I think a lot about creative beginnings.
I've struggled with nearly every creative beginning I have ever embarked upon. I have a large plastic tote overflowing with piecemeal notes and the beginnings of novels, each one lovingly rendered, but soon abandoned. Each and every single one has forced me to confront my own insecurities, doubts, fears, preconceived notions, self-esteem.
But the beginnings I have given life to have been the most interesting, the most rewarding, the most consequential.
Take for example how at the beginning of this year, I started knitting. I tried getting into knitting twenty-ish years ago, but it didn't stick. I liked the repetitive ritual of moving my needles, watching something take shape, but the truth was my hands ached constantly whenever I did. My dearest friends joined me in this activity, and I watched them expertly click-clack away, conjuring lovely scarves and hats and other playful knick-knacks.
But I became convinced that I just wasn't creative like that. Like them.
I wasn't built to do it.
Then last fall, I felt the itch to try again. I purchased a couple of knitting kits on Black Friday and got started in the New Year—and this time, my experience was entirely different. For one, I had chunky, voluptuous needles that were more comfortable to grip in my small hands. I had step-by-step instructions—and the aid of YouTube—to help answer my questions and learn to correct my missteps. My first projects were imperfect, but with each completion, I have gained creative confidence.
And guess what? I have fallen in love with knitting.
To date, I have finished 11 scarves and am at work on No. 12. By the end of this year, I also want try my hand at beanies and perhaps even a throw blanket.
Knitting has become a form of meditation for me. It has given me access to a new facet of my creativity, one that is rooted in emptying my mind with a soft focus, which is so different from the high concentration I bring to my written work. It's a respite to knit and purl, to cast on and cast off, and going through these motions has given me the confidence to give myself other chances, to surrender what I thought I knew about my creative abilities, to brave new possibilities.
Because when a beginning is stunted by a skewed perspective of self and what's possible, how can we give ourselves real chances to shape our dreams?
There's something about the failed creative experiments of my youth that has changed my perspective on beginnings. I look back and feel for my younger self who so doubted that she was capable of creativity outside of writing—when all she needed were better tools to help her to learn and explore and grow.
She needed the tools to help her embrace her divine enjoyment, not just chase productivity and achievement.
Today, I find myself similarly confronting my youthful misconceptions where a creative itch has became undeniable. When I was a head-banging teen, I wanted nothing more than to learn to play the guitar. So my parents kindly gifted me an acoustic dreadnought, but I really struggled with it. I had already played piano for several years at that point and knew how to read music, and I thought that's all that really mattered. Surely I could DIY the rest of it?
But my physical guitar was a poor fit, literally: it was too big and cumbersome, and my hands quickly fatigued and hurt from how firm and high the action (the distance between the strings and guitar body) were.
Predictably, my conclusion back then was that I just didn't have any real musical ability.
I wasn't built to do it.
And yet, another stunted start.
But my dream to play guitar has never really died. It's been this ghost haunting me whenever I listen to the guitar solos of my favorite songs. It's even been a dream of my husband's as well and, for the past two-ish years, we've been talking about learning more seriously. So earlier this summer, I started doing research into what guitars to get us—and even if it's a good idea to do so.
And I have learned so much, information that I wish I had known when I was younger.
For one, I learned that as much as I love acoustic music, what I always wanted to play was electric guitar and I could have started with that. There's this misconception that you have to learn to play on an acoustic instrument. That couldn't be farther from the truth. I learned that electric would perhaps be a more comfortable experience for my small hands because the strings are thinner and the action is lower, and the body of the guitar is significantly slimmer. It's one reason why it's a great instrument for children and older adults to learn on.
And my research also pointed to the most important thing, perhaps the most obvious thing: to find an instrument that inspires you to want to pick up and practice every time you walk past it. I never felt that way about the acoustic guitar I had; if anything, I felt so discouraged by my lack of momentum and stayed that way for nearly thirty years.
Now, I feel differently because I know differently. There are many other advantages to going for electric, so I went for it. Yesterday was my husband's birthday and we unwrapped the electric guitars I selected for us.
They're happy and fun instruments, absolutely delighting my inner Care Bear.
They make me want to play.
They make me want to try.
If that's not a creative beginning—the desire to dive in, to start, to learn, to fumble before I get any good, to give myself new chances—I don't know what is.
As I've matured as a writer and opened myself to new creative channels, I recognize how malleable creativity is. It's not this set, rigid form borne from youth. It evolves as we evolve. It ages well, if we pay attention. It is what we make of it.
One of my favorite tarot cards is The Fool. It’s the first of the major arcana, and it represents infinite potential and a blank slate. It’s about starting something new with innocence, optimism, and curiosity. When I think of creative beginnings, this is the card I think of the most; this is the card whose spirit I most want to embody.
You see, I'm not looking to become a master weaver or the next Kirk Hammett (although that would be pretty cool), but I am looking to encourage and enrich my creative spirit.
I am looking to do this for myself without pressure or judgment.
Just me and a beginner's mindset.
And healthy doses of curiosity.
Ultimately, I believe that's what makes a creative beginning more than just a start.
on my nightstand
S.A. Cosby’s Razorblade Tears.
three word book reviews
David Szalay’s Flesh: spare, evocative, existential.
some good things
Today marks the eighth anniversary of my first trigeminal neuralgia (TN) episode. Do me a favor and spend a few minutes checking out The Facial Pain Research Foundation to educate yourself about this rare disease—and, if you are able, donate what feels right to fund research and an eventual cure. I appreciate your time and consideration!
One of my highly anticipated 2025 publications is Nicholas Boggs’s Baldwin: A Love Story, a robust biography about James Baldwin. And Vanity Fair has printed an excerpt from the book to whet our appetites!
Did you know that this year marks Jane Austen’s 250th birthday? There are a slew of festivities and exhibits and articles to mark the occasion—and I really liked this one about what Austen’s possessions say about her written work.
I swear I’ll stop posting about the Booker Prize for a bit—at last until the short list is announced at the end of September. But longlist reading madness is in full swing and, so far, I’m loving it! Maybe it’s piqued your curiosity too, but you don’t know where to start? Here’s a quiz to help you figure out which book to pick up first.
To talk about anything in this newsletter, ask questions, or share any feedback, you can email me at nisha@nishakkulkarni.com or just hit “reply” to this email. You’ll always reach me on the other side.
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As always, wishing you peace and good this coming week. See you next Sunday!