As a kid, it felt like permission to rage, to create whole worlds, to disappear into imagination and then return home changed. As an adult, it reminds me that creativity isn’t tidy. It’s unruly, necessary, and worth the mess.
The stories that shaped my ambition weren’t always aspirational, they were often about the people who didn’t try, who compromised too early. I learned as much from what they didn’t do as from what they did.
Time has taught me that limitation is the point. If I had forever, I’d never finish. The clock is what makes the work urgent, and urgency is where vision sharpens.
The book that takes me back is Harriet the Spy. I read it in one long stretch on a camping trip when I was around nine, and it gave permission to be observant, curious, and a little weird. Which, looking back, were all parts of me I was trying to hide at the time.
A story that shaped how I think about creativity? My grandmother’s. She never called herself an artist, but everything she touched had care in it. The way she folded sheets, set the table, told stories about the war like they were poems. That made me understand that creativity isn’t always about output. Sometimes it’s about approach.
As for time, honestly, I’ve stopped trying to “master” it. Lately I’ve been thinking of time more like soil. I plant what I can, tend what I have energy for, and trust that something’s growing even when I can’t see it yet.
Thanks for the beautiful prompts. Grateful to be in this space.
It was so fun to read this about my Substack-friend. There's something so personal and priceless about how people talk about their favorites books. Thanks for the recommendations Heidi!
Lisa, these questions feel like a soft excavation. Here’s what surfaced:
1. The Secret Garden reminds me of me as a child with muddy shoes and a head full of imagined places. It reminds me of how much I loved solitude even then, and how creative life was already forming in quiet observation.
2. My grandmother was a seamstress. Not by trade, but by necessity. She made beauty from scarcity, and that shaped how I see creativity. Ambition, for her, was survival. I carry that.
3. Coming to terms with time has meant letting go of needing to “finish.” These days, I just try to stay with the work. Process over pressure has changed how I move through the studio, and honestly, how I move through life.
These questions stirred something deep, thank you both.
1. A Wrinkle in Time brings me right back. It reminds me of being a girl who didn’t always fit in, but always had big feelings. The younger part of me who believed in unseen forces and the strength of misfits is still very alive.
2. My mother’s story shaped how I view ambition. She was wildly creative, but kept it contained. I’ve spent much of my life unlearning that containment, and giving myself permission to take up space with my work.
3. Time has softened me. I no longer believe I have to do it all. I just want to do what feels honest. The limits of time have made my choices more deliberate and my work more meaningful.
Where the Wild Things Are.
As a kid, it felt like permission to rage, to create whole worlds, to disappear into imagination and then return home changed. As an adult, it reminds me that creativity isn’t tidy. It’s unruly, necessary, and worth the mess.
The stories that shaped my ambition weren’t always aspirational, they were often about the people who didn’t try, who compromised too early. I learned as much from what they didn’t do as from what they did.
Time has taught me that limitation is the point. If I had forever, I’d never finish. The clock is what makes the work urgent, and urgency is where vision sharpens.
The book that takes me back is Harriet the Spy. I read it in one long stretch on a camping trip when I was around nine, and it gave permission to be observant, curious, and a little weird. Which, looking back, were all parts of me I was trying to hide at the time.
A story that shaped how I think about creativity? My grandmother’s. She never called herself an artist, but everything she touched had care in it. The way she folded sheets, set the table, told stories about the war like they were poems. That made me understand that creativity isn’t always about output. Sometimes it’s about approach.
As for time, honestly, I’ve stopped trying to “master” it. Lately I’ve been thinking of time more like soil. I plant what I can, tend what I have energy for, and trust that something’s growing even when I can’t see it yet.
Thanks for the beautiful prompts. Grateful to be in this space.
It is so lovely to get to know someone through books. Thank you Heidi!
“The House on Mango Street” reminds me that observation is a kind of artistry.
My grandmother’s stories taught me that creativity remains long after we do. Having things made by hand to share with family is important.
I used to race time, now I listen to it.
It was so fun to read this about my Substack-friend. There's something so personal and priceless about how people talk about their favorites books. Thanks for the recommendations Heidi!
Lisa, these questions feel like a soft excavation. Here’s what surfaced:
1. The Secret Garden reminds me of me as a child with muddy shoes and a head full of imagined places. It reminds me of how much I loved solitude even then, and how creative life was already forming in quiet observation.
2. My grandmother was a seamstress. Not by trade, but by necessity. She made beauty from scarcity, and that shaped how I see creativity. Ambition, for her, was survival. I carry that.
3. Coming to terms with time has meant letting go of needing to “finish.” These days, I just try to stay with the work. Process over pressure has changed how I move through the studio, and honestly, how I move through life.
These questions stirred something deep, thank you both.
1. A Wrinkle in Time brings me right back. It reminds me of being a girl who didn’t always fit in, but always had big feelings. The younger part of me who believed in unseen forces and the strength of misfits is still very alive.
2. My mother’s story shaped how I view ambition. She was wildly creative, but kept it contained. I’ve spent much of my life unlearning that containment, and giving myself permission to take up space with my work.
3. Time has softened me. I no longer believe I have to do it all. I just want to do what feels honest. The limits of time have made my choices more deliberate and my work more meaningful.
Enjoying the diversity of approach here in Heidi sharing books. Looking forward to see what's on the horizon with next guests.
Always love this series, Lisa. Thanks for the beautiful reading recommendations, Heidi!