the deal i signed

call it by its right name

Jun 13, 2026

i signed a deal that stated: you take care of the quality. i’ll take care of the quantity.

week nine of the artist’s way had us map out one main project we are working on, name our fears and our blocks, then sign a commitment in writing to the creative force.

after i signed it, i sat there a little perplexed. you handle the quality? i handle the quantity?

oh. the quantity. just keep creating, and the quality will come through us.

the opening line of this week said: “one of the most important tasks in artistic recovery is learning to call things by the right names.”

essentially, we often label many behaviors as being “lazy.” we’re not following a certain pace, we haven’t started, we’re putting it off, not prioritizing it. we’re clearly lazy, right?

actually, no. it is often fear. it is a creative block we sit trying to pound our fists against. a blocked wall, a route that’s been closed so we turn around rather than try to work around it.

this mislabeling, we take as truth. we must be lazy. it must not be the right time. it wasn’t meant to happen anyway. and so on.

because, also — if we dare work through that block, then the thing we produce, we put out there, it must be great. it must be so great and worthy of that time and effort and choice to finally do the damn thing. cameron says “the need to produce a great work of art makes it hard to produce any art at all.”

this ties so much into last week’s focus — how in order to do something different, or share something in the world, it must be the thing. it must be the great thing that shows we took the giant leap. the thing we can now prove to the world shows us all that we were worthy enough to make a change, to try something different. rather than seeing each moment, each step, each output, as those tiny steps accumulating to a leap — we look for the dramatic leap. an oscar-worthy performance to prove that our choice to change it all was correct. if it’s not reaching this level of stature that we think it should, then it is hard to create anything at all. so instead, we often sink inside this creative block out of fear. it often feels safest to not try, to not start.

cameron says the only cure for this fear is love. to love on your artist. be nice to it. and most importantly, call fear by its right name.

in addition to loving on our artist, we must access the rawest, most authentic version of enthusiasm. we see enthusiasm not as an emotional state, but instead as a spiritual commitment, a loving surrender to our creative process, a loving recognition of all the creativity around us. the word enthusiasm is actually from the greek phrase meaning filled with god. it is an ongoing energy supply tapped into the flow of life itself.

there is that consistent theme. that flow. can we tap into that secret language with the universe — where can we play out of joy and not duty? tap into the creative juices of life, flow in its river.

earlier this week, as i wrote the week eight reflection, i had a draft that mentioned the quote “it’s not about the destination, it’s about the journey” as i reflected on my winding career and life shifts. i giggled when the book said that for us artists, “the journey is always the only arrival.”

i do not have regrets. they do not feel relevant to me. in fact, i love being able to look back and be like, oh, that one conversation created this one spark that led to this other thing. and if i hadn’t been curious about this one thing, it would’ve never led to this other thing. none of this happened in one giant leap. not for me. not for anyone.

i am no longer the girl in the SF hotel room in 2019. the journey to get here has been a perfect evolution.

one final thought i’ve been sitting with when i think of the commitment to quantity: we never know when something will take off and have its moment.

sarah j. maas, author of the ACOTAR series, has blown up in the last couple of years. it’s 2026. her first book came out in 2015. it took almost 10 years to reach the fame it has today — and in those years, she continued to release four more. thank goodness she did not take the early data as fact.

rebecca yarros is a different story — she’s still actively writing fourth wing while its popularity explodes in real time.

two artists, same craft, similar audience, completely different timelines. neither could have predicted it. that’s the point — creativity and its impact have their own timeline, entirely outside of our control. you can’t engineer the moment it lands. you can only keep making the work.

what moves me about maas is the trust required to keep producing through years of quiet. to stay committed and enthusiastic, and let the art find its own time.

be proud of your work and do not be influenced by one negative opinion. it will have its time. who knows — maybe one of you is reading this three years from its publishing date? if that’s you, hi. maybe today as you read this, this one post is having its moment years later.