And on the way back in… “Do you purchase anything while in Canada?” In years past, it was worded differently. They’d ask, “Do you have anything of value to declare?”

I had a few necklaces for the wife and kids and that was that. But I was thinking this morning that the old-style question – “Do you have anything of value to declare?” – is something creative types should get their hands around.

Growing up as one of three preacher’s kids, and the one with the musical talent, meant I was playing piano (or accordion, but that’s a different story) many Sunday mornings at church. I enjoyed doing it, and it was just, well, one of those things I did. I had the talent and skill, so I played. Never thought of being paid for it, and even today it sometimes strikes me funny when a church offers to pay me for playing.

And why should it?

For whatever underlying reason – and I leave that for you to discuss with your counselor or coach – some artists struggle to declare a value for their work – or to defend a value for their time and energy in face of bottomfeeders and bargain hunters.

The bargain hunters aren’t really interested in a relationship with you, or the quality of your work. They will not help you grow your creative endeavor. They will not help you develop your talent. They will bring referrals perhaps, but they will be bargain hunters too. Birds of a feature and the like.

This is why I want to encourage you to declare and defend a value for your artistic, creative endeavors. Don’t give it away, at least not all the time. Art, whether it be an inspirational speech, a thought-provoking book, a stunning musical performance or a beautifully designed website, takes time and energy to create and you honor yourself and honor your God given talents when you refuse to simply give them away; when you refuse to undervalue them.

“Do you have anything of value to declare?” “Yes. My creative work. I’m not cheap, but I’m good. Would you like to learn more?”

I am grateful for times like these. Like walking beside cool waters, they restore my soul. The morning is mine.

There are no bills to pay at six in the morning, no laundry to do, no Taekwondo practice, no cooking and cleaning, no hurry, hurry, hurry. This still, peaceful morning time is like being on the edge of a black hole’s event horizon, where time slows down. The duties of the day will start soon enough, the event horizon will be crossed, and we’ll be sucked into the singularity of the day.

But luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. We are not powerless against the demands of the day. We don’t need to get sucked in.

I can be totally Type A at times. My demons are perfectionism, over-scheduling, and an internal critic. They are the trio of monkeys on my back that jump and screech and throw poo and distract me as the day sucks me in. They show up for work at about 7 or 8 am most days and they are real go-getters, clocking out just as I go to bed. I let them take all the peace, joy and humor out of the day.

Today, at some point during the day, I’m going to send my space monkeys on a coffee break. They’ll have a fit, I’m sure, and I’ll get a lot of poo thrown at me, but I’m going to make some time today to pull back from the black hole and re-center.

Inside me, over the course of the entire meeting, something desperately wanted “Bob” to agree to “Fred’s” request. It wasn’t on the merit of the request, in fact in hindsight the request was not at all in “Bob’s” interest. It wasn’t until later that I realized the wisdom, the lesson in the meetup.

Creative types love applause, creative types love to move people, creative types savor approval. And sometimes we agree to things too quickly and we agree to things that are not in our best interest. Often just because we want the other person to be happy.

What Bob did is a great example for creatives to follow – to be master of your own domain. To not agree to do things without thinking it through, and to not agree to do things that are not aligned with our values, our best interest. To not cave to the need to please.

This means having the courage to say, “I need a day to think about it.” This means having the courage to say, “No.”

If you want to protect the freedom you love so much as a creative, this is an essential practice. Don’t beat yourself up for all the times you’ve agreed to something on-the-spot that you’ve come to regret. Try again. Look for small things to help build this muscle, like saying “I need a day to think about it” to a petition gatherer, or “No thank you” to a telemarketer. In time, you’ll be able to do bigger “No’s” like deciding not to take on a client or a commission or a project for something that doesn’t take your art where you want it to go.

At the end of it all, you’re the one behind the handlebars on your life’s motorcycle. You get to decide where you go and how fast. After all, it’s your adventure, not theirs.

There were people walking about in period costumes, even the kids, with long wooden swords at their sides (and some not so wooden swords.) My son wanted one. Not five minutes at the faire, and we were in purchasing mode. I let it get to me, I wanted to walk around and look at the different spectacles and vendors, but the kids wanted to buy-buy-buy. Booth after booth after booth.

We got to one booth, where there were a few wooden swords in a bin, but tables and tables full of “real” swords and daggers and lots of things with sharp “here-let-me-cut-you” edges, along with little signs at 8 year old height that said you must be ten years older to buy a weapon.

Sean fingered a long knife, looked up at the scruffy haired, slightly in period costume merchant, and asked him, “Is it a real sword?”

“A real sword?” asks the merchant back. “Yes,” he replied hesitatingly, “it is.”

And in my mind, the critic chimed forth, silently to myself. “All this is fake. We’re not in medieval England, we’re in a farmer’s field in the middle of Western Washington.” My internal critic began sizing up people and thinking “Hmmmm, Mr. Pirate over there probably works on computers all day” and “Ms. Saucy Wench over there is probably a librarian or something.”

The internal critic of the creative. Ready when your defenses are down to pounce and call your creation and everyone else’s creation into question. “Is it real music?” “Am I really an artist?” “Am I a fraud?”

So what’s the antidote?

To recognize it when it’s happening.

You may recognize it right away, or it may take you a day, like it did me in this case. I could have really enjoyed the faire, even though I’m not exactly a costume person, but I let it all get to me.

All the swords at the fair that day were real, and none of them were made in medieval times.

All the artisans and people at the fair that day were real, and none of them were from the renaissance. But the artisans were artists nonetheless.

Don’t let your critics, internal or external, call you the fraud, call you fake. Keep practicing your art, your writing, your music. Yes, mastery takes practice, but the practice is what “real” artists do.

August is upon us, and thoughts turn back to school and supplies and new clothes for the kinders. The cycle begins anew.

To help kickstart the new season, I’m offering my creativity coaching at $125 a month for new clients for up to three months. This offer is good between now and the end of October. For more info on what my coaching has to offer to help you write your book, deliver your talk, perform in public – click here.

I’m working on my novella about my most recent motorcycle adventure. Look for the eBook in September.

Wet. Very wet.

It started raining in Houston. Well, actually East of there at called Rose Lake. It was funny, because that’s just moments before, while filling up Niobe’s tank in Burns Lake, I’d asked a Forest Ranger (who was also filling up, alas not a motorcycle), if the clouds meant rain for these parts. He said yes, but said “You might get lucky.”

I got wet. I have pretty good gear, but I had forgotten to close all the air vents in the jacket and within a few moments, I felt the trickles begin on my skin.

And the wind was kicking up. A lot. Blowing the bike back and forth on the road as much as those big wood product trucks. Not so good.

I pulled over in the next town, Houston, and took shelter in an A&W (they are as ubiquitous as Tim Hortons it seems). After a hot cup of coffee, I changed my shirt to something dry and carefully went vent by vent in the jacket, taking care of all those things I had left undone.

Properly buttoned up, I still arrived a bit wet on the inside in Smithers last night.

And Friday was to bring more of that severe weather to the area, so I decided it would be best to keep heading West, capture as many sights as I could see, to get closer to Prince Rupert so that, come Friday, I wouldn’t have to be in the tough weather as long.

So tonight, with a sore back, a bit disappointed for not seeing Hyder, but grateful for the beauty I have seen thus far, I am kicking back for the night in Terrace.

And it is about the journey, and I still cannot believe what I have seen thus far. As a fellow biker I met at a little bakery in Vanderhoof told me, this is “God’s country.”

Just like yesterday, I have far more to say, but it will have to wait for now. Tomorrow into the storm and into Prince Rupert.