The Creative Identity

Stephanella Meets Christine Mason Miller

Artist and writer Christine Mason Miller is one of those individuals whom I did not discover because I was hobnobbing with bloggers, but because I was in genuine awe of her work. Obviously, one only needs to take a quick gander at her online space to fall for it. I find that, amongst a plethora of copy-cat offerings, it is Christine's site I always, invariably, return to, because for me she is the original artist who demonstrated how art can pay, and how resilience and business savvy can take those of us who have stamina as well as great talent to sublime places. It took me an absolute age to summon the courage to ask her whether I could be a Book Fairy. I think that, at least at the back of my mind, I thought I was a bit 'small' and 'insignificant' in the grand scheme of online things for her even to take notice. But in fact I was silly; as you will recall, I have been a Book Fairy rather successfully, thank you very much, and deposited Christine's precious Ordinary Sparkling Moments at Tatton Park, where I often walk my dogs. Now Christine has published a wonderful new book, Desire to Inspire, where she collated the experiences and wisdom of twenty women who have harnessed the power of their creativity in order to make an impact on the world. This drool-worthy book (check out the inside!) is released on Wednesday this week and I am thrilled out... Read more →

Stephanella Meets Ian Hocking

Almost a year ago exactly, in my second Creative Times, I linked to a fabulous, if slightly perturbing, post by writer Ian Hocking. In it, he talked about giving up writing. All too often I find that online writing sites focus on (somewhat forced) upbeat information to keep us going, while gracefully glissing over the less spectacular aspects of being a writer. I always see cheerful posts of all sorts or even rigidly prescriptive ones which, in one way or other, invariably scream LOOK AT ME! I AM SO GREAT! I think it's a miracle that less experienced writers don't shoot for the hills wielding an open razor and their wrists aloft. Coming across Ian's post was so remarkably refreshing and striking in this Pollyanna-esque landscape that I had to share it via my ezine, even though I know well that an ezine is anathema to less than thrillingly happy news. Fast-forward by a year though, and Ian is at Scott Pack's digs, giving us the low-down on how writing life progressed since then, and proving that, among a plethora of crap, there's plenty of space at the top of the quality ladder. I urge you to have a look at the numbers that Ian shares so readily with us all and at his Kindle-related news. Not many writers are forthcoming in talking money and I do have to wonder why writing earnings represent such a taboo subject. Would you be shocked/happy/sad/revolted/uninterested to know that, this year so far, my... Read more →

Stephanella Meets Alain de Botton

I started studying philosophy at sixteen, as it was part of the syllabus at the point in time when we were deemed a little more mature and able to take it in. I didn't find it easy at all. It was the only humanities subject that confounded me. A few months in, I asked our teacher why we study 'the work of all of these people who evidently had no jobs and who said everything and its opposite'. The class sniggered at the remark (some laughed, understandably), while the teacher seemed somewhat offended by my morosity (also, understandably). She said that we study philosophy in order better to understand the evolution of humans as thinking beings. Simple, dear reader, and to this day my favourite, straight-to-the-point definition of the purpose of a discipline that is neither straight-forward, nor plain, nor simple. And yet, I find it vital to gain a profound understanding of who we are as a species. Many years later, as I was sitting in a café, talking about books with an acquaintance of mine, she burst out with, 'I just don't see the point of Alain de Botton'. Now it was my turn to feel a little hurt and offended because Alain de Botton is one of my favourite authors, up there with children's genius Jacqueline Wilson, and because, had I known he was around when I started wading through philosophy, my student life wouldn't have been half as hard. Herein lies Alain's greatness: he is able... Read more →

Stephanella Meets Caryl Phillips

When I sat down to listen to Caryl Phillips at Manchester Lit Fest last year (listen here), for the first couple of minutes I drifted off, asking myself this: 'Does this unassuming, softly-spoken guy know he is a legend?' Five minutes before he arrived to a lecture theatre heaving with people, I had overheard two girls squealing that they were sooooo excited because 'he's practically already a legend'. Their use of already made me smile: he is one of those rare authors who has been canonised while still living, especially by students. Who wouldn't like that, dear reader? But... does he know? Professor Phillips now teaches at Yale University and often appears around the world to discuss his work, but his beginnings are quite local to me, as he grew up in Leeds and studied at Oxford (evidently, I hope that, if only by remote osmosis, I too may be destined to great literary things). He has published an inordinate number of works, from anthologies to stage plays, screen plays, radio plays and various non-fiction, and has won numerous literary awards and fellowships, but it is because of his novels that we delve into his nuanced work on identity and belonging. His latest is In The Falling Snow, about identity, for sure, but also dislocation, missed opportunities, a lingering inability to move on with life and to express one's own emptiness and desires. It is a novel that had me wondering where exactly Keith was going, if anywhere at all,... Read more →

Stephanella Meets Gavin James Bower

The ways of the internet are unpredictable dear reader. I first came across today's writer over a year ago, as I was investigating the Zeitgeist whilst sitting in the garden, squinting at the dim screen and slurping up a pint of Pimm's through a straw. I don't recall what brought me to his online home (very unusual), but I do remember what infuriated me about it: a misplaced it's (very usual). Within seconds I had clicked off in disgust, cursing the guy as an illiterate, vulgar prick. Months later, I started noticing his messages in my Twitter feed, re-broadcast by some of my posse whom I deemed 'lacking in good judgment', scoff, snort, tsk, barf. But soon after, as is often the case online, we were talking to each other. We bonded over Jack The Ripper (which you must go and watch RIGHT NOW), over the merits of beards, over writers' egos and penises (his own, my own, my horse's... a castrating experience for a female writer if there ever was one) and so on. The leap from profound irritation to Gmail threads fifty messages long is as disconcerting as it is annoying because you really don't want to find things in common, shallow or profound, with someone you labeled illiterate and vulgar and a prick. Now we have pet names for each other; I call him Tiny. Last week I bought his book so that you don't have to. But then... maybe you should. You should because I think... Read more →