Idealism and resolution are the two ingredients included in making a New Year, new. We picture our perfect selves and resolve to do more to make that ideal a reality.

As I stood at the base of the rollercoaster in my favorite jams, the ones with the colorful stamps on them, and shoes with the backs I crushed and walked around on till they were smooth, I tried to be cool. For the first time in my life, I was going on a rollercoaster. In theory it sounded like a good idea.

“We need to sit up in the first car. It’ll be crazy,” said my cousin, the excitement barely contained in her voice.

I was fourteen trying to look like I was taking it all in stride. Arms crossed, leaning back on one leg, everything about me said I was chill, relaxed, almost bored with the whole concept. My cousin was more than fifteen years older than me but she was cool with unbelievably long hair (think Crystal Gale but hip) and platform sandals she could barely walk in.

“I can do it, I can do it,” I chanted to myself.

However looking up at the coaster with its numerous twists and turns, I wasn’t so sure. As we made our way up to the platform, I prayed to Jesus, Mary and any and all Saints whose names I had ever heard to make sure that someone else beat us to that front car. Apparently, the prayer hotlines were jammed because my call never made it through.

“Score, come on,” she said, jumping into the front car and tapping the empty space beside her. 

I took this opportunity to celebrate the fact that my Dad was with us.

“Uh, no you know I think I should sit with my Dad or he’ll be freaked out,” I said, nodding in his direction.

Quickly, I grabbed his hand and pulled him into the second car with me.  

“I can do this. I can do this.”

I was practically screaming in my own head. When we were all properly bound into our seats, a bell sounded and we lurched forward.

 “I can do this, I can do this.”

There was the sound of the clinking of metal as we slowly began our ascent. From this angle it was clear that this rollercoaster was much, much higher than I’d anticipated.

“I can do this, I can do this.”

 Something inside snapped. I was certain I was going to vomit and yet at the same time I wanted to dance.

“I don’t want to do this,” I said, turning to my Dad.

“It’ll be fun.”

“No seriously, I want to get off. I changed my mind.”  

I was holding tight to my last bits of sanity. I didn’t understand. How could we not stop this thing? It was a ride, a game and I didn’t want to play. It was that simple. We climbed higher. My cousin turned around, waved and screamed with excitement.

“No, Dad seriously,” I was trying to whisper. Despite the noise of the rollercoaster, I was worried my cousin would hear me. “If you ask them to stop the ride I will just jump off. It’ll be so quick no one will even notice. I can still jump to the ground from here.”

“I’m sorry but we can’t stop the ride.”

“Please just yell to them. Tell them you’ll pay them. Tell them I’ll give their money back,” I pleaded, as tears sat poised at the edges of my eyes.

I would have sold him to the staff for the right price. I would have offered to have my Dad and my cousin work in the kitchen in the theme park cafeteria just so long as I could get off this ride. I no longer cared whether or not I was cool. I just didn’t want to die and I thought surely I would if I went through with this.

My Dad grabbed my hand and said, “It’ll be ok.”

We reached the top and then dropped. Just as I thought we would be smashed into the Earth, we were yanked this way and that through loops and turns. My cheeks felt as though they had been pulled back and tucked behind my ears. I could not think. I saw Earth, then sky, then Earth again. I closed my eyes to feel the sensations. My mouth was open but I am almost positive there was no sound coming out.

Then suddenly it was over. As we came to a halt I realized I’d let go of my Dad’s hand somewhere amid all the whirling. The two exited their seats and stood on the platform. I just sat there.

“That was awesome. I want to go again.” As I said it, I was stunned to hear my own voice; excitement and nausea bubbled through my body.

I invite you to stare down a particularly daunting part of your creative project or face a project that you haven’t started out of fear for what might happen. Ask a friend to be present as you begin to tackle it and tell them you may need to have your hand held or your butt kicked, you never know what you’ll need till you start, but either way, face it down. Whatever lies on the other side of that project is better than the fear holding you back from making a leap.

The question of the day is - if you could be any reindeer on Santa’s sleigh team, who would you be?

I’d be Comet. I always wanted to soar among the stars….and play reindeer games.

Happy Holidays to you and your families!

Creative Nachos will not be around on Wednesday, December 26th but will return on Friday, December 28th….now go have some fun!

One afternoon, when I was a teenager, my Mom walked into the livingroom, stood directly in front of the TV, threw her hands into the air, and sang a song whose only words were “La la la” as though she were center stage at the Opera. This was a common practice whereby my brother and I would simply watch her, mouths gaping open, completely entertained.  We watched as she built to the crescendo where she shook her arms in the air, hit the highest note possible and then bowed before walking out of the room and bursting into a fit of laughter in the kitchen.

This particular day we were taking care of a friend’s dog. So, after her performance my Mom left our apartment to take the dog for a stroll. As soon as the door closed, I turned to my brother.

“I’m going to get her,” I said.

“How?” he asked.

A few moments later, our ears were pressed to the front door listening for the sound of her climbing the steps of our walk –up apartment building. Then we heard it; the distant sound of a door slamming followed by the slow, steady rise of footsteps mixed with the distinctive jingle of the metal tags hanging from the dog’s collar. We waited patiently until she and the dog were almost on our landing and then I went for it. I yanked open our front door, stepped out into the hallway, closed my eyes, threw my hands in the air and launched into my Opera rendition. I drew out every “La la la” and finally, held the last one as long as I humanly possible.

When I opened my eyes, our eighty-year-old next door neighbor, a sweet Irish woman who lived with her sister, stood before me. I had mistaken the jingle of her keys with that of the dog’s tags.

“That was lovely,” she said, shaking like a leaf.

The woman was almost completely deaf so it was surprising that she was even able to hear me. Perhaps it was that ear-piercing high note.

I turned and ran into my apartment. My brother was laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. When my Mom returned, we told her the story and she laughed for what felt like an hour. That evening there was a knock at the door. I begged my Mom to answer it but she flatly refused.  I opened the door to find the Irish woman holding a small box in her hands.

“This is for your lovely performance,” she said with a smile.

Inside the box lay a small handkerchief with three, small shamrocks on it. I still have it. It reminds me that sometimes letting that silly little kid inside us come out to play, even  mistakenly, is not only freeing but it has the power to brighten someone else’s life.        

Most of my friends wanted to be a princess when they were young. I was never opposed to this idea. I thought having a big pink dress – the princess uniform – would have been wonderful. The idea of going to a ball for an evening of dancing with friends sounded divine but truthfully, I believed that the most exciting part of being a princess was the shoes. Although many wanted to wear the glass slippers we had heard about in our favorite fairy tales, I dreamt of a very different shoe.       

I wanted red clogs. There was nothing in the world like them. I often imagined wearing them to school, my feet celebrating each step, the leather hugging my toes. There was nothing in the world as glorious as a pair of clogs.      

My love affair with this shoe started in kindergarten. Rachel, a classmate, clip-clopped across the classroom floor in her beautiful, red clogs; the leather had a worn look which I liked. I wanted those shoes more than anything in the world so I decided that they would be mine. After all, I had convinced a boy named Benjamin that a brown thing lying next to the class hamster was an uncovered M&M which he promptly ate so I knew that I could make this happen.

During snack time, I made a point to sit next to her. She was always drawing and had a dreamy sound when speaking.

“I really like your clogs,” I said.

“Thank you,” she answered, more to the ceiling than to me.

“My shoes are better though.” I was never one to beat around the bush.

“What do you mean?” she asked, letting her eyes drop to my feet.

I pushed my red Mary Jane type shoes out in front of me.

“My Mom says these are the best. Look at the delicate designs,” I said, remembering my Mom’s fondness for all things delicate.

I ran my fingertips along the flower-like designs on the top of the shoe.

“Can I try them on?” she asked.

The moment she put them on, I praised the look. I told her again and again how great they were and then asked if we could swap for the night. That was when she froze. Once again she raised her eyes and looked as though she was counting ceiling tiles.

“Well,” she said finally, “I guess so.”

It didn’t matter that my heels were spilling out of the backs of the shoes; I simply walked on tip toes. At the end of the day, I entered the lobby of the school where my Grandma was waiting for me and proudly showed her my new shoes.

“Oh, no you’re not,” she said, dragging me back up to the classroom.

I begged and pleaded but my protests were lost on her. She didn’t even need to explain things to Rachel.

Grandma said, “Please give back those shoes.”

Rachel continued sucking her thumb as she slid them off. Grandma promptly placed my shoes in my bag and took out my boots. It hadn’t mattered that it was snowing outside. I just wanted to wear those clogs. I had had visions of leaving them on when I went to bed so that my dreams would be filled with them but that was not going to happen now. When my boots – the conservative navy blue ones with the green trim - were strapped onto my feet, Grandma grabbed my hand and stormed out of the classroom.

As a child, I did not have clogs; no one would buy them for me. When I was old enough to buy them for myself, I could never seem to find the “right” ones. After the birth of my child, my desire was re-ignited and I found a fabulous red pair that fit me. No matter how long it takes or what stands in your way, don’t ever give up on your dreams.

One year I wanted to get a gift for an incredible friend who was and still is more like family than some of my extended family. It was her birthday and she was in need of some good cheer. However, I had very little money, so I decided to make her gift. I found a beautiful locket in a thrift shop and used some old ribbon to make a necklace. Then, I printed pictures of her loved ones and placed the photos inside the locket. Finally, I created a short story about the necklace which I printed on a small card.

On the day of her birthday, we were surrounded by other friends who had bought such nice, expensive presents. I felt my gift looked tiny and sad in comparison to the others. I didn’t want to give it to her and almost threw up in my shoes when she began to unwrap it. To my surprise, she loved it so much she started to cry. The other people in the room were shocked when I said I made up the story that accompanied the locket. They thought I bought it that way. She still has that present today. 

This year, instead of running to the store where you have to use a Hail Mary football play just to acquire the things you want, use your creative talents to “make” a gift for someone. I’m not saying go crazy assembling a million things; we all know there is only so much time in a day. I’m just suggesting that you apply your creative ideas to your gifts.

Write a letter telling a family member how important they are to your life. They’ll treasure it forever. Make a collage of the most meaningful photos for a friend to hang on their wall. Any time they look at it throughout the year, they will inadvertently smile and find peace. Knit someone a scarf, a sweater or a bikini in their favorite color. When they wear it, they’re guaranteed to think of you. Give the gift of creative time – spend the day with a loved one exploring their favorite bookshops, museums, and restaurants or ice-skating rink. Make someone the most delectable dessert imaginable. They will think about that yummy wonderfulness for longer than you can imagine. Paint someone a picture on the back of a wallet so that they can carry it with them wherever they go. Create a magic trick and name it after someone special. Write a mathematics theory whose sum total equals love. Make your own candles and include little meaningful trinkets that will be revealed to the recipient as it burns. Set up a bath for someone with their much loved bath salts and write a love note on the steamy bathroom mirror.

Think about how much you care for a specific person and then give all of yourself to your creation for them. In doing so, you will give the gift of your heart and create beauty for the ones you love.

Everyday we take out the label gun and fire away. We look at a person, make a quick decision about them, slap on a label and stock them on the appropriately categorized shelf.

We label people by race, religion, color, sex, job title, monetary status, educational level and more, yet all of these are so wide-ranging that we only get a generalized picture of the person instead of a real sense of them.

For example, if you read this sentence in a story and it was the only description of this character, what image would come to mind?

“Everything’s good,” responded the young boy, standing at the foot of the Church steps.

What does it tell you about this character? He’s a boy. He’s young and perhaps he attends Church but that’s about it. Is that satisfying as a reader?

Now, what about this sentence:

“Everything’s good,” responded the young boy as he dug his hands deep into his pockets, causing his knuckles to make imprints on the outside of his Sunday Mass dress pants, and nudged an imaginary pebble on the ground with his toe.

The information we gathered from the first sentence example is still there but now we have more details about him as a person and perhaps a slightly bigger window into his life or, at least, we have an idea that there is more to know about his life.

The essence of a person lies in the details. Whether it’s in a story, a painting, a picture, or handmade product, the most interesting aspects are in the details.

I could tell you that I’m a working Mom in New York. But what would that tell you about me? My guess is that an idea or image comes to mind that is a conglomeration of general images of women rushing around pushing strollers.

What if I told you this instead? I’m the colored lights on a Christmas tree, a quiet evening, a spring breeze, dancing candlelight, a hilarious conversation over a pint, an umbrella in the rain, and a sprinkling of belly laughter. What would you know about me now?

Today, I invite you to write, draw, paint, knit or use some other form of art to create a unique description of yourself. Then take a few moments and pay attention to someone around you. How do they eat or speak? Do they use hand gestures? Do they light up when they talk about something? Are they nervous, confident, quiet or outgoing?  Without using any general terms and labels, create a description of them.

Ridding ourselves of common labels allows us to change the way we “see” ourselves, and the people around us which can help to alter the way we “see” our artistic endeavors. This adjustment can breathe new energy into our lives and our work.

Victoria Ludwin, a gifted writer living in Texas, is shopping her first novel around, writing her second and raising two children in-between newborn-induced catnaps. This innovative writer, with a flair for illuminating the humanness of a character and a knack for finding both beauty and comedy amid chaos, shares her thoughts on the Houston arts scene, novel-writing and how to pursue your creative dreams while raising children.   

CN: How long have you been writing? What types of pieces do you like to write?   

Torie: I’ve been writing since I was a little kid; in elementary school there were these young writer programs where kids would write a story and then illustrate and make the book. My first was called “Bunnies in Space” and a significant plot element involved rubber cement. I ran the literary magazine at my high school and took a handful of writing classes in college; at my first job I carried a notebook around with me, ostensibly to keep track of what needed to be done, but wrote a story in its margins. Writing seems to have always been a part of my life. I like to write fiction and the expansiveness of novel-writing is appealing to me, although I’ve always loved writing letters too.   

CN: Where has your work appeared?   

Torie: I’ve written for CITY Magazine, Time Out New York Eating and Drinking Guides, BOMB Magazine, the River Oak Review, Salt Hill Journal, Artcritical, Houstonist and ArtsHouston. They’ve published reviews and short stories of mine.   

CN: Who are some of your favorite authors?   

Torie: I couldn’t say, the list changes all the time. I just read a great collection of stories by Vikram Chandra. There are so many terrific writers out there, it’s pretty amazing to stumble on someone new and be so excited about the work.   

CN: After living in NY for a number of years, you moved to Texas. What is the arts scene like there?   

Torie: The art scene in Houston is terrific, I’m happy to say. It’s the fourth largest city in the county and an enormous effort has been put into keeping the arts vibrant, while at the same time the cost of living is quite inexpensive in comparison with the other top ten cities in the US. It has one of the few paid theater companies, opera, ballet, the symphony, lots of chamber music, jazz, dozens of theater and dance companies from classical to experimental, and a very active gallery scene. The museums are also top-notch.   

CN: You recently joined a writer’s group – what is it like? What has it done for you?  

Torie: My writer’s group is a real lifeline for me. They give me support, criticism and deadlines, plus they happen to be smart, caring people that I love seeing on a regular basis. They keep me writing, even when it seems impossible. 

CN: How do you find the time to write while raising two children?

Torie: I find the time to write when I have to write; mostly in the mornings now when one child is at school and the other is asleep. It’s not easy.

CN: Has having children changed your writing?

Torie: Having children has made it very hard to keep a focused mind. It’s changed my writing insofar that I find myself writing more personal essays about identity and motherhood.

CN: You completed a novel and spent time shopping it around. What is the book about? What was process of writing it like?

Torie: My novel is about a mathematics professor who goes a little crazy and starts to believe the afterlife is a higher dimension of space. It’s also about family and the tug and pull between faith and reason. When I started writing it, it was very freeing. When I finished the first draft I felt deeply satisfied, although getting out the end was difficult. When I finally got to a finished draft, I never wanted to see the manuscript again. It was driving me crazy.

CN: How long did it take to write that novel? What did you learn? Are you still shopping it around?

Torie: It took me more than three years to write it, and I was lucky enough to do much of it in grad school. I’ve learned that writing a novel can really mess with your head! But I like it. Not the head-messing part, but exploring ideas, characters and stories over so many pages. I shopped it around to agents for about 18 months and got one who’s now shopping the manuscript around to editors.

CN: You started a 2nd novel. What is this one about?

Torie: My second novel is about a film director who doesn’t know how to finish her movie. It will also be about art versus entertainment, memory and how the past impacts our present and future. And I’m hoping to work in lots of sex. Or at least potential sex.

CN: How do you keep yourself inspired?

Torie: My friends and my writing group (really the same people) inspire me.

CN: What have you learned between the completion of your first and the writing of the second? Are there things you will do differently in writing this one?  Torie: I’m trying not to take it all so seriously — I’m trying to have more fun with the characters. 

CN: Do you have a writing schedule? If so, how do you maintain it while raising your children? If not, how do you balance the children and writing?  

Torie: I have no writing schedule. I am not balancing children and writing very well right now; my newborn keeps me up all night. I’m hoping to get things back together when I’m sleeping more than 45 consecutive minutes at a stretch.

CN: What was the hardest part of letting go of the first book? How did you decide that now was the time to write the second? 

Torie: There was nothing hard about letting go of the first book, I worked on it until I was sick of it and couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to start a second book right away but it took awhile for the story and setting and characters to settle in with me.

CN: What advice would you give to people who are trying to raise a family while pursuing their creative dream?

Torie: Don’t kill yourself because you’re not able to devote the time and energy you might have been able to before, but don’t give up. A teeny bit each day is worth it.                                     

Recently, a friend revealed that her doctor told her that she has crooked kneecaps. I never knew that was possible. Honestly, I find the older I get the less I know and yet, that thought brings me comfort because it means the older I get, the more there is to learn.

 “Why me? Why do I have to have crocked kneecaps? Why can’t I be normal like everyone else?” she wondered.  

Right there in that moment, I started to think about concepts like imperfection versus perfection, normal and mainstream America.

There is a space that exists between my teeth. A small freckle makes its home at the highest point of a curve on my top lip. It sits there like a person on top of Everest. At the change of the seasons, my scalp gets dry and I have to wait a couple of weeks for it to adjust. My hips are not comfortable hanging out in “skinny” jeans. My eyebrows are never perfectly sculpted. One of my toes is crooked and always looks like it’s trying to run away from the rest. In the summer, when everyone is in flip-flops with perfect toes, my toenail polish may be chipped or worse, they may be completely naked toe nails because I simply haven’t had the time or money to get them done.

I cry reading cards -not just the “care enough to the send the best” ones – and at commercials, like the ones for Christmas. I don’t always say what’s on my mind. I do sometimes answer, “Nothing” when it’s a big “Something.” I don’t always say the right thing; I’m not always comforting when needed. There are times I do not pick up the phone to call simply because in that moment I hate the phone, I hate talking, and I just want to be quiet. Sometimes I hibernate like a brown bear and don’t know how to come back out to play without a little coaxing. There are times I’m not happy for people and their successes simply because I am wallowing in my own self-induced funkiness.

My child may not be on the perfect eating and sleeping schedules. The house may not be immaculate because sometimes I’m just too tired to clean or better yet, I found an article, an email, a movie, a game to play with my little one that was much more interesting. I may not balance my checkbook like a champ because sometimes I want to take numbers and money and throw it all out the window. I may not always make dinner because every now and again, I want someone to surprise me with a yummy meal.

I may share an idea with you way too early in its conception and it might sound ridiculous. I might tell you an idea and then not follow through with it because I got scared I would fail. I may not say, “I’m scared I will fail,” because I’m not sure I can be vulnerable like that. I might just hold it in or I could bark at you when you ask me about something totally different because I’m not a person who can hold things in, even though I mistakenly try. I might say things in anger that I don’t mean. I might push you to feel something through actions or stupid words because I can’t find the right words to tell you how I feel.

There is a chance I will love you too much. If someone hurts you, I might get fired up. I may cry for you when you have no tears of your own. When you least want me to, I might just hug you. I may applaud too loud when celebrating you or laugh too hard at something you say. I could trust you with more secrets than you can hold and hold onto yours with both hands.

These are my imperfections. They are a part of who I am. I was born with some, I’ve acquired others. I have fixed a number of them or simply found acceptance. They are my crosses to bear and my motivating factors. These are the things that make me beautiful. They are the reminders to challenge myself. They are the starting point for growth. They are what make you and me, unique.

Your imperfect ideas are what make for amazing creations. Those “mistakes” you make in the process of creating your perfect piece are the very things that make it different, memorable, and unique.

I don’t know about you but normal – well, I think that’s a concept created by mainstream America executives so you’ll buy their products. Use this, wear that, drive this and you’ll be extra-ordinary - more ordinary than ordinary, more normal than normal.  And of course their products will make your skin, hair, thoughts, emotions, actions - you - perfect. Personally, I’d rather the crooked kneecaps. I’d rather be perfectly imperfect.

We need cart wheeling people with pom-poms to cheer for us when we successfully tackle a personal challenge and high kick us in the butt when we are down. That’s not a suggestion or an idea; it’s a simple fact. It does not matter who we are or what line of work we are in, we need a personal, creative cheerleading team.

Why, you ask?

Well, regardless of how well your new zoo, new child, new marriage, new alligator training school or other creative endeavor is going you are guaranteed to enjoy and doubt it all equally. That’s human nature. So, while we need to be able to believe in ourselves, we also need people to believe in us, especially when we doubt ourselves.

As team captain you need to try to be your biggest fan. You need to love and believe in yourself because when you do, you can do anything. Think about the last time you accomplished a personal, creative goal. Didn’t you feel like you could take on the world? When you love and believe in yourself, you inspire others to love and believe in you too.

So, who’s on your roster? Cheerleading team management can be one of the toughest jobs but if done right, the team’s wins can be endless. Here are five essential team management tips.

1. Positive, Thought-Provoking Cheers – When picking team members, try to assemble those who not only support you but who share constructive feedback in an effort to help you give your all to your creative projects.

2. S-P-E-L-L I-T O-U-T, Spell it out! - Reach out to your team and let them know why you have chosen to share with them and explain what you need – feedback, encouragement, attendance at your events or just a voice to spread the word about your newest creation.

3. Debbie/Donald Downer Benchwarmers: gentle prodding or team termination? – Sometimes we unknowingly choose team members who pick apart our vibrant ideas like a vulture on a carcass and then leave it there, half-eaten and lifeless. If those we love and whose opinions we respect doubt us, how will those strangers out there, who we don’t even know, believe in us? Don’t get discouraged; even skeptics are essential to the team. These friends aren’t horrible they are often stuck in a rut or jealous that you know what you want to do and they don’t. Their criticism is a reflection of their own, unhappy view of life. Talk to your friend and explain that harsh criticism doesn’t help. Whatever you do, keep creating in the face of this adversity. Show them that you will not give up on your dreams for anyone. Finally, if this friend is truly toxic, perhaps he/she should be stripped of their pom-poms.

4. Share Your Wins – There is nothing like achieving one of your goals to send you over the moon. Celebrate on your own and then share it with the team. They deserve to hear about your success because it motivates them to continue to help you.

5. Give Thanks – Remember to tell your team how grateful you are that they are in your life. They support you on a daily basis because they feel lucky to have you in their life. They want to see you succeed. Return the compliment! Tell them what they mean to you and remember to cheer them on too.

Create. Create. Create. Ignore the Debbie/Donald Downer Benchwarmers of the World. You may doubt yourself and question the road you are on – that’s good, questioning promotes growth - but don’t stop pursuing your passion. Remember there is a team assembled doing back flips because they believe in YOU!