meditative and makes you feel like you’ve gone on a good long walk in the sun and wind when you read it. Also, last I checked, the author has no social media or platform. She still lives out there, somewhere, in a cabin, with her dreams and her writing. I like to think about that.

6. I’ll Be Gone in the Dark. Michelle McNamara. This book is harrowing and endlessly fascinating and all the while there’s a background thrumming that McNamara’s vision and work and focus will lead to tragedy. It’s heartbreaking. And it’s some of the best true crime literature I’ve ever read.

7. Creativity: A Short and Cheerful Guide. John Cleese. Can we just take a moment to appreciate the world treasure that is John Cleese? I read this in one sitting and I could HEAR him reading it to me. That is all you need to know.

And finally…. the best for last:

8. Fairy Tale. Stephen King. When I finished this book, my husband Brian was just coming up to bed. It was around midnight. I was just sitting there, clutching the book to my chest and when he settled under the covers, I started to tell him about it. I had to talk to someone about it. It’s a hero’s quest, a mythical journey, a recovery story, a coming of age tale, a dog’s life, and more than a bit terrifying. All in one. I begged for characters to stay alive and for the dad to stay sober. It was the complete book.

Oh! And here is an honorable mention. I found it because Stephen King recommended it on Twitter, and we should all do whatever Stephen King says. I went out that day and checked it out, and then created this, which the author RESPONDED to, so now we’re besties. As is the way.

So, there you go! I’m hoping you will message me with your favorite reads this year, so I can add to my list. There’s always more books in the sea, along with an octopus, out there, somewhere, waiting for me to transform its life.

If you would like some researched and curated quick tips on this topic and more creative hacks, join me for Pie and Coffee: 3 Habits, 2 Helps, and 1 bit ‘o Hope, free of charge. Sign up below!

I like pie

When Writing is Hard

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Ok, so if you read my last post, you would see I’m going for a series here. This is not planned because I’m way too unorganized for that, but I’ve been doing a lot of writing in the small spaces lately, and it’s on my mind.

And also: for those of you who are reading this and are NOT writers, this will relate to you as well because really? It has to do with what makes us creatively content.

I was going to say “what makes us happy” but I’ve been thinking a lot about that too – and I’m not sure writing makes me… happy. Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those “writing is so hard and it makes my brain feel like sludgy and sullen cottage cheese and who wants sullen cottage cheese in their life?” posts. It DOES actually do that, by the way. Like, really really troubled cottage cheese, I tell you. But that’s STILL not what I mean.

Bet you’re not gonna want to eat cottage cheese again for a while now, huh.

What I mean is… writing is hard. It’s a hard surface. You have to chip away at it. It leaves you gritty and tired and often, a bit banged up.

I have been working on a novel. The first one I have ever written. (This makes it sound like there might be more than one? Hmmm.) It’s been a delight, to write about something that’s not my life but also leans into my life (my protagonist is an alcoholic mom who is falling apart, go figure). But it’s HARD, ya’ll. Here’s some reasons why:

  1. It’s new. I don’t know what I’m doing. I keep muttering things like “Just keep swimming.” I have taught character arcs to surly highschool teenagers for OVER TWENTY YEARS and I’m so sorry, kids. You whined about it. I get it now.
  2. It’s waiting. I mean, there is so much waiting. I have to wait for word back on whether I should even TRY to find an agent. Waiting for that feels kind of like I am fully dilated but I have to wait a few months before I have the baby and wow that analogy just really went there.
  3. It is sneaky. Meaning, if I don’t pay attention, this uncomfortable, hard, humbling thing could so very easily get filed away under “I just don’t have the time or heart or humility super-powers for this biznatch. I gotta feed and water kids and go to basketball games and remember to moisturize… I just don’t have time for this.”

I am still writing, ya’ll. But some days it’s hard. And if you’ve ever had something that made your heart feel at home, but it kept getting put at the bottom of the list because Momhood? I feel you. I really do.

Don’t give up.

Sister friends.

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Me and my awesome friend, Jess, on the week before our podcast launch. Happy days 🙂

So, happy Monday everybody. I spent most of the weekend feeling like congealed gravy. It was a a mixture of (deep breath): Allergies/menopause/overwhelm/parenting two boys who are tweens/AND also I finished a really good book and didn’t have a NEW book to replace it this weekend so I was adrift.

You know what I mean. Right?

But it’s MONDAY and I’m gonna just MONDAY the living daylights out of it. This morning, I got up before dawn and put on a hoodie (#nobraseason) and left for very early coffee on my friend’s front porch. Her porch makes me feel like I am on an Alpine vacation and since it’s very possible I will be spending a good part of my day later doing very un-vacationey things like cleaning and working, this little Alpine retreat was a great start to my day. One can always hold a tiny slice of 7 am Swiss Alps in our hearts to help tide us over when later we are trying to understand why teenagers leave trails of Slim Jim wrappers everywhere they go, like slugs with a thing for protein.

Four of us were there, surrounded by fuzzy blankets and a whole lot of pumpkin spice creamer, and at 7 am, before the sun, we proceeded to dive into: insecurities/overwork/children/fear/parenting/healing/perspective/aging/& how chobani pumpkins spice creamer are the best.

Again, this was all at seven am. We are like the Navy Seals of introspective self-healing folk.

All this mental communion then motivated me to go for a run. So basically I have turned a corner on the congealed gravy thing.

Look, I’ve been married for a while now, and my husband is my best friend. But. My girl friends? They are my sister-friends. I need them so desperately. To be honest I wasn’t always like this. It took turning fifty, menopause, and just a whole lot of life to really help me see and value and NEED these women in my life.

And, I’m thankful for early runs and Monday restarts and sun that slants on a crisp morning and makes you feel like anything in this life is possible. Oh and pumpkin spice creamer because I’m basic I guess?

And allergy meds. Oh thank you sweet Lord.

But today I am just mostly forever grateful for my girlfriends.

My sister friends.

Tiny Brave.

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Do you ever feel like you live a life squished down? A small life? A dusty one?

Ever feel like you don’t make a difference?

YEA ME NEITHER. I TOTALLY MAKE A DIFFERENCE. I AM AMAZING AND SO ARE YOU.

I’ve decided to stop questioning my contributions. I make a difference. And so do you. We get up each day, and we do the thing. And then we do some of it again, and again… We tweak some parts and mess up on others… And then we proceed to do it all over the next day. It is Sisyphus. It is numbing. It is monumental. And it is hard.

It is the bravest contribution ever: The Continued Doing of Life.

(Also: I kind of feel that as a fifty year old woman just existing in this world is Big Time Bravery).

I went on a run this morning and felt energized and exhausted, all at the same time. I felt invincible and Iron Womanish, and then headed to my coffee shop where I tripped over a non-existent something on the floor and totally wiped out. There, I started an article about my faith, and immediately felt imposter syndrome about my lack of faith.

It’s very likely I’ll eat something healthy and all green and crunchy for lunch, but then later I’ll scarf Reese’s because I know my husband bought some and HE HID THEM IN THE HOUSE. (Game on, husband).

Bravery is not one big long Hallelujah Chorus of awesome. At least, not in my case. I just can’t maintain it for that long. I can do bravery in short bursts and then breathe a lot after, inhaling and exhaling through the regular goofy and pain of Dana (also paired with fear, lack of confidence, comparison, sadness… all the icky stuff because human Dana).

Bravery works well on an instagram post. Or a tiktok. It’s cinematic and it’s sexy but it, like sex, it should REALLY NOT go on and on and ON. I mean… that would be… well you know what I mean.

So, take my word for it. We are brave every day. It might be tiny brave, but it counts. Tiny brave counts. It really does!

Finally, to really drive home the fickleness of bravery: Here is a pic of my new glasses. They were a brave choice. I love them, but the guy at Target said, “Cool glasses. You look like Jeffrey Dahmer.” So, you know. Truly, not really the vibe I was going for but #itiswhatitis

Safe places

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Welcome to my brain. It’s a little weird in here, but also very kitschy. It’s a New Girl episode where they’re all a lot older and less drinkie. I’d watch it.

Also, my brain today is back in a safe place, so it’s humming with ideas.

I long for spaces that match my insides. If you are a literal person, like my 13-year-old son (aka “the lawyer”), that kind of statement is followed by an “Ew, MOM.”

But I bet some of you understand. I long for spaces that allow me to take a deep breath in, and then out, and feel all *equally pressurized.

Here are some spaces that do NOT help me to feel all equally pressurized:

  1. The vet. More on this later, but I have had wayyyy too many visits to our local vet lately (they are wonderful and lovely and lovING, but still, no no, not my safe place).
  2. That one place in Walmart towards the back where that guy in the red button-down is trying to sell you new cell phone service and NO MATTER how much you focus your eyes straight ahead, he still manages to sidle up and you have to do that awkward slow-walk, but you’re also still moving to show him you have places to BE in the Walmart, and no you don’t need a new cell, but also you don’t want to be mean because he’s just trying to make a living? That place.
  3. Actually, all of Walmart, really.
  4. Any school supplies aisle right now. Even in Target, where the cool school supplies hang out.

Places that help me to feel safe? Well, here’s one of them:

Nice product placement, Dana. Shameless plug.

You might recognize this coffee house – I was here a few weeks ago for my solo writer’s retreat. I’m back just for a few hours of writing.

It’s safe here. My insides match my outsides here.

Other safe places:

  • My front porch
  • The dinner table unless there is a casserole involved. Casseroles are my nemesis.
  • My back stoop, especially if Rey the Good Dog is with me (She’s a leaner. Do any of you have doggos that like to lean on you? It’s very grounding).
  • A church pew
  • Cody, Wyoming (I visited there long ago and I rode a horse named Jumper which was apt. I’m coming back, Jumper. Wait for me).
  • Anyplace accompanied by a good book. I’m reading The Lioness right now and it’s so gooooooood.

These types of places allow me to actively rest. Then, about four minutes later I’ll have a little burst of ideas, which I’ll have to write down (I usually end up texting myself which can be super awkward if I accidentally text Darrel, my pastor. It’s kind of hard to explain a text that says: ANXIETY BIRDS to my pastor. But you know? I’m sure he aimed for understanding. He always does. Especially with me).

Oh, and here’s another safe space: Anywhere Rey naps. Need proof?

VOILA:

I mean, honestly.

Do you have spaces that help you breathe a little easier? Create a little more? Do they help you fill up, overflow, contribute?

I think space is crucial to creativity. And notice? I used this weird term *equally pressurized. I NEVER said my space helps me feel “balanced.” That’s just a term for gymnasts and 20 year olds.

Where are your safe places?

Would you like to get some ideas to help plan your own creative retreat? Click below:

Kittens and fudge and wifi.

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I’m writing this from the fourth coffeehouse in two days. Also there was boba tea in there at some point and a really good burger.

I’m on a writer’s retreat, ya’ll. Sustenance.

There has also been fudge. But only purchased, not consumed. Yet.

Oh and some frozen lemonade thing that really didn’t seem all that lemonadey. I need my lemonade to smack me in the mouth with its tartness. This one just sort of booped me in the nose. It’s ok, lemonade. You be you.

But Dana, you ask. When are you actually writing?

IN BETWEEN, SILLY.

On this retreat I have:

  1. Had a very serious talk with my Calendar. We got eye to eye and I said things like, “Ok, Calendar. Cut it out. I’m in charge. I AM. You’re not the boss of me.
  2. Added about 6 more things to Calendar.
  3. Wrote a blog post and a newsletter.
  4. Finally finished the book synopsis I talk about here.
  5. Worked on chapters 1 and 2. All the while there was a constant soundtrack in my head to the tune of: “What Do You Think You’re Doing, Dana, You Total Fakezoid.” It has a snazzy beat.

I want you to realize, dear reader, that imposter’s syndrome is very common. I think I could seriously win a Pulitzer and I would still be all “It was probably a fluke and someone out there by the name of Dana Bawman is really ticked off that I stole her Pulitzer.”

But here is what I learned while I was here:

  1. Coffeeshops regularly chose really interesting music. I am currently listening to showtunes in Japanese. Thanks Reverie Coffee for the culture. Also, you make a lemon cream croissant that is to die for.
yes my love.

2. If I listened to all the voices in my head I would be home making a blanket fort with my cats and as great as that sounds one cannot achieve your highest potential when that is ALL that you do. Don’t come at me, cats.

3. People are really nice. While here, I have had recommendations for food, walking paths, books, and the best burger. People are interested in what I’m writing and they are all about encouragement. People are just amazing.

4. I will never be as cool as a barista.

Don’t allow your inner voice to shut you down. If it keeps telling you all sorts of negative things? That’s not an inner voice. That’s an inner a$$hole. This sounds really weird and ew and like something from a David Cronenberg movie and I hate his movies.

David, if you’re reading my blog, I’m sorry.

(spoiler alert he’s not reading it)

I will have to say, though: if blanket forts with your cat are your thing? Do it. It does sound kinda cool.

In conclusion, I leave you with a whole heck of a lot of writing yet to do, but also this video of fudge. You’re welcome.

https://www.youtube.com/shorts/MtnRDPPGw-0