A few years ago, while living in the immediate aftermath of a cancer diagnosis, I claimed a word that became my rock, my steady, my anchor. All the things you need when your world has been turned upside down. The word was hope. I gripped tightly to that word and held to it with all my might. I trusted in the promise its definition implies. I preached it. I shouted it from the valley and from the mountaintop. I wrote a book about it.

If you’re reading the above paragraph fearful that I’m about to write another one telling you I’ve abandoned that word along with all of the reasons I touted its praises, do not be afraid. I will not be writing that paragraph because I have not let go of hope. I have, however, been considering a rebranding of sorts. Not to leave hope behind, but to add to it. If hope was the ammunition I used to combat despair, then I guess you could say I’m considering adding to my arsenal. A more diverse supply of options to wage the war all creatives face.

I am certainly not the first to approach the life of a creative entrepreneur as a war. My favorite and most recommended book of all time is The War of Art, by Stephen Pressfield. No other book has better equipped me to get my act together creatively, and continue to put one foot in front of the other, marching toward the front line of whatever battle I am facing as a writer. If you haven’t read it, stop reading this blog and go get it right now. I’ll be here when you return.

One of my favorite things to do in life is encourage other creatives. I find great joy in watching others do their thing, and selfishly, it always inspires me to go do my thing in response. Much of the encouragement I am able to give is through writing, but I’ve also coached/mentored a whole lot of artists through the years, either through workshops, camps, classes, or private clients. It is always a privilege and I don’t approach those situations lightly. If someone is entrusting me with the opportunity to weigh in as they chase their dream, I am paying attention, big time.

Over the years, I’ve worked closely with a variety of people in pursuit of a variety of creative projects. At some point, usually when we’ve completed our time together, I typically ask for feedback regarding our working relationship. What I’ve found interesting is how the response offered most has been the appreciation for my honesty regarding their situation and my vulnerability in sharing my experiences that relate to theirs. This leads me to think most people don’t want to simply be told how to do something better, or be given a three-step process for how to reach a particular goal. No, I think what they really want is for someone to remind them they aren’t alone in their pursuit of something amazing. They want to hear stories of when someone else was chasing the same kind of dream, fell flat on their face, and then had to figure out how to get up again.

The ones who are serious about doing the work don’t just want you to tell them what it felt like to reach the top of the mountain. They genuinely want to know what it took to get there. The moments when you wanted to quit and didn’t. The storms that rolled in just as you were about to find a foothold, causing you to slip and slide helplessly back down to a place you thought you’d left behind. The kinds of conversations which seem to be most beneficial and result in actual progress for whoever I’m working with, are the ones where I haven’t sugar-coated what this creative life entails.

All of this leads me to the decision to take a new approach to my own creative journey in 2026 and to how I choose to share that with the world. Closing out one year and beginning a new one has always been a good time to make changes, but for me, this time of year will forever be linked to the day life changed on a dime. December 31st, 2025 will mark five years since I heard the words, “You have cancer.” Since that moment, there hasn’t been a day that hasn’t been impacted by my diagnosis. I’ve made it through what I hope is the worst of it, but continue to fight daily with medications and living with the physical aftermath of surgeries and treatments, not to mention regular occupational and physical therapies, bloodwork, and scans. There are many days that leave me weary and worried. Thankfully, there are more days when I am determined and purposeful. Days when I still believe in the value of doing my own creative work and encouraging others to do whatever creative work they feel called to do.

So, here’s what 2026 will look like for me. My regular posts (weekly on Mondays) will be found on my Substack, The Honest Creative. I will link these posts on my social media accounts (Instagram and Facebook) and will share them via email with my subscribers. Other than that, you likely won’t see much of me personally on social media next year, unless it is to promote some kind of creative work I want the world to know about - mine or someone else’s - or an occasional family update that seems social-media-appropriate, which is feeling rarer by the day.

I will also be releasing some content that will only be available to paid subscribers. Don’t panic - the monthly fee will only be $5. My reason for this is the ever-changing way in which artists are paid for their work. We creatives are trying to figure out how to continue doing what we feel called and compelled to do, while still paying the bills. I am a firm believer in artists getting paid for the work they do and personally find great joy in supporting the artistic work of writers whose works I regularly consume. There is absolutely no pressure to do so, but if you feel compelled to support the work I do on this platform and receive the “extras” I’ll make available only on Substack, feel free to upgrade to a paid subscription.

I hope you’ll continue on this journey with me. There are lessons to learn, opportunities to grow, battles to fight, and victories to celebrate. I’m choosing to share my life with you more vulnerably than ever before, in hopes that you will be inspired and equipped for your own creative pursuit. It might not always be pretty, but it will be purposeful; curated not for the sake of appearances, likes, or rewards, but for the sake of offering something a fellow traveler might find helpful on their own journey.
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Thanks for being here.
Gina