I wanted to be a galaxy . . .

Twyla Tharp on audacity. (The Commonplace Book Project)

“I had always seen myself as a star; I wanted to be a galaxy.” — Twyla Tharp

Everyone and their brother’s monkey is posting lists of 10 quirky things about themselves. Shannon Ashley tagged me in hers yesterday — and I’ll probably do it tomorrow.

But for today, I just want to talk about one of my quirks. A pet peeve.

I can’t stand to hear obviously talented people say that that they hate their work. Man. If there is one piece of advice I could infuse into you, it would be this: Own your shit. Embrace it. It’s OK to love what you create.

In fact, it’s pretty much a requirement.

Because if you have any hope at all of a creative career, you’re going to have a long, long time where you are the only one on earth that knows it’s true.

And seriously. If you think your work sucks, how do you have the nerve to ask me to spend my time on it?

So, I love this quote from Twyla Tharp, who is the author of my very favorite book about creativity. There is a difference, a big one, between owning your talent and thinking that you have no room to grow.

There is a difference between audacity and arrogance.

Own that you’re a star, aim to be a galaxy.

Twyla Tharp is a choreographer so prolific, her creativity seems almost limitless. She worked often with Mikhail Baryshnikov.

Twyla’s Banker’s Boxes

I start every dance with a box. I write the project name on the box, and as the piece progresses I fill it up with every item that went into the making of the dance. This means notebooks, news clippings, CDs, videotapes of me working alone in my studio, videos of the dancers rehearsing, books and photographs and pieces of art that may have inspired me.

I’m so entranced by this idea. It draws me in, and for some reason also terrifies me. A whole banker’s box? How can a writer fill an entire banker’s box with things relating to one book project? How lonely will the few things I can imagine putting into a box look?

The idea of it gave me cold feet. Until I had the idea of using something that felt more appropriate and less intimidating. I ended up with these plastic project boxes. They are just the right size. I’m starting a new book this week, and I’ve got a plastic project box all ready to go.

Twyla on Habit

This little bit of The Creative Habit stood out to me. It’s about ritualizing your creativity, to help to make it habit. The emphasis is mine.

I begin each day of my life with a ritual. I wake up at 5:30 A.M., put on my workout clothes, my leg warmers, my sweatshirts, and my hat. I walk outside my Manhattan home, hail a taxi, and tell the driver to take me to the Pumping Iron gym at 91st street and First Avenue, where I work out for two hours.

The ritual is not the stretching and weight training I put my body through each morning at the gym; the ritual is the cab. The moment I tell the driver where to go I have completed the ritual.

It’s a simple act, but doing it the same way each morning habitualizes it — makes it repeatable, easy to do. It reduces the chance that I would skip it or do it differently. It is one more item in my arsenal of routines, and one less thing to think about.

It made me wonder about my own ritual. What do I do that triggers my muse, my brain, my fingers — whatever — that it’s time for me to be a writer. I light a candle. Usually yellow because that’s my creativity color.

But I thought…that’s not it. I mean, it is, kind of. But I’ve written lots of times without a candle. It’s not habitual enough to be my ritual.

No. It’s my pen. I write on a computer, almost exclusively. But I write with a notebook and a pen beside me. And for whatever reason, when I pick a pen out of my cup, click the end of it a few times, and make a note about what I’ll write today in my notebook — my ritual is complete. Now, I’m a writer.

What’s your ritual?

And by the way. If you have not read The Creative Habit, please get yourself a copy. It’s worth owning.

Today’s Poem:

Dance me to the End of Love by Leonard Cohen

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin Dance me through the panic ’til I’m gathered safely in Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove Dance me to the end of love Dance me to the end of love

Here’s my secret weapon for sticking with whatever your thing is.

Shaunta Grimes is a writer and teacher. She is an out-of-place Nevadan living in Northwestern PA with her husband, three superstar kids, two dementia patients, a good friend, Alfred the cat, and a yellow rescue dog named Maybelline Scout. She’s on Twitter @shauntagrimes and is the author of Viral Nation and Rebel Nation and the upcoming novel The Astonishing Maybe. She is the original Ninja Writer.