The Creative Effect

My newest obsession is making dough, of the pastry variety. I fully expect this to hang around long enough to become a genuine hobby, and not just a passionate passing fancy. I learned to bake things from scratch when I was 9. I made a cake under my aunt Lauree's supervision. It was a Cocoa cake from a Betty Crocker dessert cookbook. You finished it off by dusting it with confectioner's sugar. It turned out well. I was immensely delighted by my creation: I have been baking ever since.
I always shied away from pie crust. I considered that to be part of my Grandmother's realm. Like most Midwestern families, pie is integral to gatherings and celebrations. My grandmother--and her mother before her--is the queen of pastry. It honestly never occurred to me to bake a pie, until a few weeks ago. I was slightly bereft over my inability to attend an important family function: 6 hours was simply too great a distance to travel that day. Sitting at home, in my writing chair, sipping a cup of tea, I started musing on all of the delectables that I could possibly be missing. Pie came in at the top of the list. As it is summer, my dreaming naturally settled on a rhubarb pie, that creature of warm weather get-togethers. I could not shake this desire.
After several days, it slowly, and with some effort, dawned on me that I could, of course, as a grown woman, bake my own damn pie. Decision made. I baked two pies, home-made all of the way. They turned out better than I envisioned. The crust was flaky, the topping was crisp, the flavour was that special blend of sweet-sour unique to rhubarb pie. I also made a different crust for empanadas that night, as I have done several times since then.
There is a meditative quality to mixing pie crust with your fingers, a quality of serene precision in rolling it out. I was surprised to feel a pull of the artistic in the process. That thrill you get by making something with your hands was duly present. As a writer, I am constantly plying my craft, in as many forms and venues as my brain, creativity and schedule can allow. This is draining. It can easily suck away vitality from other parts of your life, until you are entirely enervated. This can result in all of my drive--including that which compels me to write--disappearing. In order to keep myself artistically in balance, I try to find hobbies to keep my muse agile. I believe that creativity (of any kind) begets further creativity; it all serves to pipe new blood into my writing. It keeps my mind elastic without actively taxing my literary nature. Creativity is to be found in so many places, most of them entirely unexpected.
I have done counted cross-stitch, on and off, since I was in elementary school. It taxes my bad eye-sight, so I have imposed a 30-minute limit on the endeavour. I have finished 2 pieces in the last 2 1/2 years, both given as gifts. I am about to embark on a new design in a few weeks, an ambitious Elizabethan pattern. It will take me months, if I dole out my time in dribs and drabs. It requires physical dexterity that is so different from writing. Following a pre-determined grid frees my mind to think about other things, or nothing at all. When I complete needlework, there is an immediate gratification that is not present when I finish a story or article. There is no more to do; it is done. I don't have to rethink anything or put myself through mental hoops, round after round after round. It is self-contained. There is no need to return to it weeks, months later to see if it needs to be reworked.
While having a consistent writing routine is integral to your art, it is important to have outside pursuits to occupy your mind. That kind of mental and imaginative curiosity ultimately benefits your words, your plots, your characterizations. I am entranced by so many things. I used to constantly engage in the "someday game". Someday I will learn how to speak Norwegian, someday I will start making collages, someday I will learn how to bake pies. I still fall into that trap all too frequently but now I make a genuine effort to cordon off time for those things that even remotely interest me. Not everything works out to the point of becoming a viable hobby, yet many do. I finally know what it feels like to be covered in flour from rolling out a pastry crust; and it feels like home. Next stop: learning more than 5 phrases in Norwegian. My words will thank me.