Relapse or Realism?

At the beginning of March, I had a mini freak-out and totally muffed up my low-buy. I've been letting this news percolate for a while, so that I could try to work out how I feel about it. The initial spend, which started with lingerie and fancy chocs, could have been for hormonal reasons, I'm not one hundred per cent sure. I just felt a little glum, and frustrated that my self-imposed limits prohibited me from buying things like magazines and face masks without guilt. I'm twenty-nine, I found myself thinking, shouldn't I be able to buy a damn Fortean Times and a chocolate bar if I want to? (Not that chocolate was counted out under ban rules, but my new Sense of Frugal Duty made me feel bad for considering an UNNECESSARY purchase. It's entirely possible that I have some issues. Thanks for noticing.)

In case you're wondering, I'm super happy with all the items I bought, which had all been on my list of upcoming monthly purchases. I'm waiting for one more item to restock in my size, and then I intend buying that too, as I don't have a lot of summer-appropriate clothing. I didn't spend more than I could afford, either - hooray! (And after I bought the lingerie set, a wire came wriggling out of one of my last semi-decent-if-too-small bras, so I'm gonna go ahead and call that one a good buy.)

As much as I (mostly) enjoy having the structure of a low-buy challenge or shopping ban, and at first it seemed to be going really well, I'm starting to struggle now after nearly two years of self-imposed rules. The problems are firstly that it focuses the mind on all the things I'm NOT buying, and secondly this guilt developing around things that would be quite reasonable to purchase (like chocolate). I also have found myself thinking that more flexibility might be in order - I love the items I bought in Glastonbury in September - a patchwork jacket, tie dye dungarees and rainbow striped harem pants - and if I were to make a similar trip in future I would probably want to make purchases again, if something special caught my eye.

This last couple of years I've tried really hard to embrace anti-consumerism and simple living, but I keep tripping over my love of clothes, adornments and other little luxuries. This makes me feel quite disappointed, but it does seem to be in my nature. I can moderate it and choose not to make a purchase, but I can't seem to just stop being interested in my style, even when I feel convinced that it makes me shallow or silly.

I hope that now I've bought those things on my list I can make a clean break from browsing shopping sites, which is probably my most irritating and self-defeating habit. Going forward, I'm going to try to only buy things when necessary, because I'm happy with the amount of clothes that I have and don't want to keep piling on, and I'm going to prioritise physical shops (not chain stores or fast fashion! I mean small businesses, boutiques and charity shops) whenever possible. 

I know that I can indulge my enjoyment of dressing up without shopping for new things all the time, but persistently telling myself that I MUST NOT SHOP seems to be shooting myself in the foot a little. I'm tired of guilt and self-analysis and for feeling like a terrible person because I like sparkly nails and quirky jewellery and am not a combination of Swampy and a Buddhist monk. I had this kind of ideal eco version of me in my head for a while last year; I imagined myself barefoot and tan in worn jeans and a visibly mended T-shirt, no make-up, growing my own herbs and veg and keeping chickens. Not gonna lie, I still love that image - but that's all it is, an image. Real me would not like to part company with my blue hair extensions (they're clip-ins from Etsy), New Rock boots, and iridescent UFO earrings. Ideal eco me is great for sunny weekends in the garden, but it's the whole me, not just an idealised image, who has to go about in the world feeling good. Which is much easier when I'm embracing who I really am and what I really like. 

So my plan is, at least for a little while, to have no plan. I'm going to take a little bit of time to re-set. During that time I'm going to really embrace the things I have - read those books, play those CDs, wear those earrings, use those hair products! I try to do this anyway, but I'm going to try extra hard. I'm also going to refocus on the goals that I felt were most important when I first set out on the shopping ban - to be more present, especially with my son; to continue reducing my time online; and to take more time to be creative (other than writing blog posts, which has become my fallback spare time activity). I may also choose to read some books I've been eyeing up for a while that might remind me why it's important to reduce our consumption - books like Affluenza, Loved Clothes Last, Mend! and The Story of Stuff. 

Another train of thought I found myself boarding this month came about as I was reading a novel, The Dressmaker's Gift by Fiona Valpy. It's about three seamstresses working in a couture house during WWII, and it isn't at all the sort of thing I'd usually pick up (no ghosts, robots, or wizards), but it was lent to me and I found it fascinating. And it really reminded me that we have as a society completely changed how we treat our wardrobes - characters in the book used fabric scraps to create new gowns, treated everything with great care, even made wedding dresses out of parachute silk. Nowadays we buy a dress from Tesco, wear it twice and think nothing of discarding it!

I can't suddenly afford couture, but the book did remind me that caring about the way we present ourselves isn't just frivolous and doesn't just relate to 'fashion' as it's presented to us nowadays, a dizzying carousel of trends the advertisers want you to wear out your wallet keeping up with. But people used to spend a much higher proportion of their income on clothes, and treat them with great importance. (In Middle Egypt, fabric was literally currency.) Knowing how to mend, care for, even update your clothes would bestow pride, dignity, self-respect. We would have eked out their lives as long as possible. A new dress would have been exciting, important, savoured. 

Vintage clothing tells a story, whether it be a hand-stitched seam, a small repair, a scattering of beads added for a special occasion. The fact that clothing from one hundred years ago survives today in wearable condition tells us its quality, when I've had things from Topshop fall apart in my hands after barely a month. I now feel that I would like to focus more, when I do shop, on acquiring items that can tell stories. Either secondhand, vintage or made by individuals (this is why I like Etsy).  

Since I managed to purchase a few items without tipping back into overshopping and disaster, I'm hoping that I might now be able to go forward without specific rules, able to make an occasional thoughtful purchase without feeling like I'm letting the side down by failing to be the Queen of Frugality. I must admit, though, there's a part of me that feels like this is giving up, as though I'm giving myself carte blanche to go back to being a spendthrift. That's not my intention. I've just had enough of the feeling that I'm somehow cut off from the flow of normal life because I have to second-guess every purchase I think of making. Maybe I can get close to the present, focused, conscious, creative life that I want without imposing a total moratorium on new items?

I Broke My Low-Buy To Buy Lingerie and I Refuse To Feel Guilty

One thing you may not know about me - and why would you? - is that I love lingerie. I reluctantly bought one supermarket multipack of knickers to contain my last-month-of-pregnancy bottom and I hated doing it. I designed my own bridal lingerie, and Buttress & Snatch, who made it, liked my design so much they now sell it as part of their special range.

Maternity bras are not a joy. I've been wearing some of mine since pregnancy, and they are discoloured and saggy with little bits of elastic poking out all over. They're not exactly a beautiful garment to begin with, and certainly don't provide the scaffolding I need after two and a bit years of breastfeeding.

Breastfeeding. That's another thing. I totally believe in natural term breastfeeding, but it is bloody arduous at times. The Spud still feeds multiple times per night, and there are moments when my body hardly even feels like it's mine.

I realised late one night that I don't feel beautiful. Or attractive. I did used to rate myself a lot more highly in that department. I'd assumed that the changes in my body wrought by pregnancy and birth wouldn't be a big deal to me, and by and large they're not, but none of my former lingerie collection fits any more, I'm living in grotty breastfeeding bras, and I don't necessarily know how to dress this new body to help it look its best.

Also, to be brutally honest, in a relatively short space of time, I exited a very long-term relationship (thirteen years), moved house three times, experienced a disastrous fling or two, had a short but intense situation that nearly resulted in a move to Australia, met Dai and spent ages not realising this was A Serious Thing, got pregnant, had a miscarriage, got pregnant, birthed the Spud with some difficulty, gave up my own income, breastfed for two years, and here I am three dress sizes bigger, exhausted and a little dazed, wondering why I don't feel as sexy as I did at twenty-one.

This is the first time I've looked this feeling in the face instead of hiding it with baggy clothes and a metaphorical sign that says "I can't look nice now because I'm too worried about the environment and stuff. And I'm a parent now, which is hard. In fact I think I am actually more tired from parenting than that time with insomnia when I hallucinated a person hiding under my desk." 

When I realised what was going on, I felt kinda heartbroken and outraged on my own behalf. I mean, if I'd known before that my self-esteem was this low, I'd have helped me. It was never my intention to drag myself through life feeling unattractive and lacklustre. I knew I felt a bit frumpy at times, but I hadn't really acknowledged just how much I'd written myself off as undesirable.

So I bought myself the first lingerie set I have owned in three years. It does not have little hooks for baby access. I did not choose it according to anyone else's preferences. It is luxurious. It is decadent. It is chartreuse satin trimmed in cream French lace. And I'm not going to apologise for it. Or feel guilty about it. We can call it a replacement for those manky maternity bras, if an excuse must be provided.

This is a symbolic first step on the road to taking better care of myself. I deserve to feel confident and desirable. 

Life is sometimes a dark and dreary place. But that doesn't mean my underwear drawer has to be. 

So yes, I broke my low-buy. But I don't think I actually regret it. I'm currently re-thinking whether I'm going to continue trying with the challenge. If I make it to the end of the year with only this single slip-up, I won't have done badly. This is just another thing I've learned about myself on the journey - I don't need as much to be happy as I once thought I did, but just as I do need books, music, art, nature, good food and good company, I need to feel good in my own skin too. However, I've been learning to control my spending for almost two years now, and I am kind of getting sick of thinking about it. I would like to be able to pick up a magazine or a bath oil every now and again without it being a huge deal, a failure, something to feel guilty about.

I don't ever want to go back to being a huge spendthrift. But I kind of do want to be able to buy that interesting book or pretty eyeshadow without feeling like I'm letting myself - or you - down. I just, maybe, want to learn how to be a NORMAL shopper, not excessive and not austere.

Spending Out and Sparking Joy: Why Frugality Isn't Always the Answer

The Eco Thrift Crusade

My journey to quit overshopping led me, for a while, to become really averse to spending money at all. Developing this new, thrifty mindset was what allowed me to repair my finances, build up some savings, plan some holidays (still hoping I might get to actually take some of them... Stupid COVID...) and start excavating my life from under the 24/7 shopping, Instagramming and more shopping that had dominated for the past decade or so.

However, my tendency towards obsession (not always a bad thing; I've written some secret fanfic I'm pretty proud of) tipped me a little too far into the world of frugality. For a while last year I was wearing shoes that hurt my feet, because they weren't completely worn out yet; paranoid about getting rid of anything that 'might come in handy one day', which sounds fairly logical until you realise it included wearing clothes I actively disliked and saving every single glass jar that entered our home; and keeping my hair in a style I didn't like because it was more low-maintenance. These things might have been saving a few bob here and there, but they were also making me feel pretty damn fed up.

Some of the tips I picked up on my Eco Thrift Crusade were great. Vinegar cleans everything and won't poison my child when he randomly licks stuff. Old baby vests with questionable food stains are fine for cleaning rags. I really do want to do my bit for the planet. But feeling drudgelike and glum with lank hair and ill-fitting clothes and shoes hardly made me an inspiring poster girl for the 'eco life'. I waffled between feeling smug for how "anticonsumerist" I was now, and deeply uncomfortable when bumping into an old friend in town knowing I looked, well, a bit rough.

I've always admired people who don't care much about their appearance - I like a bit of devil-may-care, and I think it's important to have more going on in your life than just thinking about your looks. But even people of my acquaintance who don't care much about clothes will buy things a) that they actually like, and b) that fit comfortably.

The Happiness Project

I felt a shock of recognition when I read Gretchen Rubin's book The Happiness Project. Talking about the idea of 'spending out', Gretchen says, "I tend to cling to things - to stuff, to ideas. There is a preppy wabi-sabi to soft, faded khakis and cotton shirts, but it's not nice to be surrounded by things that are worn out or stained or used up. [...] I wanted to stop worrying about keeping score and profit and loss. I wanted to spend out." 

Gretchen stops saving things "for another day" - stationery, creative ideas, unworn clothes - and starts making use of them. She also learns to 'indulge in a modest splurge' on things that bring her happiness (in her case, a set of embossed hardback books from a favourite author), and spend money on 'needful things', instead of her habitual underbuying: "I delay making purchases or buy as little as possible. I often feel stressed because I don't have the things I need. I'm surrounded with things that are shabby, don't work, or aren't exactly suitable." As someone prone to repairing (or bodging) with whatever I have to hand, I recognised myself so much in this. 

Ironic, for an overshopper, but that's one of the curses of a shopping problem - I have historically been more likely to buy something frivolous (six inch heels, Gothic lace veils, PVC corsets, lacy parasols, collectable dolls, soft toys) and go without practical things I actually need (Welly boots, orthopaedic insoles, a winter coat). My inner overshopper has no sense of priorities, hence that time I bought a ton of frilly underwear at a mall and then realised I couldn't afford a) food or b) a train home. In my defense I think I was about eighteen. I have been known to go without medical prescriptions and dental appointments because I can't afford them, but still buy new books and clothes. So yes, I definitely bodge repairs around the house, when really I ought to buy replacement items or pay to get things properly fixed.

Gretchen treats herself to some new shirts that she actually wants to wear, and some new pens for work. She notes in the same chapter that overbuying can easily lead to the 'hedonic adaptation' effect, where we need to spend more and more to get the same good feelings, and that more of something isn't always better, but it was interesting to me to be reminded that spending money, even on something technically frivolous or non-essential, isn't necessarily bad (probably not the six inch heels that I never wore, or frilly knicks instead of food though). Gretchen learned to use her money in ways that brought happiness and value into her life, rather than frittering it or hoarding it like Scrooge. (She also decided that cutting out one category of spending altogether - office supplies - would cut out a source of anxiety from her life, which is rather like how I ended up doing a shopping ban in the first place.)

So rather than guard every last penny at all costs, I've resolved to spend out. Sometimes this means hiring a window cleaner or paying for dental treatment (practical!). Sometimes it means a magazine subscription or natural hair care product (comparatively frivolous!). It requires more thinking about than a blanket decision not to buy anything, but I find I quite enjoy pondering what potential purchase will bring me the most joy and lasting value. 

Spark Joy

I've enjoyed Marie Kondo's famous tidying books often, although you'd never know it from the state of my house! But by far my favourite is Spark Joy. It's not just about tidying, storing or decluttering, though it touches on all of those things. Mainly, as the title suggests, it's about joy - how to decide which of the things you own bring you joy, and how to maximise the pleasure you get from them (hint: don't bury them under other stuff that you don't really like much, and actually use them). 

Now, I have tried to do the full KonMari on many occasions, and whilst I've succeeded in getting rid of vast amounts of stuff, it's never 'stuck', and I always end up back at square one. I believe this is for two reasons: firstly, because I've never tackled my overshopping, so new stuff merely replaces the old stuff, and secondly, because my joy antennae are a bit rusty, so I don't necessarily keep or let go of the right things. 

However, what Spark Joy has provided me at this stage of the game is permission to let go. After my previous obsessive decluttering, I'd been so fearful of being wasteful that I was hanging on to just about everything. Which, in a backwards way, was making me feel like I always needed more. I couldn't see how many really great clothes I had, because every day I was dredging through piles of things that were mediocre. As soon as the mediocre was cleared out of the way - which I have been doing in dribs and drabs rather than the approved KonMari method, but that's life with a toddler - I suddenly had an abundant wardrobe of nice things. By focusing on joy, I was able to clear out what I didn't want - much more gently, not another decluttering frenzy, and cutting myself a lot of slack (not wanting holey leggings filling up my drawers doesn't make me an instant minimalist!) - and savour what was left. 

It was also a bit of a newsflash to me that I actually deserve to take pleasure in the things I have around me. Just as I'd stopped doing my hair and nails out of eco guilt and rejection of 'vanity', I'd also forgotten somehow that I am allowed to want a nice house and a wardrobe of things I actually like. The panacea for overshopping isn't asceticism. I was inflicting a weird sort of penance on myself, and yeah, okay, my shopping behaviour has at times been selfish and greedy, but being a martyr didn't exactly improve the situation.

As with spending out, choosing things that spark joy involves a little thought. For example, in January I really liked a magenta faux fur messenger bag, but plus shipping and taxes, it was going to cost a whopping £95, which I just couldn't justify (I realise people spend a lot more than that on bags, but I've never been a Balenciaga or an Hermes girl, which is just as well as my budget wouldn't stretch). Although I liked the bag so it would in a sense 'bring joy', I knew I'd feel guilty for spending that much on, essentially, a novelty bag, when for half the price I could subscribe to my favourite magazine for a year and get a seasonal dose of magic, beauty and whimsy, or for £80 take a twelve-month personal development course from one of my favourite authors. The joy of the bag would be outweighed by the terrors of sticky baby hands, and feeling crappy about the spend (although I haven't yet ruled out buying the same faux fur on eBay - £30 - and knocking up my own knockoff). Whereas the magazine subscription would bring joy and value over and over.

So I have learned that buying things isn't automatically bad, and neither is getting rid of them, but I need to recognise the difference between true joy and the temporary thrill of an exciting purchase. I also need to continue becoming aware of my feelings about the things I own - it's no good forcing myself to wear things I feel horrible in, life's too short.

Recommended Reading

I was speaking with a friend recently, and she pointed out that I have a tendency to recommend books for every topic and situation, but she forgets the titles and could I not... like... write them down somewhere?

So here you go - arranged by topic (roughly), books that have helped me, opened my eyes, or changed my world in ways small or large. Please let me know if you've read them, what you think, and which books you would recommend. I'll try to keep this list updated with new things as I come across them, so feel free to bookmark it if you're interested.

Clothes, Style, Shopping and Stuff

Spark Joy by Marie Kondo

How To Break Up With Fast Fashion by Lauren Bravo

To Buy Or Not To Buy by April Lane Benson

Shop Your Wardrobe by Jill Chivers

More Than Enough by Miranda Anderson

Loved Clothes Last by Orsola de Castro 

Make, Thrift, Mend by Katrina Rodabaugh

Consumed: The need for collective change; colonialism, climate change & consumerism by Aja Barber

Mend! by Kate Sekules

Technology

How To Break Up With Your Phone by Catherine Price

Why Social Media Is Ruining Your Life by Katherine Ormerod

Simplicity, Frugality and Freedom

The Moneyless Man by Mark Boyle

How To Be Free by Tom Hodgkinson

Radical Homemakers: Reclaiming Domesticity From A Consumer Culture by Shannon Hayes

Timeless Simplicity by John Lane

Your Money Or Your Life by Vicki Robin and Joe Dominguez

Escape Everything! by Robert Wringham

How I Lived A Year On Just A Pound A Day by Kath Kelly

Make Your Place: Affordable, Sustainable Nesting Skills by Raleigh Briggs 

Real Life Money by Claire Seal 

The Art of Frugal Hedonism by Annie Raser-Rowland and Adam Grubb

Rewilding the Urban Soul by Claire Dunn

Beauty and Feminism

The Beauty Myth by Naomi Wolf

Beyond Beautiful by Anuschka Rees

No More Dirty Looks by Siobhan O'Connor and Alexandra Spunt

Wild Beauty by Jana Blankenship

Radical Self-Love by Gala Darling

Just Eat It by Laura Thomas PhD 

The Fuck It Diet by Caroline Dooner

You Are Not A Before Picture by Alex Light

Body and Soul by Anita Roddick

Sustainability/Environment

There Is No Planet B by Mike Berners-Lee

The Story of Stuff by Annie Leonard 

Zero Waste Home by Bea Johnson 

The Day The World Stops Shopping by J B MacKinnon 

Less is More: How Degrowth Will Save the World by Jason Hickel 

The Forager's Garden by Anna Locke 

The Way Home by Mark Boyle

Going Zero by Kate Hughes

Sustainable Minimalism by Stephanie Marie Seferian

The Guide to Eco-Anxiety by Anouchka Grose

Sustainable Badass by Gittemarie Johansen

The Less Waste No Fuss Kitchen by Lindsay Miles

Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer

Creativity

Big Magic by Elizabeth Gilbert

The Enchanted Life by Sharon Blackie

The Art of Asking by Amanda Palmer

The Happiness Project by Gretchen Rubin

Travel/Memoir 

Faery Tale by Signe Pike

Wild by Cheryl Strayed

Free: Adventures on the Margins of a Wasteful Society by Katharine Hibbert

Afloat by Danie Couchman

Homesick by Catrina Davies

The Outrun by Amy Liptrot

Wild by Jay Griffiths

Zero Altitude by Helen Coffey

On Gallows Down by Nicola Chester

Druidry, Re-Enchantment and Nature Spirituality 

The Path of Druidry by Penny Billington

A Hat Full of Sky by Terry Pratchett (in fact the whole Tiffany Aching sequence - The Wee Free Men, A Hat Full of Sky, Wintersmith, I Shall Wear Midnight and The Shepherd's Crown. I'm not going to justify or apologise for including fiction books in my spirituality section.) 

Five Principles of Green Witchcraft by Asa West 

A Pagan Anti-Capitalist Primer by Alley Valkyrie and Rhyd Wildermuth 

Urban Faery Magick by Tara Sanchez 

A Year of Mystical Thinking: Make Life Feel Magical Again by Emma Howarth 

Druidry and the Future by Nimue Brown  

Rooted: Life at the Crossroads of Science, Nature and Spirit by Lyanda Lynn Haupt

Sometimes A Wild God by Tom Hirons

Druidcraft by Phillip Carr-Gomm

Ground & Centre by Katherine Genet

The Wood Wife by Terri Windling

Practically Pagan: An Alternative Guide To Planet-Friendly Living by Mabh Savage

Other

The Way Back Almanac by Melinda Salisbury

Pip Pip by Jay Griffiths

Kith by Jay Griffiths

Tatterdemalion by Sylvia V Linsteadt and Rima Staines

A Head Full of Dragons

So last night I had a migraine. I guess I must have been slightly delirious, because I genuinely came to believe, at some point around three in the morning, that there were two dragons in my head, and they were fighting. (One was red, by the way, and one was green - I'm not sure if that matters.) I was quite resigned to the fact that I would have to ask my fiance to take an axe to my skull to let the dragons out. In fact I was hoping he'd just wake up and get on with it.

By four am I thought he'd done it, and I can vividly remember putting my hands to my head to feel around the split in my skull. It was a bizarre night. 

In the name of Bad Art, I wrote this poem (if you can call it that) today. Since I wrote my last post, I've really been trying to be more creative - I painted a little bee and butterfly secretly on walls around the house for my son to find, and one of my good friends who lives far away had the genius idea of setting up an online D&D group. We had our first Zoom call today - I think it's going to be great.

So this poem(thing). I've been reading Amanda Palmer's The Art of Asking, and apart from the fact I'm now in love with Amanda Palmer (always liked her music but found her a bit narcissistic. I've changed my mind. She's warm and lovely and wild and wise), I've felt inspired to try to be a bit more open with the things I write and think and do and make (which is also in keeping with my year of authenticity). Please bear in mind it's been some years since I wrote poetry, and I wasn't ever a very talented poet in the first place. However this is the realest thing I've written in a long time, I sort of liked it, and I wanted you to see it (me?).

I'm going to feel very embarrassed after I post this.

I'm in the kitchen in the dark

And there are dragons in my head

And I can't stop them fighting

And it's crowded in my bed

And I can't hear above the noise

And the pills I took don't work

And the Wi-Fi won't connect

(At least not the way I'd hoped.)

And the planet's catching fire

While we're busy on the 'Gram

And I can spin a yarn

But I've never built a brand

And the dragons in my head

Are still awake at four am

And yes I saved some time

But I couldn't save a friend

And I can't save my baby

If the sea levels keep rising

And it's someone else's problem

(But we're living on an island.)

Nineties Fantasy Has Ruined Me For Normal Life

As I was pondering whether my February purchase should be an Abney Park poster that gave me chills down my spine (in a good way), or a set of herbal hair care products to baby my tattered ends, I suddenly realised what a vast number of my purchases - valued successes and obsessive overspends alike - had in common. A glance at my library of fantasy, sci-fi and urban fantasy novels, my modest art collection (heavy on the dragons and faeries), my t-shirts (same), even my perfume collection (with names like Goblin, Elf Queen and Shieldmaiden) should perhaps have clued me in sooner. I'm completely besotted with magical worlds, fantastical creatures and anything that taps into that, from music to unicorn socks.

The thing is, this used to be a world I actively participated in creating for myself. I grew up reading Chris Wooding, Tamora Pearce, C.S. Lewis, Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell, Terry Brooks, Robert Jordan, J.R.R. Tolkien and many more, and I wrote my own stories and songs and drew my own art inspired by these worlds to varying degrees. Into my early twenties, I was still writing novels and fanfic, although I noticed that the more time I spent in the loop of shopping and social media, the more laborious it got. Although I suspect that the amount of time I spent immersed in mediaeval-esque fantasy has a lot to do with why I can spin wool by hand on a drop spindle, nowadays I spend hours searching for the perfect book, TV show or album - not bad in itself, but representative of the fact that I now simply consume instead of participate.

Once I came to believe that the things I was making weren't necessarily that great (from a critical or commercial standpoint), the idea started to seep in that I should spend my time doing something more "productive" instead. I didn't devote enough time to my drawing to ever become a "good" artist - so why bother? What was I ever going to do with those pictures anyway? My writing wasn't terrible, but getting published seemed to involve a lot of marketing and self-promotion, which wasn't what I wanted to spend my time on. And gradually my writing dried up too.

Except that "more productive" thing I should be doing never arrived. I went to work, I watched telly, I spent a lot of time online. I did try MMORPGs, but I didn't find that gaming gave the same sense of being 'in' that world. I do like Dungeons & Dragons, but I'm hampered in getting into character by my own shyness, and my ex attends the only D&D group I know of in my town. I did do some character art, though, not gonna lie... (My character is a halfling barbarian with a background in piracy... Yes, my original Dungeon Master let me have my halfling be a barbarian (berserking and giant warhammers typically requiring a character taller than the average toddler, but my dorky heart wants what it wants) and I REGRET NOTHING.)

Fast forward a few years, and my imagination and vibrant inner life have pretty much stagnated. I realise now that I shouldn't have worried about being productive, or whether what I was making would be commercially viable. I was so convinced that if I wanted to be creative I needed to be able to sell the end product, to other people, for money, that I overlooked the happiness and satisfaction I got from building my own worlds. The things I get the most enjoyment from buying now are those that tap back into that inner life - albums that tell stories, like Abney Park's Aether Shanties, and magazines and books that are full of magic, like my Enchanted Living subscription, and anything by Naomi Novik, Holly Black or Kate Griffin.

So I hereby give myself permission to be unproductive. To doodle pointless elves. To make bad art and write bad stories and use fanfiction to hang out in someone else's awesome world. To not feel bad if no one ever reads those stories but me, because sometimes the point of something is simply the doing of it, and the satisfaction it gives you, which you can't just go out and buy. To be inspired by other people's work, not feel disheartened or intimidated. To make things just for me, to write the things I want to read, instead of hanging over the shoulders of great authors (metaphorically... that would be creepy) waiting for them to write the exact thing I'm thinking about.

Sometimes, making a lot of bad art leads to good art. But if it doesn't, and at the end of my life all I leave behind is a heap of bad art, that would still be better than leaving behind no art at all.