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What is Creative Entrepreneurship?

I was recently asked to give a talk at the UEA London Campus on what it means to be a creative entrepreneur. I thought I’d post the talk here, as most people still seem to have trouble with the concept of arts and business intermingling.

This is only my personal account of the course, and is fairly anecdotal, but it sums up what I think I gained from this excellent MA, and how I got to where I am now.

It’s a bit like therapy when you start out. Hi, my name is Andrea Michael, and I am a creative entrepreneur. It feels a bit strange when you first tell people that, and we certainly spent enough time on the course examining the root of that word, ‘entrepreneur’, and what people think when you say it.

 

I can tell you this:

 

I do not look like an entrepreneur. I do not wear designer suits to get attention, you cannot judge me by my watch. I, like most other graduates, still live at home. In short, I am not Alan Sugar.

But I am a businesswoman. And an artist. And that merging of two amazing worlds is what I’m here to talk to you about. Because I think getting a Masters in Creative Entrepreneurship has been the most important thing I’ve done so far, and I’ve been an ambassador for merging business and art ever since.

I am a writer. I write novels. Mainly for adults, but also for teenagers and children. I write poetry, blog posts, articles, reviews, web content, comedy and outraged letters. And still, after doing this for years, even after graduating from UEA’s highly respected BA in English Literature with Creative Writing, I still walked into my first lesson on this MA, unable to call myself a writer.

 

I studied, I practiced my craft, and I was actually pretty good. But I still didn’t have the confidence to proclaim myself an artist. I had a excellent degree from a distinguished university and  had absolutely no idea where to go next. I didn’t even know it was possible to be a full time writer! I certainly had no business skills. All I had was my writing, my passion and a desire to never work a nine-to-five in my life. I like to think it’s my enthusiasm that got me accepted onto the MA, and the skills that I gained there that got me to where I am now.

 

We learned about all the things that my academic degree had failed to give me- an understanding of how to do things for yourself. How to market myself, to analyse my strengths and weaknesses, and work through, or around them. To use budgets, understand self-employment and tax. To set up a website, apply for funding. How to best use your ideas, and your art, to benefit you and others.

 

Traditionally, art has been seen as almost a polar opposite to business. But if there has been anything I learnt on this course, it is this: Art has two types of value. The first is the obvious, the aesthetic. The first reason an artist creates: to speak to an audience. To express passion or ideas, to create something meaningful and send it out into the world. But the second is monetary value. Art is worth a lot. And like all things, it has a price.

An artist may be creating out of love, or hatred or politics, or whatever drives them. But that artist also has overheads; tools to pay for, travel expenses and labour costs. Why shouldn’t that be viewed in terms of business? An artist has goods and services to sell. There is no shame in combining artistry and money. Good art is not made through starvation. It is made through understanding your own value.

That, above all, is what I prize most about this course. It gave me a sense of my own value. It made me confident enough in my skills to stand before you today and call myself a writer.

There are many other benefits. Being surrounded by like-minded people from different artistic backgrounds, ages, parts of the world, all of whom want to do the same thing- make a living from their art. With the course being so intimate, you create a support network, one which I still rely on today. My course-mates are talented and passionate professionals, and we still stay in touch, passing on work, bouncing ideas. We created a sense of identity on the course, we became artists who understood the importance of creating our own revenue, not depending on grants or funding from outside sources.

Similarly, that network expanded to include the specialist advisors and guest lecturers who gave lessons in their fields, whether that was how to write a press release, how to identify your selling points, or how to use social media to your advantage. Like the business world, the arts world is also all about who you know. And this course introduces you to all the right people.

 

Traditional scholars may tell you that art is sullied by business. But we are not living in a world where the cliched whimsical artist is provided for by a patron. Art cannot afford to be blind to value. Artists cannot afford to ignore how their talent can be used. There is no reason that when I call myself an artist, people should assume that I am not a businesswoman also. Companies seems to search for creativity amongst their employees, and the artist has this in abundance. Knowing how to apply it is the key. Creativity is not a weakness. Don’t I have to work to deadlines? Search for new clients? Imaginatively problem solve? Appeal to my target market? I can do these things, and now I realise how much they are worth.

 

 

It has been a year since I graduated, and in that time, my life as a writer has taken tremendous leaps forward.

A large part of the course is creating an Arts Plan, a guide for how I plan to steer my creative career over the next five years. It is a collage of aspirations, strengths and weaknesses, contacts, business plans, account details and a constant reminder of how far I have come, and how far I have to go. I ‘check in’ with this document, update my plans, maybe change things, but having it there to look at helps me push forward. And I am going places.

 

My first novel (which was a coursework piece) is being considered for publication, my second novel has just been finished, and the third is in the works. Various articles on the intermingling of arts and business, as well as fiction, have been published in magazines, and I’ve gained some great contacts in the publishing industry, as well as winning a few prizes along the way.

 

My comedic blog, Cafe Disaster, about the trials of working as a highly educated but minimally paid barista in Kensington, now has thousands of hits a week, a dedicated fanbase, and various advertising offers. This started as a creative outlet on the course, to amuse my friends and classmates. It’s now taken on a life of it’s own and is being seen as an example of the problems facing the graduates of the recession generation.

 

I started my own business, The DumbSaint Project, which provides creative writing workshops for children, teenagers and adults. It’s gained a great reputation at festivals and is expanding on target. I have since been able to quit my job as a barista and focus solely on my writing and workshops. My readers are worried that the blog will suffer.

I cannot recommend this course highly enough, and I have friends who joined the MA after me, because I pointed out that they had perfected their craft over the years, but were strangers to the life skills needed for their career. This course equips you with the tools you need to carve out a life for yourself as an artist. It allows you to find your own path, your creative niche, but also gives you the chance to experiment before you’re thrown out into a world that doesn’t always recognise the value of artists.

 

I can now legitimately call myself a writer. Because that is what I do. I write, I advertise, I arrange a business, I network, I do my accounts. I apply my skills in ways that allow me to live. I use my ideas to survive. And that is what being an entrepreneur is.

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Time to Grow Up?

I’ve spent a lot of time wanting to be an adult. As a petulant teenage moaner, I used to insist that whilst I was thirteen, I clearly had the mentality of a thirty-year-old. Not only is this not true (was I desperately crying that all my friends were married and my job wasn’t what I wanted? No. Did I care about interior decorating or what type of wine to take to dinner parties? No. Was I a rampant, yet acceptably charming, alcoholic? No.) it was a waste of the opportunity I had to be a whiny thirteen-year-old.

And now, as the Walrus said, the time has come. Not to grow up entirely, but to perhaps embrace that grown-up responsibilities (whilst horrible and stressful) are the signal of a new era in life. I knew this mindset had occurred when I started craving matching tableware.

What signalled this thought process about accepting responsibility? Watching Clerks. Clerks, if you don’t know, is an absolutely awesome film about two guys who work in rubbish jobs. That’s kind of it. Which is why I identify with it, as should any graduate. You’re doing shift work? You get called in at random times? Your customers are morons? Weird stuff happens and you’re never entirely sure how to deal with it? This film can be summed up in these words: ‘I wasn’t even supposed to BE here today!’

image by deanfenechanimations

No, no, you weren’t. But you are. And you’ll have to deal with it, until you can figure out what the hell you’re going to do with your life.

That’s why the film is comforting. We’re all in the same position, in a moment of transition. Are you going to university? Do you want to change jobs? What are you going to DO with the rest of your life? Assuming it’s going to be long, do you want it to suck this much forever?

That’s fine. We’re all working these jobs to get by, to be able to afford rent and alcohol. As long as you’ve got your friends with you, it’s all going to be okay. And isn’t that nice? I can deal with my life being like Clerks.

It’s when your life is like Clerks 2 that you realise everything you hoped and dreamed of has already passed you by, and it’s time to panic and DO SOMETHING. Forget all that ‘Keep Calm and Eat Cupcakes’ crap, you need to wake up and realise your life is awful, and you may have already missed the best parts.

In the sequel, the characters are older, and have traded their jobs at the video and convenience stores for a Maccy D type existence. So, things have only gotten worse, then. Oh no, wait! One of them has a fiancee! So everything must be alright! Because that’s a symbol of responsibility, right? Yes, yes it is. Unless you’re MAKING A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.

The point here, if I’m not mistaken, should be ‘If you have a shit job, at least enjoy the rest of your life’. But they’re not, because they’re spending the rest of their lives moaning and worrying about the fact that their jobs suck. And yet aren’t motivated enough to change it.

I don’t particularly need to worry about this. I have a Five Year Plan. And a Ten Year Plan. And a special addendum on the plans that allow for specific amounts of spontaneity and frivolity per annum. But it does make one wonder. Are we able to just bumble around day to day, year to year, until we shuffle off this mortal coil with nothing more than a couple of hundred in the bank, and high cholesterol from the free food at work? Should we even be prescribing to this existence?

This is the daily grind, and we take what we can. If you’re living as an artist, you’re going to be doing these kind of jobs. And it’s the art that makes it worth it, makes you something beyond your shitty shift work. Which funnily enough, was the whole point of Clerks. The film itself was made on a teeny tiny budget, and was based around the creator Kevin Smith’s job. So, that’s comforting, right? The banal and frequently rubbish times spent working in a convenience store can become a work of art.

So…time to grow up. Or, maybe don’t grow up, just start making art about it. Yeah, maybe that’s a better plan.

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What the Bloody Hell Am I Writing About? (and other questions from a self-loathing writer)

 

Writing a synopsis is a bitch. Anyone who has had to write one will know this. You’ve written an entire book. Finally, you’ve finished something that doesn’t send you into the corner of your writing room, rocking back and forth in disgust and fear, and now you’ve got to explain what you wrote?

Well, how the bloody hell should I know what I wrote? I just wrote it! Sure, I had themes and ideas and concepts. But none of these turned out exactly the way I thought they would, and as each of my ideas developed and matured, so did my characters and what they meant. And sure, maybe I had a ‘message’ to begin with, but after you’ve edited 60,000 words a good few times, you start to think maybe you had no message, no idea, no clue as to what you were saying, and the characters themselves did all the hard work.

So what does this mean for my work? 

Well, I’ve got to tell you, I’m pretty damn good with spin. You want me to write for advertising, to make something sound amazing. I’m there for you, my friend. You want an outraged letter focused on the school system? I gotcha with the outrage. But selling my own stuff? Oh jeez, well, I just couldn’t! It would be far too much like boasting. And that’s not English at all.

But, we are Creative Entrepreneurs (or trying to be) after all, and selling yourself (no, not like that) is all part of the game. So, sure, if I was to sum up my writing, it’s usually very easy, and I’ve defined it this way many times before:

I write about drugs, love, sex and death. Not always in that order.’

It’s snappy, isn’t it? Except my debut novel Wine Dark, Sea Blue is not just about that. It’s about family connections, and being a different person for your friends and family until you don’t know who the ‘real’ you is at all. It’s about being scared of attraction, of not believing you’re worthy of love. Of being haunted by memories and nostalgia until you’re convinced all you can do is follow in the footsteps of your family, no matter how many mistakes they’ve made. It’s about trusting your friends, believing in strangers and eventually, letting the past go. It’s about things not being perfect or even being fair, but about finding snippets of happiness where you can.

Sounds intense, right? Alternately, it’s about ‘one-night friendships’, how happiness can be chemical, ecstasy and clubbing till the early hours, Camden pubs and Hampstead Heath on Sunday morning. It’s about boys with blue eyes, and best friends who break your heart. It’s about how that person you first loved never really leaves and that terrible moment when you realise that your parents might be flawed people after all. It’s about graduating in a recession, about trying to make art in a world with no funding, when your family think you should get a ‘real’ job. It’s interning for no money, slaving for no reward, and rewarding yourself with a bottle of wine and a joint.

It’s about family and friends, happiness and chaos, drugs and love and sex and death and everything that makes us who we are.

So only one question remains:

How the fuck do I turn that into a synopsis? How do I sell what I created, with the intense complexities of what I think it’s about, versus what it may actually be about? This is where I used to get irritated during English lessons, and in lectures. Someone writes something, and then we sit around talking about his or her intentions, coming up with themes in the book that may never have even been there. We apply a critical view, some theory to how to interpret a text, when really, the author might have just thought it was a good story.

Or, more likely, was cowering in fear in the corner, wondering why anyone agreed to publish them, because they had no message and nothing to say.

I did a terrible thing last week. I read an article where some writer guy said something along the lines of ‘I don’t understand people who get writer’s block. If you’re a writer, get on with it. I have no time for people who sit around and bitch about it.’ (I’m paraphrasing)

My first thought was ‘what a dickhead’. My second was ‘hmm, well, he’s published, maybe he’s got a point. It is better to get on with it rather than be a self-loathing cliche’ and then the next day I did a horrible thing: I said the same thing. To a group of writers and artists. And I felt like a tool.

Because it’s hard, putting your work out there. It’s akin to giving birth and then walking around wondering if someone’s going to walk up to you and say ‘boy, that’s one ugly baby you made there!’ No-one does that with babies. Because they’re people. But they do with books. Especially now that the internet means we can publish our every scathing thought with no regard for what the creator might be feeling.

So there’s my little worry. Encapsulating something big and wondrous that you’re proud of, but simultaneously almost ashamed of, and defining it as something. Something that exists, in the world.

The only thing I can do is turn to the people I trust, and ask what they think I meant. Whether they’re writers, readers, editors or friends- they’ll see the message in the text. Because just as we look down at our newborn baby with the huge ears or crooked nose, we still can’t see anything other than our own egos. But our friends, well, they’ll see the ears and the nose, but still find the beauty somewhere.

 

Note: Also, an advantage of creating a book over a baby is the ability to edit. And that a book isn’t likely to inherit your father’s crazy eyebrows. Win.

 

 

 

 

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We’re Half Way There..Oh! Oh! Living on a Prayer!

Sometimes, looking at your life from the outside can appear a bit deceptive. For example, in the last week I gave an interview to The Times about how great my creative life is since graduating from the MA in Creative Entrepreneurship, I then took part in the advert for said course, and went back to talk to the current class about my achievements.

This, surely, should mean that I’ve ‘Made It’, whatever and wherever ‘It’ is, right?

So how come some things (like panicking about whether the kids you’re teaching are going to hate you and think you’re a washed up writer with nothing to say, or you know, spending a considerable amount of time ‘Arranging your Social Media Pathways’ in your pyjamas) never change?

When will we actually know that we’ve achieved what we want to achieve? When we see our names in print? When our books are on shelves, or we’ve got a steady income?

I think perhaps it’s all about spin. As creative entrepreneurs we need to be our own spin doctors. Especially when we direct it towards people who doubt us. Those who judge the writer/artist/actor/musician and sees that they’ve got multiple income streams, that they’re not just an actor, but an actor/writer/teacher can sometimes snigger and make pointed comments about our lifestyle. So I use my talent for telling a story, and make my life wonderful. Of course, the writing workshops are doing well, of course I’m having absolutely no problem banging out the second novel. Everything’s amazing, and my life is how I want it, thank you very much. 

For the most part, this isn’t spin, it’s reality. Possibly with a little bit of sparkle dust thrown in for good measure. But the danger is when we start to believe our own good publicity. Sure, we need a good bit of advertising now and then, but when we look at the media version of ourselves, conquering all they touch, achieving everything they need to achieve, it appears effortless. It’s when we get out of print, and look down at our pyjamas, see the pile of laundry that needs doing, those two-hundred words that need editing, the reading that needs to be done, the unfinished press releases, or worse, the rejection letters strewn across the table that you just can’t bear to throw away….it’s then that we realise we may be doing pretty well, but we’re just making it look a hell of a lot easier than it is.

So, seeing as The Times doesn’t really like publishing it’s content online for free, I thought I’d take a picture of this tiny snippet of an article I feature in. I’m hoping this doesn’t make me liable for something. I bought two copies of the paper to try and even out the monetary issue! See, I’m nice! I recognise that journalists work hard for their money and deserved to be paid for content! I would just prefer that it’s content I can refer to online.

Probably too small. But it says I'm a professional writer lady. And stuff.

 

Also, to give a note to my creative writing workshops The DumbSaint Project, which was mentioned in this article. We’re running classes for ‘Scribblers’ (Aged 7-10) at Copthall School this February Half Term. It’ll be from 9.30am-11.30am every day that week, and costs £12 per session, or a reduced price of £50 for the whole week. Bargain for a bit of peace and quiet whilst the kids learn something, right?

Get in touch with my admin assistant Dinah at dumbsaintproject@aol.com or go to the website for more info.

 

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Writing Jobs…do they exist?

As an aspiring Creative Entrepreneur, the point is to make things happen for yourself, create your own opportunities. And with a magical thing like the internet, creating writing opportunities should be easy, look, I’m doing it right now.

Except it doesn’t really seem that easy to find writing work, let alone paid writing work.

So I thought I’d give a little run down of the options available, and see if you guys had anymore ideas.

1. Blogging

Hey there lovely internet peoples, I’m here with some words to tell you how I feel about stuff. Some blogs can be ridiculously effective and simple, it’s hard to predict what’s going to work. But if you are going to be a blogger, consider time constraints, updating regularity, and a brand. This blog has none of these, but if you check out cafedisaster.com you’ll see that I save my blogging work for there. This one is more my personal diary, hopefully including a little bit of useful information concerning writing. So blogs- all about time and content. Oh, and tagging and SEOs, and using social media correctly (IE bombarding people with your content)


2. Reviews

This is usually writing for someone else’s blog, unless you’re lucky enough to work for a paper, or perhaps have an ‘in’ at a local paper. It’s worth a shot. If you’re going to experience lots of stuff, have a great night out at the theatre, or really enjoyed that book, why not tell the world? Likely unpaid, but if you can get a writing gig with a film website, you get to see the film for free. And there’s nothing more exciting that telling people you’ve got to dash, you’re off to a press screening. However, again, you’re working to a deadline, and you’ve probably got your own life to be getting on with. Good starting point- review stuff on Amazon, restaurant services like Toptable (where you get paid in points for your review- it’s almost money!) or qype where the whole point is to review things. People want your opinion.

3. Fiction

Sucks to be a fiction writer if you want stuff in print. It involves laboriously hunting through the Writers and Artists Yearbook (which sadly, is a yearbook, as you might have guessed, so you have to update it every year. And it’s big and expensive. But absolutely necessary) in order to find a magazine that accepts your ‘type’ of stuff. And if you’re not a poet or flash-fiction writer, it’s getting more difficult. Add to that the Arts Council cuts and general state of the economy, and it’s not looking good, bucko.

Except that the internet comes to our rescue again. Now anyone can set up an online magazine, choose the content they want to display. In fact, if you’ve got a lot of talented artistic friends, you should put together your own site, make your own magazine. And then have people submit to you!


4. Competitions

This is great in theory. And there are loads out there. A particularly good site to find all of them is Prize Magic but again, refer to your Writer’s and Artists Yearbook. This is great if you’ve got a good back-log of work. Sadly with my own stuff, as soon as I’ve moved on, I tend to disregard it, considering it rubbish compared to everything I’ve done recently. That is dumb. Everything you have created is an asset. Look after it, update it, and use it.

Some have an entry fee, but if you’ve got loads of stuff sitting in shoe-boxes (or on hard-drives) it’s time to dust them off.

5. Content

Content is everywhere, thanks to the web. And a lot of the time, stuff that you may think is mundane is actually really interesting to everyone else. Or very useful to certain companies who want to fill up their blogs and sites and weekly emails with something that represents them. So if you want to write about your snowboarding holiday in the Alps, check out companies that run holidays there, or even snowboarding clothing companies. (The film Chalet Girl was sponsored by Roxy, which was obvious when watching, but it fit really well.) If what you you like writing about aligns with someone else’s interests, then why not take a chance? Lots of companies need stuff to fill their twitter feeds and facebook fan pages – Give them your content. You may not get paid, but you might get some free stuff.

6. Job Sites

Well, you never know. And you won’t unless you try.

So, general recommendations? Start a blog about something you’re interested in. What’s your angle, what do you do? Write a few updates, keeping them as uniform and continually updated as possible. And then use them as sample pieces for your work. Also, keep up to date with social media opportunities. It’s amazing what’s out there!

Also, if you’re serious about opportunities, but don’t want lots of junk mail, start an alternate free email address so when you sign up to these sites, you can see immediately what’s useful and what’s not.

You’re not just selling your ability to string words together and use correct grammar, you’re selling your opinion, your angle, your personality. So make it about you!

Happy Writing!

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The London Book Fair

 

So, I was quite excited about my little trip to the LBF, especially as it was free (because I’m a student, and entrepreneurial!) and because somehow in my little head, I’d convinced myself it cemented my standing as a writer. But the truth is this, nothing cements your standing as a writer except actually writing.

Whilst the LBF is a big funfair of book activity, it’s mostly populated by CEO’s and Heads of Marketing. I desperately searched for anyone who wasn’t wearing a suit to connect with, but to be honest, it was a big hubbub  of activity for non-writers. And whilst attempting to be a creative entrepreneur, I will have to deal with people in suits, unless it’s actually to my benefit and I can learn something, there’s really no point.

So, the writerly lesson for today? Only do things that are going to further your writing- try every opportunity, exploit every angle, but ultimately it’s the literal act of writing that’s the important bit, the schmoozing and marketing can come after the fact.

 

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A Word on Mic-Night Etiquette

So yesterday I performed and eagerly watched as many creative people gave it all they got, at The Coffee Affair in Colindale. Except I was so fuming with anger over the rudeness of one poet that I got all on my high horse.

Luckily, this did not detract from the awesomeness of the evening, and I’m so glad I got to try something I find rather difficult surrounded by so many friends. I’m also lucky that I have so many talented friends who do stuff I’ve never really witnessed before.  There’s an art to performance poetry and fiction that is completely different to writing.

I’ve been doing the writing thing for a while, but I’ve never really performed anything. And writing for performance is so different. It’s really opened up a new world to me, and though I am not a poet, I think all writers can benefit from the teachings of the performance poet.

So, a word on etiquette (Or, me getting back at Mr Rude Poet).

In the words of the immortals Dan Le Sac and Scroobius Pip: Thou shalt not attend an open mic and leave before it’s done just because you’ve finished your shitty little poem or song you self-righteous prick.

So this guy rocks up, and puts his name on the list, but it’s okay, because we’re cool like that. Artists and hippies are okay with spontaneity. Except he then proceeds to LOUDLY inform us that the mic isn’t working, and why aren’t there enough chairs downstairs, and this venue isn’t arranged very well and can’t someone do something about the air-conditioning? Which are all fine complaints except they’re DURING the first two acts.

This is the worst thing, beyond performing then leaving. In fact, it’s worse. Talking through another artist’s set is rude, self-obsessive and just plain irritating. We’re meant to respect each other’s art. I think he was bitter because he was competing with a younger generation. Either way, after talking obnoxiously through other people’s sets, I’d decided to hate him. And I was entitled.

But just because you hate someone doesn’t mean their poetry isn’t any good. And I’ll admit, I don’t know much about poetry…Okay, that’s a lie, I did a Literature and Creative Writing degree. All I mean is, poetry isn’t my thing, I can’t always tell if it’s good. I can tell when it’s absolutely mind-blowing, and I can tell when it’s boring.

This guy’s work was fairly okay. Who hasn’t written love poems? And he ripped off the title of Blake’s Songs of Innocence and Experience in his little self-published book. Well, Ya boo sucks buddy, because I’m a creative entrepreneur, and I get how self-publishing works. I also understand that for poetry, if you’re not an excellent performer, it’s sometimes the only way. But blah.

I have constant trouble reconciling the fact that ‘I’m a writer because I couldn’t be anything else’ with these other people who proclaim they’re writers and are, in fact terrible. Anyone got any answers on this? I’ve always assumed you’re a writer if you can’t not write, if you have to be writing. But if you’re smart, you’ll not just be writing about yourself, you’ll be aware of the market, of your audience, of where you can be ‘placed’. Yes, it’s art, but if you want it out in the world you’ve got to consider it a product.

So, I’ll be updating more and more with what I’m writing, writing exercises and thoughts, as well as how the workshops are going. I’ll be visiting the London Book Fair and also teaching creative writing at Larmer Tree Festival this year. So there’ll be pictures and stories galore!

Happy Writing!

 

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Creative Entrepreneurship

As many of you know, I’m taking a Masters in Creative Entrepreneurship. Most people don’t know what this is, but it’s becoming very relevant in today’s ‘Big Society’. This is the time for the Artist to step up, embrace their role in society. Artists are relevant during a recession. They brighten things up, provide colour and vibrance, and through that, hope.

They also are the only people who stand to make any money during our dry economic times, and this is due to innovation and adaptability. There will always be writers and artists and musicians, just as there will always be accountants and businessmen and bank managers. But one group of people work within a recognised structure. They get up and go to work, and yes, they worry about whether they’ll be fired, but the job that they do won’t change. The other group have to make that structure they work within. Find their jobs, and if there is no market for them, create a market for themselves.

So is creative entrepreneurship just creative business? No, it’s a form of survival. Business entrepreneurship is about making capital. Social entrepreneurship is about making change happen. Creative entrepreneurship is simply about making.

So that’s what I’m up to right now. I’m making stuff. And I’m making a space for it in the marketplace. My workshop plans are coming along nicely, my Cafe idea has made a large jump nearer reality (thanks to the excellent advice of ex-local authority Arts Officer Wendy Lockwood).

The writing, however, the true defining point of me as an Artist? Well, I should be off doing that instead of writing this.