The creative urge to burn it all down and start something new
changing my name (again) and why I've been off Substack
Picture this: you’re holding a compass in the palm of your hand. Not one of those ugly, plastic things, all digital numbers and dials. An old compass, heavy and metal; one that looks like it just washed up on the shores of a fantasy novel.
You close your fingers around it, shut your eyes tight, and give it a good shake.
When you open them, the needle swings back and forth wildly. You hold your breath waiting for it to settle. Just when you think it’s about to halt, you’re jostled and the spinning resumes. It happens again: spin, shake, spin, shake. You take a step forward, then two steps to the right, one back, three to the left. Each time you think you’ve found a heading, the needle moves again.
You’re tempted to just throw the damn thing into the ocean. But you hold on, waiting, until the spiral of its movement finally slows. To your relief, it shudders, snaps into place, pointing you due north.
That’s a bit what the past year of my life has felt like.
When I left my job in May 2024, I immediately threw myself into creative projects. I taught myself how to sew an 18th century costume in just three months; I attended a fantasy photography retreat and made connections within my local cosplay community; I tackled my biggest photoshoot ever, with a whopping twelve models and individually-styled characters.
All of this on top of mothering a toddler, out-of-town travel, and some immense family upheavals that left me raw and unsteady.
I didn’t realize for a while that I was struggling with lack of purpose. Call it corporate brainwashing or the cult of productivity, but after ten years of supporting myself financially, the absence of a regular paycheck was making me question my self-worth. My frantic hopping from one project to the next was a symptom of me trying to figure out where to point my ambition.
It wasn’t until early November, when I started outlining my second novel, that things clicked into place. A sensation of “ah yes—this is what I’m supposed to be doing.”
But even that assurance was short-lived.
I started drafting and was faced with the realization that I didn’t know how to write a novel and be a mom at the same time. When I wrote my first book, I put everything else on hold and did nothing but let the story consume me for two months. That wasn’t an option now. I couldn’t spend weeks living in a fantasy world and be a present mother at the same time.
The uncertainty of what to do (combined with the dark days of winter here in the Pacific Northwest) sent me into a mental health spiral and the worst writer’s block I’ve ever experienced. I questioned if I’d be able to write again, if I was a failure, a fraud—you know, the usual anxious-perfectionist litany of self-flagellation.
My unintentional Substack hiatus
In the midst of all this, I was thinking about this journal and how it fit into my writing practice. When I signed with my literary agent in winter of 2024, I started to feel like I needed to be more professional online since I was now pursuing writing—pinkies up—seriously. I wasn’t sure how this journal, which started as a private space for experimentation and play, fit into that.
Then my baby became a toddler, and all those hours I’d had sitting on the floor able to jot down poems and essays were now spent dashing after tiny feet and building Lego towers on the coffee table. My attention was shorted to brief spurts of scrolling on Instagram, and anything that didn’t fill my creative cup fell by the wayside. Including, sharing on here.
When I’m in the midst of creative paralysis (existential crisis included at no extra cost), I find it very tempting to just give up on the thing I’ve been working on and start over from scratch. There’s something enticing about the freedom of a blank slate, where no one is expecting anything from you and you can just be messy and raw while you figure out the next step.
But I liked what I’d built here. I didn’t want to throw it all away—and besides, isn’t that urge just another symptom of perfectionism: thinking that we can’t grow or change and have to always be one finished, complete thing?
What I know to be true
After a lot of reflection (and many, many rambling voice memos with my friend
and my mom to help me sort through the mess), I realized two things:I’d put so much pressure on myself to treat my creative writing seriously that I’d taken all of the fun out of it. I’d replaced my corporate job with my dream of being an author and, in my attempts to prove myself, had started treating my writing like work. Of course my characters stopped talking to me—they were insulted I was treating their story like an excel checklist.
I was desperately craving a space where I could share the humanness of my life in additional to my fantasy art. My personal brand (for lack of a better word) has always been rooted in magic and fairytales, and I’ve often felt like I’d be breaking the illusion if I shared more about my personal world. But I want this journal to be a more of a behind-the-scenes space, where I can share my experiences with creativity and motherhood as well as my finished work.
Side note: this article by
really helped me with reframing the idea of a personal brand. The word still gives me a bit of an ick feeling, but I found a lot of value in her approach to it.
Why I changed my publication name
This brings us back around to why I changed my publication name (and if you saw me briefly change it to Under the Hawthorn Tree, no you didn’t).
While I loved Girl With Antlers, it felt too symbolic of my Maiden years and no longer fit now that I was stepping into the Mother archetype. I picked Dreamer’s Field Guide because it felt like a tangible description of what I’m wanting to create here: a magical diary filled with sketches of fae and pressed flowers, bits of story and memories and reflections.
At first I didn’t tell anyone, wanting to make sure the name stuck before I brought any attention to it. Then, the ideas and inspiration started trickling in, a spark and feeling of joy that told me I’d made the right decision.
Moving forward and what to expect
Realistically, nothing for you, the reader, will probably change. I’m still going to be sharing my photo art and personal essays here, along with everyday magic snapshots from my world, behind-the-scenes stories, and musings on creativity.
This begs the question then of why am I telling you all this?
The answer is that I think there’s value in transparency. These past nine months have been extremely hard for me creatively, and it wouldn’t feel honest to come back and start posting what I’ve been working on without giving some weight to the journey along the way.
I’d feel like I was hiding something, or like I was giving into that perfectionist side that’s always wanting to avoid mess or feels embarrassed when I’ve struggled.
One more thing (and I’m avoiding saying it)
You know that phrase, do the thing that scares you? Something that terrifies me is the thought of attaching financial value to my art.
That’s why it’s taking everything in me to tell you that I’ve turned on paid subscriptions for this journal. Before you roll your eyes and think that this entire post was a ploy so I could ask for money, let me explain why.
While I want this journal to be a space where I can be open and human, there are some stories and reflections that I’d prefer to keep within a smaller community. The Inner Circle is for people who truly love my art and want to support my work on a personal level. It’s a patron-style offering, a coin thrown in a wishing well.
Most of my posts will continue to be free, but occasionally I’ll share expanded photo galleries, sneak peeks at upcoming projects, or personal memories for this private group only. As a thank you for their support, members will also receive access to a digital library of my everyday magic snapshots for their own personal use.
PAID SUBSCRIBER BENEFITS
A digital library of my everyday magic images for personal use
Expanded photoshoot galleries and sneak peeks at upcoming projects
Occasional personal projects and stories that I don’t share publicly
FOUNDING MEMBER BENEFITS
An annual, snail-mail postcard print featuring one of my fantasy photos mailed to you at the end of each calendar year
For free subscribers, I promise that I will not bombard your inbox with conversion emails. This is a gentle invitation into a private garden, not a marketing campaign.
You can also support my work by leaving a one-time donation in my virtual tip jar.
Thank you so much for continuing to be here and for supporting my art. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from the past eight years of sharing creatively online, it’s that there’s genuine connection to be had in these spaces—you just have to be brave enough to be human yourself.
P.S. I’ll share more on how I’m changing my novel-writing process to coexist with motherhood another time. It’s new and I don’t want to jinx it.
I can relate to some of your struggles - especially balancing magic and creativity, with needing to show up in life in certain ways. I lived in Seattle for 12 years, and left last Spring to become a traveling, pet-sitting, “biz coach” - hoping I can make an income to support myself very soon 😄
Maybe we can collab on something fun in the future. My passion is supporting artists to create work-life FREEDOM, so they can keep making art… 🖼️
Thanks
Congrats on this incredible step. But more so: congratulations on weather the storm of life, creativity and motherhood with grace. You are so damn resilient and I could not be more proud to be part of your journey.