Read to Write: Classic Style by Kate Schelter

On my birthday, some friends and I walked through a small, but lively Art Fair hosted by the lovely neighborhood haunt, York. Handmade cards, prints, and jewelry were among some of the local offerings, and I was equally inspired by the artists’ work as I was with the fact that they’d created anything at all during the pandemic.

This is not the first time Mr. York has hosted artists in (or in this case, outside) his store. One December a few years ago, a small business set up shop in the back part of the then, Morgan and York. Walking in the cafe almost daily for my afternoon cup of coffee, I was usually distracted by the curated, unique household items for sale.

One of these items was a book Jesse gave me for my birthday that year. Classic Style: Hand It Down, Dress It Up, Wear It Out, written and illustrated by Kate Schelter might be the most important book I own on having the courage to keep writing, and the confidence to cobble together a career where my creativity is the focus. Yes, it is a lifestyle and fashion book, but it is jam-packed with wisdom I use to create the path I want to walk on. Kate’s book has a permanent spot on my writing shelf, and on my nightstand when I (often) need a pep talk. I’ve underlined advice I want to apply to my life on almost every page.

For example, on a page opposite thick watercolored skater shoelaces, is this line: “You must fight for beauty, your beauty, your vision. Beauty can be imperfect and something magnificently “off” to be discovered and interpreted.” The words, “magnificently off” sting, especially as I personally apply them to my life as a teacher, but paired with “beauty,” “discovered,” and “interpreted,” I feel a subtle hope. I believe I am beginning to find the bravery to sit with what is “magnificently off” and think about what sort of beauty can be discovered and interpreted from there.

“Sometimes you need an abrupt disruption to re-energize your creativity,” Kate writes. One of those moments for her was becoming a mother. “I reinvented my world, and myself.”

I also experienced this jolt of creativity after becoming a mother. Here, the word “disrupt” is positive, and exciting. From the second I held Hadley, stories were everywhere. I wasn’t sure how to be a mother, or a writer, but being unsure didn’t seem to concern me at all.

However, disruptions can be uncomfortable and scary. I think particularly of the year we moved to Ann Arbor. That first week we lived here, the girls and I made our way to each of the libraries around town in order to get our bearings. One afternoon, we explored the downtown branch, and I learned I could check out a sewing machine. This was a discovery that brought me all kinds of delight. Walking back to the car that day, bags filled with books, I thought, “What if I didn’t teach this year? What if I did something else?” I thought about spending the mornings writing, reading at lunch, and then in the afternoons, teaching myself how to sew.

That same afternoon, I got a phone call to interview for a 6th grade Language Arts position, and I left for the interview the following day. I was offered the job before I returned home. I accepted three days later.

My dream was a disruption – as dreams usually are – and I chose not to listen. As awful and scary as it was, I am grateful that the disruption didn’t go away, and instead, grew bigger until one evening Jesse suggested that maybe it was time to let teaching go.

The next day, my editor in her gentle, but no nonsense way told me that I could still write, but I needed to put a pause on the book I was contracted to write. “You don’t sound like yourself,” she told me.

I resigned from teaching shortly thereafter. One morning a few weeks after leaving, Harper said, “Mommy, you’re smiling,” an observation that startled me, but also made me wonder if I was coming back to myself. A few months later, I sat in York and hit “send” on a piece that felt shaky and strong at the same time. My editor replied, “Callie’s back.”

It wasn’t a deliberate reinvention, but from the disruption came growth. And no, I haven’t learned how to sew, but I am learning not to quiet that voice that likes to wonder what can be gained and created from a disruption.

Perhaps my favorite line from the book comes from a paragraph about editing. We writers know the clenched teeth, the stomachaches, and the tears that can come from being edited. A home edit, a diet edit, a clothing or lifestyle edit isn’t much different. Any time we are working with something that matters to us, these edits are personal. Kate shares this advice: “Don’t lose yourself in an edit; leave room for joy.”

What if we searched for joy during these transitions and challenges? I’m not suggesting we ignore the pain and sorrow from having to let go of or change something, but what if we allow for these edits in our work and our lives to happen because we have faith that something new is being created?

Like Kate’s book, I am inspired and encouraged every time I visit York. It is a hub of creativity and inspiration, and I learn something every time I visit. These days, everything – church, school, sports – seems to be stripped down to its essentials and we are all arguing about how to move forward instead of lamenting that so much is broken. Walking through the gravel alley turned courtyard on my birthday afternoon, I began to wonder if it’s the artists who will show us not just how, but that it is necessary to create in a broken world. That might be the most classic style lesson of all.

Have a piece of writing you’d like eyes on? I now offer Manuscript and Essay Critiques for fiction and creative nonfiction. Details here.