from The Makearoo Dispatch: Journey

Ready to run!

On April 20th, I participated in a race I’d been training for since February – a 10-mile run along Chicago’s lakefront.

I’m not a seasoned runner and I can’t even really tell you why I took on this challenge, except that once I heard about this race, I kept thinking about doing it. I just felt strongly pulled to try it. I had no idea if I could run at all, let alone some or even half of this distance, and I figured it was time I tried.

I listened to my desire and acted upon it.

I figured out a way to train that made sense for my level of fitness and pre-existing injuries (once-broken ankle/tib/fib + cranky knees). I found a training program for a half marathon and scaled it down to 10 miles. I downloaded a ‘Couch to 5K’ app to see how much I could run and I followed that program.

I followed my training schedule without questioning it; I just showed up and did it. No internal negotiation, no skipped workouts except for one sick day. No perfectionism, either; I just showed up over and over and over, and I really enjoyed it.

I hired a personal trainer for help with strength training.

I created a playlist that brought me joy and motivated me while training.

I went to my local running store and got new shoes a few weeks before the race because it was time.

I talked to friends who run for advice and encouragement.

On the morning of the race, I was nervous for all of the usual reasons. But when I saw there was snow on the grass and ice on the pavement, I literally started crying. I broke my leg badly by slipping on ice almost twelve years ago, so ice still scares me (though I still go walking and hiking in winter). I decided to run beside the trail on the grass until the sun came out. Quitting and going back to my hotel were not even on my menu of options.

The race itself was very different than I’d expected; it was tougher both physically and emotionally than I’d anticipated. I’d done a 10-mile distance during training and while it was hard, I felt confident the whole time. But during the race, I felt alone much of the time. I let doubt creep in, convinced that I was dead last and that somehow that mattered more than the achievement I was attempting. At times I felt like I was completely outclassed and had no business being there.

So of course, I talked to myself, both in my head and aloud (“Just get to Mile 8, Toni; that’s all you need to worry about right now.”)

Because I am slow (and totally okay with that, by the way), I had plenty of time to let my mind wander along the course, which was gorgeous and traveled along Chicago’s Lakefront and through green parkways along the lake. I realized that running a race is a lot like running a business, especially the early stages.

Eighteen or so months ago, I designed a business that made sense for my abilities (bringing people together, helping them see their inner light, and having fun while doing it all), desires (earn a great living working for myself), and current living situation (in a small town with three kids, a husband, and two other adult relatives).

I came up with a name, hired a designer to develop a website, and started spreading the word to family and friends about my new career.

I started showing up regularly, publishing my newsletter weekly, learning about marketing and coaching, and contacting people who might be interested in what I have to offer.

I hired a coach to help me develop Makearoo and now I’m working with a coach to help me be the best possible coach I can be.

I regularly absorb written and audio materials that motivate me.

I hire professionals like web and graphic designers to support the Makearoo mission.

I look to friends who are also growing kickass businesses for advice and encouragement.

During the course of developing Makearoo, I have had more than one moment of sheer terror where something that I’d pegged as a ‘dealbreaker’ appeared in my path. I haven’t let scary stuff stop me yet! I just do the equivalent of running on the grass at the start of my race; I figure out a way around the thing that is scaring me so I can keep going, because my overarching goals for Makearoo are bigger than any immediate fears that might come up along the way.

Many, many times I’ve felt both alone and outclassed as a coach and business owner. Comparing yourself to anyone else makes this easy to do. The solution is simple: Knock that shit off! I realized after a while that I was comparing myself to people who have been running their businesses for years. Of course their launches look differently and net different results; they’ve been at it for much longer, cultivating trust and creating relationships and planning for growth. I know, “Who do you think you are?” kept popping up when I first started Makearoo. It still rears its butt-ugly head from time to time now. It’s totally normal, and I see my clients, friends, and family struggle with this same deal when they stretch beyond their boundaries. Knowing that it’s normal and there are ways around those feelings is such a huge comfort. There was a line from an old episode of Doctor Who we watched recently (a David Tennant episode) where someone asked, derisively, “So, you think you’re clever, do ya?” and he responded, in all seriousness, “Yes, I do.” There’s a reason people are crazy for that show and that character; we all want to shine on like crazy diamonds just like The Doctor.

I made it to the finish line of my race, and just before that, my husband ran up to get some photos of me and my friend Nicole came and ran the last few yards with me. And then my sons ran up and crossed the finish line with me–a moment I will mark as one of the happiest of my entire life. A merry band of intrepid friends who woke early on a Saturday and braved the April-in-Chicago weather was there, too. The gratitude I feel for that support won’t fit into mere words. But I will say that in that race, my own perseverance carried me from start to finish, and so was knowing that my tribe was there for me–and in Makearoo, the same things hold true. My sons are watching me grow a business that suits my talents, temperament, goals, and our lives and precious time together. My husband and friends are watching and cheering me on, too. And I’m doing the same for all of them in their own endeavors — sometimes as a coach, sometimes as a friend who knows the value of that support. Either way, while we might feel alone in our journeys, we seldom truly are. There’s some stuff we have to go through alone; my kids couldn’t train for me, for instance. But the chances to celebrate, to share, to connect during each little victory? I wouldn’t trade those for the world.

You guys know I’m gonna connect this to Camp Makearoo now, right? Read below for info on attending a Day Camp on Saturday, May 11th. Dig in and find what you’re hungry to run from start to finish for and to start finding your tribe who will not only “get” the journey you’re on, but will cheer you along the way!

Secrets of Successful Weirdos: An interview with cartoonist Dan Pavelich

Secrets of Successful Weirdos is an ongoing series at Makearoo that delves into how and why creative professionals thrive. This week’s weirdo is Dan Pavelich, a 45-year-old cartoonist and newspaper columnist based in Kenosha, Wisconsin. Dan created the newly syndicated (woo!) cartoon Just Say Uncle and we had a great conversation about his work and what led him to this point in his career.

As a kid, what did you dream of doing when you grew up?

I was big into watching reruns of “The Lone Ranger” and “The Cisco Kid” on WGNTV, so I’d have to go with wanting to be a Western hero. Of course, at the time, I didn’t know that I was aiming to be a fictional character. It was in third grade that the cartooning bug bit me, and from then on, I was kinda obsessed with it.

Were your parents supportive of your childhood hobbies and dreams? Describe the impact this had on your creative career pursuits.

They were probably as supportive as most parents were at the time. I grew up in the 1970′s, when parenting consisted of telling your kids to “Go outside and play” and “Stop making so much noise.” In a way, parenting was more strict, but a lot more hands-off than we are today. I’m sure they’re wondering when I’ll stop wasting all my time with this creative nonsense and just get a city job. Something with a good pension and benefits.

What training, education, and/or mentoring did you receive and how useful was it compared to what your work is really like?

All my electives in high school were art classes, which I loved. I also found out early that if the art teachers thought you were particularly talented and serious about what you were doing, they let you work independently in a separate classroom from the general population. You had to be self-motivated and good at budgeting your time, both of which are very important now.

Did you make any epic mistakes that make great stories today? Tell us about it, and what you learned.

I once worked for a syndicate editor for a year, for free, because he kept dangling the promise of a development deal in front of me, which never happened. This same editor also launched two strips that were very similar to strips I’d been working on with him. I was young & stupid, though. I figured that if I just kept my head down and concentrated on the work, that I’d end up getting a break somewhere down the line. It made me start asking more questions before I got involved with someone.

Describe your typical work day.

There’s really no such thing as a typical day for me. I work from home as a cartoonist and columnist for The Kenosha News, so my work cycles are routinely interrupted by carpool, laundry and running errands. I do have a set list of work-related things and the days they need to be completed on, but they always need to get shuffled around in the long run.

What’s your least favorite thing about your work, and why?

After I draw my comic strips, there’s a fair amount of clean-up work and formatting that can get tedious. Compared to the aches and pains of working on an assembly line, which I did for seven years, it’s not much to complain about.

What’s your favorite thing about your work, and why?

Sometimes I hit on a joke or a really effective way to draw a certain situation, and it cracks me up. I literally laugh out loud. This is the only job I’ve ever had that gave me that much personal pleasure.

What are your creative superpowers, and how do you tap into them to do your best work?

For me, being creative can be really intermittent. There are days when I wake up and just don’t feel like I can be funny. I know from experience that there’s really no point in wasting my time trying to write gags. So, on those days, I do busy work like penciling in jokes I’ve already written, or the clean-up and formatting that I mentioned. On days when I’m firing on all cylinders, though, I really make it count and write more jokes than I need.

What about weaknesses, and how do you bust through them to do your best work?

See above!

Tell us a bit about Just Say Uncle and your big news surrounding that project. What inspired you to start it? Did you encounter any setbacks or hurdles?

Just Say Uncle is based on the friendship of Bobby & Uncle Norm, who tells outrageous stories to entertain the boy. His stories can take him anywhere in time, and often involve historical figures. The inspiration to start it came from knowing it was a great idea and unlike anything already out there. The concept actually came from a friend of mine, who originally hatched the idea. We both wrote a bunch of gags, and then he decided that he wanted to bow out and leave it to me. He’d been cartooning for years and was soured on it. Most of the time, you put a lot of effort into a strip with very little return.

Can you tell us about how syndication deals work (submitting, acceptance, rights, payment)? Is the income enough to keep a cartoonist afloat, and does it depend on how many markets you reach?

Like anyone else trying to get syndicated, I just sent in samples to the few feature syndicates that still exist. Compared to other things I’ve worked on in the past, this all happened relatively quickly. It was only a couple of months between my submission and the phone call from the syndicate. When I feel like I’ve still got a long way to go before the strip is successful, I remind myself that the odds of this happening are something crazy like 1 in 30,000. Knowing that the people who are handling my strip also handle Peanuts, Pearls Before Swine, Dilbert, Calvin & Hobbes, etc., is indescribable. For a cartoonist, there is no better team to be on than Universal Press Syndicate. The strip will appear three days a week on their website, GoComics.com. You’ll be able to subscribe to it for free, along with all your favorite comic strips. Basically, you can create your own personalized comic page, which you can either look at on the website or get in a daily email. I get paid based on subscriptions and page views.

There are only really four feature syndicates for comic strips, whereas there used to be a dozen. Each has roughly the same guidelines. They want to see 4-6 weeks of samples, a week being comprised of six dailies and a Sunday. Rights are retained by the cartoonist, the syndicate is acting as a distributor. Their percentage is taken off the top of whatever income the strip makes. If you’re one of the lucky few who gets into syndication to traditional newspapers as well as online, the income if very good. If you’re a Scott Adams who does Dilbert, and you’re in 2,000 print publications, as well as a ridiculous amount of merchandizing, your income can be five figures a week. On the other side of the spectrum, online guys like me are making equal to a really good part-time job. This happens to work for me, because I’ve already got a day job at the Kenosha News. However, there are really successful online strips that support their creators. It depends on how many subscribers you have. The more you have, the bigger piece of the website ad revenue you get.

Do you have any insights into the future for cartoonists in the Internet age? What do you think about what Matthew Inman, aka The Oatmeal is doing in terms of self-publishing and generating revenue through posters and books?

As more newspapers fold and the traditional markets evaporate, the future of comic strips is definitely online. The last 5-10 years the remaining syndicates are getting an increasingly greater share of their revenue online. Inman is doing what most smart cartoonists do now: Diversifying. If cartooning is your only source of income, you have to cobble together a living any way you can; a little from ad revenue, a little from subscriptions, merchandizing, personal appearances, freelance work, etc.

Who is really doing it right in your profession, and why?

Stephan Pastis (Pearls Before Swine), Greg Cravens (Hubris) and John Hambrock (The Brilliant Mind of Edison Lee). Each one consistently makes me laugh, and writes jokes that I never would have thought of. Their quality standards are right up there with guys like Charles M. Schulz and Gary Larsen.

Name at least one common misconception about your profession.

People are always surprised to find out how long it takes to create one strip. It can take hours. I guess to a lot of people, drawing doesn’t look like it should be all that much work.

Can you talk about rejection for a bit? Has your response to rejection evolved over the years? What lessons have you learned from rejection?

I’d need a file cabinet if I’d saved every rejection letter I’ve ever gotten. I’ve always felt like I was stagnating, though, if I didn’t have something in the mail that I was waiting for a response on. I was able to get through all those years working on an assembly line, because I’d imagine that maybe tomorrow, I’d finally hear back about my latest strip. When you’ve got submissions out there, you’ve got hope and the possibility that your life could be very different some day. That’s what kept me going, regardless of the rejections.

How does constructive criticism inform your work? What about destructive crit, say, from anonymous people online?

I’ve gotten a lot of great constructive criticism from cartoonists I admire, just by sending them my work and asking for it. For the most part, everyone liked what I was doing, except for the creator of a certain military-themed strip that’s been around for decades. He hated everything about my work. He said I had no punchlines, my drawings were weak….even advised me to look for another line of work. I should send him a postcard now that I’m with Universal! The comic strip I draw for my local paper gets an occasional piece of hate mail, but averages being what they are, I don’t pay that much mind. If one out of thirty-thousand subscribers doesn’t like what I do, I’m doing okay. No matter what you do, 100% of people aren’t going to like it all of the time.

What are your thoughts on the “starving artist” idea that seems to pervade our society? Myth, reality, something else?

Well, if you’re an artist that wants to starve, go ahead. Me, I’ve always worked a straight job to support my art and a decent lifestyle. I like mashed potatoes and gravy a heck of a lot more than ramen noodles. I’ve known musicians who’ve done the starving artist thing and always thought, “You know, if you just got a part-time day job at Walgreens, you could still play with your band at night AND pay your utility bills.” My daughter came along early in my marriage, which changes your perspective, too. You have that natural urge to take care of your kid, over spending $500 on a drawing table. How do you define creative success? I would define it as anyone who gets up off the couch to be creative. The success in being creative isn’t making money, the creation itself is the success. My wife does these incredible paintings and multi-media collages, but she hasn’t ever sold one. But, when she’s done, there’s something beautiful in the world that wasn’t there a few days ago. Lots of people talk about what they used to do or what they eventually want to do. The success is in the actual doing. If money comes later, that’s a bonus.

Name one of your big creative dreams for the future.

The ultimate for me would be an animated “Just Say Uncle” Christmas special, or cartoon series on Cartoon Network. I’d love that.

If you could go back in time, what advice would you give to 12-year-old Dan?

I’d tell myself to stop wasting so much time in between creative projects. At times, I’d get discouraged and stop cartooning for a year or longer before I went back to it. If I’d had better focus in my younger years, I might’ve gotten syndicated during the heyday of newspaper comics. In the 80′s and ’90′s, it was much more of a goldmine than it is today. Every strip that got launched was guaranteed to get into 300 papers.

What advice do you have to offer to creative people who are just getting started in their careers or with a bold new project or business?

First and foremost, you have to have a goal. After that, you have to lay out a plan to achieve the goal. You have to be unafraid of failure and asking people who know more about it than you for help. It’s also very important that you keep the route to your dream flexible. Life will always get in the way. Accept that. There will be setbacks, don’t let that stop you.

Finally, a catchall: If there’s something you’d like to share that we haven’t covered here, now’s your chance!

I’ve been drawing comic strips since I was in the third grade, roughly 37 years. While I do have a strip that appears twice a week in my local paper, I was never able to get signed by a feature syndicate until now. 37 years of “No, thanks, you’re not what we’re looking for.” Before I sent the submission to Universal that ultimately got me the deal, I said to myself, “This might be my last try for this strip.” Heck, I’ve got other writing options I’d like to pursue, and I play in two bands. Time is growing short. If the submission before the one that got me signed had been my last one, though, I wouldn’t be sitting here answering these questions right now.

John Mahoney was 53 when he landed the role of a lifetime playing Martin Crane on “Frasier.” Huey Lewis was 30, much older than your average pop star, when he had his first hit with “Do You Believe In Love.” I looked up to both of those guys over the years, because they always kept going; accepting small opportunities during lean times and consistently moving around obstacles and corners. That taught me that you can’t possibly find out if success is just around the next corner, if you stop going around corners.

A big Makearoo thank you to Dan for sharing his experiences and expertise and being such a great weirdo! Post your questions and comments for Dan in the comments section.

Reminder: The important stuff always gets done.

Don’t be fooled; googly eyes are a high priority.

The important stuff always gets done.

This phrase kept popping into my head as we packed up my mom’s home and moved her and my brother (an adult with Down Syndrome) into our home last weekend. In the weeks beforehand, I’d created a ridiculously long Mega-Ultimate-Humongo-Gigantor To Do List of Massive Proportions, and then spent time leading up to the move pretty much avoiding most of the tasks on that list until the absolute last minute, while also beating myself up for not doing everything perfectly and completely.

Sound familiar?

Once things got rolling, things I’d been avoiding got done in a fraction of time, even if (gasp!) imperfectly. I kept repeating my Moving Mantra: The important stuff always gets done.”

And it did.

It took more than a weekend to unpack everything. There are odds and ends that either need to find a permanent home at our place or to take up residence elsewhere. But the job got done and mom and bro are settled in. In fact, the wave of relief when we finally got them all under one roof was as enormous as it was unexpected.

I know many of you are dealing with the aftermath of the storm along the East Coast. (My heart goes out to you all, and those of you worrying over loved ones right now, too.) It’s stressful. It’s worrisome. It creates an entirely new to-do list, shrinking less important tasks for another day after home flood damage repairs are complete.

The important stuff always gets done.

When I broke my leg and dislocated my shoulder while pregnant with my middle son (who is 10 now), I couldn’t work for a few weeks, and I had to defer my student loans for a couple of months as a result (this was shortly before I started freelancing). Our bills still got paid. Family helped around the house, caring for my then-two-year-old oldest son and helping me get around. Somehow, everything that really needed to get done was accomplished, and what could wait, well, waited.

If you’ve ever had an entire family down with the flu, you know how an emergency can immediately and effectively shrink even the shortest of to do lists. Same goes for an important deadline that, by necessity, eclipses your typical work routine.

The important stuff always gets done.

In this week since my household grew from five to seven, I started feeling like I was going to disappear under the weight of all the care-giving, grocery shopping, and housekeeping–obligations I took on willingly as part of this deal. But when reality set in (along with what I can see now was an adjustment period that we’re all still experiencing), I worried about how I’d continue to grow Makearoo into the empire of awesome that I know it can be if I’m tending to the needs of two more people who count on me for help. Out of necessity, I’d set aside a large part of my work and personal time in order to make this move happen. As we settled in and unpacked and found our rhythm, I realized that my feelings of losing touch with my creative dreams and self were part of this adjustment period.

But it got me thinking. I’m no adrenaline junkie, but I realized this week that in order to grow something incredible, we have to live a little bit like we’re in crisis. Live like we’re dying, as the pop-cheesy-but-irresistibly-inspiring song that often propels me along the jogging path says. I mean this only as a means of ruthlessly shrinking those crazy to-do lists, which are so often built from perfectionism and/or obligation and/or habit rather than priorities aligned with purpose.

I saw this week that I can either let myself disappear under a wave of obligation and martyrdom, or I can make myself and my work a priority right alongside my family. Delegating tasks to everyone, hiring a cleaning service, setting clear boundaries related to work and personal space, and ruthlessly culling my to-do list so that the ways in which I spend my days reflect my highest priorities and dreams instead of someone else’s, or my own dreams, but muted. That includes fiction writing, by the way–something I willingly deferred while growing Makearoo, but needs to come back on the front burner again. But that’s a story for another post.

As I often mention, this is a process. Sometimes, a crisis or deadline or illness or other Big Life Thing takes over our lives for a bit, which can be cleansing in a way as we jettison the stuff that doesn’t matter in order to focus. Sometimes, we allow life to happen to us as we go along merrily (or not), adrift in a sea of other people’s needs and priorities. In both instances, course correcting and centering back to breathing life into our deepest dreams and highest purpose is essential. This takes practice, and it often requires repeating every once in a while, remembering that forward momentum — even when it feels like the tiniest of baby steps — adds up.

In the meantime: what can you eliminate or defer on your to-do list? Or is your to-do system working well for you? Tell me about how you get things that matter most to you done, crisis or no crisis.

Home is where the office is.

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Farewell but not good-bye, magnetic chalk board wall.

I have some sad news to report: The current Makearoo HQ will soon be no more.

This news is really only a bit sad–more like bittersweet–for me. This doesn’t affect the way you and I will interact going forward, nor does it impact Camp Makearoo or any other offerings I’ve got up my sleeve for Makearoo. No changes, voluntary or otherwise, come without lessons, and I’d like to share a couple of stories about what this move is teaching me.

Regular readers know that my dad passed away suddenly at the end of May. A while after that, my mom and I had a conversation about whether she thought she should remain in their sizable three-bedroom-plus-home-office home, get a smaller apartment for her and my brother (who has Down Syndrome), or move in with us. I told her–having already decided on this, along with my husband, with a clear mind and heart) that she was welcome to live with us, and that I wanted her to be happy and feel secure wherever she decided to live. A few days later, she called and said she didn’t think she should live alone. Mom is legally blind and cannot drive, and if something happened to her while at home all day alone or with only my brother with her, we’re not sure she could get help in time.

So our family of five is about to become a family of seven. Turns out our current minivan fits all of us. I really like that.

At first, Mom wanted to build a suite in our half-unfinished basement/family room. We were all for it, but fire codes conspired against us. Same with making an attic bedroom and moving the boys up there. The only remaining option was for my mom and brother to take our guest bedroom and the only remaining bedroom left in the house: Makearoo HQ. As with our minivan, our house can currently hold all of us, thankfully. Mom took the news with grace and quickly started on Plan B, showing me exactly from where my backbone originates. I will confess to having a quiet, three-minute cry over losing my home office, and then I got to work on Plan B as well. There’s room in our bedroom, right between our big bay windows that overlook our lovely back yard and give a fantastic amount of light. I’m all about the light in any given space, particularly for working. I realized that I really only used about half of my office anyway and with the work I’m blessed to do, I don’t need a lot of space.

Another cool thing that happened came from my realization that I needed a new and much smaller desk. I looked online for exactly the one I wanted–one that was just like my table in my current office, but with a keyboard tray. The ones I liked were about $400 and I didn’t want to spend $400. I also didn’t want to spend hours going the Craigslist/garage sale/thrift store route. Then one afternoon, I rolled my office chair up to the table in my office–something I’d never thought to do before. The height was PERFECT. (Can I get both an ‘Amen!’ and a ‘DERP!’?) I don’t even need a keyboard tray. Funny how just what you need is so often right under your nose.

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My new desk! (left) and my fave bookshelf, which still needs a new spot in our cozy home.

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I’m not going to miss the Random Pile O’ Shit in this corner, however. I had big plans for that spot! “Comfy chair with ottoman” plans!

The future home of Makearoo HQ.

I loved my home office. I made it uniquely mine. I had fun with that process, and I had fun working there. I painted it the color of my bird Ozzie’s belly. I spent hours painting that magnetic chalk board wall (Pro Tip Based On Hours of Painting: Skip the magnetic part and just do the chalkboard part, as the magnetic paint is very gloppy/messy and doesn’t work very well anyway.) I had big dreams of a cozy reading corner where the current pile of “Stuff We’re Not Sure About” resides. I loved bird and squirrel watching from my window and being steps from our magnificent deck. But the tradeoff–security and home and comfort for my family–is so worth it. I will create a new cozy space upstairs in my bedroom. I will paint it the color of my budgie Ozzie’s belly. Maybe chalkboard paint will happen somewhere there, too. I will have fun with it. We will open our home and our hearts to our family, and I will do the work I was born to do wherever and whenever I can.