If creativity is a ball game, am I playing the wrong one?

10^th May, 2025
The Lungomare, Chiaia, Naples

24 hours before my holiday ends, I am itching to get back to my life of making and doing.

Naples is loud, exciting, busy, delicious, rammed full of people, effervescent with traffic. It’s intense, colourful, gritty, a blast. I’ve had a great time experiencing it.

It’s just…I love my life, my home, my quiet garden. My colourful attic studio where I make music and videos. My friendly neighbourhood on the edge of the city. I love my dream job and how I get to spend my days.

Two years ago today I was miserable in Bristol, raw nerves assaulted by a daily soundtrack of a dual carriageway and noisy neighbours, fading away in a dark house that sapped my spirit. Unable to think, unable to be creative, unable to write the album I knew I wanted – and needed – to write.

Everything in my life has changed for the better since then.

This is a strange moment, though. I know I want to get back, but I don’t have a clear picture of what I’ll do when I get there. My new album came out three weeks ago. The fanfare immediately died down.

What do I do now?

I sit at the long, dark dining table, sun filtering through the soft curtains, coffee close at hand. I am perplexed.

What more do I have to give?

It’s not enough to spend years writing, producing and releasing an album: I have to find ways to continually introduce the music to new people while creating fun experiences for my existing audience.

It’s not enough to create a long form video for YouTube: I have to cut clips out and remove the left and right hand side of the frame to entertain people on different platforms.

It’s not enough to write a blog post: I have to cut out the highlights to share in Notes / tweets / threads to give my piece the best chance of being read by people who already follow me.

I’ve written before about “have to” versus “get to”. Replace “have to” with “get to” for an immediate bump of enthusiasm for the thing you’re privileged to “get to” do, while also knowing that, to have any chance to paying for recording and manufacturing costs, you really do “have to”…

If I don’t do these things, I have to accept that my success will always be limited by my efforts, or lack of efforts. To flip the name of this blog: if I do nothing, nothing will happen.

It’s frustrating to expend so much energy on something and then so quickly feel like the tennis ball I’ve thrust so hopefully out into the universe has not fallen onto tarmac, but morphed into a small beanbag and got stuck in a sandpit.

It didn’t even bounce once.

I used to get excited right before an album release, thinking about all the fun ways it could change my life. This time next year I could be booked for festivals! Maybe a brilliant independent label will want to release the next album! I could have money in the bank! Other artists might want me to sing/play/produce their songs! A sync agent could track me down and give me incredible opportunities!

I don’t entertain those thoughts any more, and maybe that’s a bit sad, but it’s not because I’m jaded or bitter. I just know, seven albums in, that gradual, sustainable growth is better for my career and for my nervous system. The more times I do this bonkers thing the more I see it’s about keeping going, not about having a big win that supposedly changes everything.

I don’t want to change everything. I love my life, my relationship, my home, the ways I get to spend my days. It took a long time to get here. I built this myself, over many years.

However, I truly believe “House Of Stories” is my best, most heartfelt and accomplished album yet. I feel so much responsibility to try and get that bloody ball to bounce that it can only be my fault when it doesn’t.

It’s overwhelming, and the second-guessing stops me in my tracks. I can’t be the only one who wants to try, who wants to plan their way out of this feeling, but ends up doing nothing instead. I am paralysed by indecision, and I hate it.

I ponder the whole ridiculous enterprise. Is everything online just there to advertise something else? Are we all just making more and more things, then cutting smaller things out of the big things so we can point fingers at our other things, at ourselves? Am I just a big pointing finger pointing indirectly at my album? Am I supposed to be wearing a sandwich board at all times?

No thanks.

This is not about algorithms or supposed shadow bans. I’m fully sold on the potentially infinite rewards of the internet, not just because I have made my full time living from it for the past six years but because I got my first email address in 1997, started blogging in 2004, joined Twitter and YouTube in 2007 and have never stopped seeing The Internet as an exciting new frontier. A Superhighway, if you will.

And so I do blame myself when nothing much happens after a full year of posting 1-2 videos per week on YouTube. I must have done it wrong.

I can see the huge potential of TikTok for music discovery, but can’t figure out what captions to put at the start of my clips, so I post them anyway and nothing happens. I must have done that wrong too.

How can I get it right? How can I get this fucking ball to bounce?

At lunch with some experienced music industry folk in Naples, the topic turns to TikTok. I am asked whether I feel pressure to make videos for TikTok, whether I feel like I can’t keep up. I talk about how excited I am to have access to these tools and all the others. I’ve always felt that way. That doesn’t mean I have the time to do all the things I want, but I believe in what I make and I believe there are ways to get those things to people in a way that works for both parties. I don’t known what they are, but I know I want to keep trying.

I just don’t know what to do next. Since “House Of Stories” came out I have become the beanbag stuck in the sandpit.

10th June
Penfriend Ink, Nottingham, UK

Back home, I make lists of the same old things and find myself unable to do anything about ticking those boxes. I create a new ideal weekly schedule: time out aside each day for sharing my existing work and making new things.

I ignore that too.

Life happens. My Gran dies in her sleep aged 95, six days after my last visit.

I become obsessed with tasks that have a clear visual start and end. I clear up my overgrown garden. I attach the willow screening I bought an entire year ago to the broken fence. I disassemble piles of things in every room, order nine Kallax units of various configurations to finally give me the storage I need across two workspaces and the spare (merch) room. I finally find a space for my teen cassette collection.

Is this burnout, bereavement or both?

Finally, I feel ready to think about music again. Renewing my workspace has brought new energy. It finally feels like the right time to delve into the nerdy world of synthesis, to make the very most of the strange, beautiful instruments I started collecting during the pandemic. I’m ready to experiment again. I’m ready to start looking ahead.

Maybe I’ve just been trying to play the wrong ball game. Maybe, instead of bouncing a tennis ball away from me, hoping it will gather momentum, I just need to keep the ball in the air.

Andy J Pizza’s excellent podcast “Creative Pep Talk” has been a constant guide and friendly companion since I discovered it in 2019, and in a recent episode Andy addressed exactly this issue:

“It’s easy to play the game of being creative like it’s something to win, but in my experience that will only get you so far. Creativity is less like a game to win, and much more like a game of “Keepy Uppy”.

This game can be played alone or with friends, and the point is to keep a balloon from touching the ground, by gently hitting it up into the air.

Unlike most games, the point of Keepy Uppy isn’t to win, the point of the game is to keep playing. The point is to play in such a way, that you keep the game going for as long as possible.”

Thank you, Andy. So wise, always.

This week’s attempt to keep the ball in the air looks like this:

What ball/s are you trying to keep in the air? See you in the comments.

Love,
Laura xxx

Thank you for visiting!

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See you soon xo

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Five and a half years later…I’m not “back”

by Laura Kidd Essays Letterbox Live performances Mindfulness Music News Process

Last Saturday 31^st May I played my songs on a stage in front of people for the first time in 5.5 years – and it didn’t feel like I thought it would.

Between 2005 and 2019 I played around 600 shows as a solo artist, usually completely alone but occasionally with a backing band. Sometimes supporting artists you’ve heard of, often putting on my own nights and championing bands I liked.

Before and alongside that I toured the world as a hired bassist and vocalist for artists including Tricky, Viv Albertine, Lil’ Chris, The Penelopes and Alex Parks. I went on Top Of The Pops with A-Ha. I toured Italian piazzas with Duncan James from Blue.

I have played a LOT of gigs in my life: some amazing, uplifting, life-affirming; some upsettingly bad, why-on-earth-am-I-doing-this-to-myself affairs. At the end of 2019 I wanted to stop. I needed to stop.

When you can’t find the joy in the thing you thought you wanted to do more than anything in the world, it’s time to take a big step back.

Oh hi, burnout!

Touring used to be a huge part of my identity. From 2005 onwards I loved being on the road. I hated routine, I’d routinely say, and loved being somewhere different every day. I loved the unique communities that gelled together for one night only, I loved sharing my music with people and occasionally hearing them singing along.

I loved the heroism of playing to a cold room of another band’s fans, winning them over usually by around song three of my set. Some rooms were colder than others, but I always got at least a handful of people interested, sometimes a lot more, and the feeling I got when that wave turned was addictive.

When I was hired to play for other artists, I loved supporting their vision by contributing to the sound of the band on stage. I loved being paid for my musical skills, and calling music my job.

I loved ticking off every single country on my “list of countries I’d like to visit one day” without having to pay for a single flight myself, and I loved the surprised respect I garnered from people when they heard who I was playing for, or saw me pop up on TV.

I remember watching as other musicians I knew gave up life on the road. One by one they chose a steady job, getting married, having children. I knew I didn’t want the latter, and didn’t expect I’d ever have the option of the other two.

I didn’t understand why someone would choose to turn their back on what they loved.

I couldn’t comprehend that they might have fallen out of love with it.

I didn’t think I ever could.

2019 did it. A grind of support slots with largely disinterested audiences. Saying yes to things that made no sense (£50 slots 4 hours drive from home, no potential audience crossover). Unfriendly slash downright rude headline bands. An entirely avoidable driving incident that cost me more than I made on the entire tour.

I needed a rest. I had already decided my first solo project She Makes War had to end, so I started to wind everything down. One last solo headline show. One last band headline show (sold out!). One last tour with my friend Robin Ince: a truly life-affirming, lovely experience.

And then we had a worldwide pandemic.

My new Penfriend project was scheduled to launch on 1^st May 2020, featuring a host of online and remote physical elements: my Correspondent’s Club membership, quarterly music and zine bundles, regular blog posts, regular livestreams, a podcast series and a new YouTube channel. I hadn’t started thinking about gigs or tours. I didn’t want to.

When it became clear it wasn’t safe to perform live, I chucked the idea of it away entirely. I didn’t miss it. My identity shifted away from fearless road warrior with chaotic home life towards thoughtful creative practitioner, building routines that nourished my work and allowed me to give so much more to my community than random support slots could.

In March 2021 I made internet waves one Monday evening with a video about why I wouldn’t be touring that year either. I made it to encourage others to really think about the consequences of their actions, and the majority of people commenting thanked me for saying what they’d been thinking.

I thought gathering people in a small room was reckless. I couldn’t stomach the idea of being the reason people got ill. I didn’t want 150 people breathing in my direction for a minute, let alone the entirety of my set. I knew there were other ways I could continue to show up for my music-and-community-starved audience, so I kept doing that.

And then the years rolled by, as they do, and I kept making and sharing albums. Without the distraction, exhaustion and expense of gigging and touring, I was able to make more things to last: more music, more videos, more connections with people all around the world.

I kept playing livestreams when they went out of vogue (having started playing them in 2014, way before they were in vogue), commuting up to my attic in my slippers to say hi to people across the globe, sharing music, time and space.

As musicians, we’re supposed to want to do certain things, and we’re supposed to go along with things that don’t entirely make sense because they’re supposedly good for our careers, or are the logical next step towards what we’re supposed to want to achieve.

If we don’t do these things, there are people waiting online to enthusiastically badger us about doing them.

“When’s the tour?”

“Get on tour”

“Can’t wait to see this live!”

These are all compliments, I know that. I am fortunate to have people requesting my presence on stage. Thank you for the compliment.

But I will continue to push back against the idea that creating music from thin air, crafting it into songs and soundscapes and finding fun ways to share them in beautiful physical formats isn’t enough without a live performance of those songs on exactly the right night, in the right location, at the right price for those demanding a gig.

After “One In A Thousand” came out in 2023, whenever someone asked me why I wasn’t touring now the worst of the pandemic was over, my go-to answer was “because I can’t afford it”.

This was, unfortunately, true. More importantly, I didn’t want to. And I kept not wanting to right up until the moment in early 2025 that I annoyed myself so much with the “touring is too expensive” mantra that I decided to do one local show the day before my 44^th birthday.

When I started performing my own music live in 2005 I vowed to keep things sustainable: that’s why I played so many shows completely solo. No additional musicians, no crew, just me. I loved being self sufficient. For years I revelled in fitting a little guitar amp, pedals and a megaphone in one rolling suitcase and stuffing my merch in another, arriving at venues to comments like “are you going on holiday?” then doing a Mary Poppins and pulling weird item after weird item out of my bag at soundcheck.

In early 2025, on the cusp of releasing my third album in my new Penfriend era, it started to seem ridiculous and a little churlish to keep refusing to share my songs in a room with people who wanted to enjoy them.

I decided that if I couldn’t sell enough tickets to a local show to cover costs and pay myself and anyone else involved, I would know it was the end for me and venue gigs. If people didn’t want the tickets I was selling, I would take the hint. No hard feelings. Let the fans decide.

The fans decided.

Due to my garbage streaming numbers, no promoter wanted to take a risk on me. They refused to take my chart positions or my 10K mailing list into account. So just like the good old days I hired the venue myself – thank you, Rough Trade Nottingham!

The gig sold out in about a week – thank you, music fans!

I sold all but 10 of the tickets through my email list and online shop, so no marketing budget was needed – thank you, email list!

My husband ticked everyone off as they came through the door and handed them an envelope full of goodies: a signed souvenir ticket, stickers and a flyer – thank you, Tim!

To ward off the solo artist blues of yore I hired my friend Carol Hodge to accompany me on keys and vocals for most of my set, and she also supported me with her own gorgeous music and played a stunner as usual – thank you, Carol!

All that remained was to play the show.

My main concern was that nerves would overtake me at the crucial moment, ruining my weeks of prep and rehearsal, making me look a fool in front of 150 fans of my music, disappointing them, myself and everyone in the vicinity.

Oh hi, imposter syndrome!

I had a big think about it. I decided my main job on the day was to stay as calm and present as possible. I was to go into gig day with no expectations of greatness or abject rubbishness. I would be a worthy human standing amongst other worthy humans, exchanging energy. That would be enough. (Though I still wanted to be able to play my songs well.)

I did it. I played well. I exchanged energy. I stayed present. When the generous applause came my way, I didn’t turn away or crouch down to fiddle with a guitar pedal like I used to. I stood in quiet gratitude, accepting the audience’s thanks.

It didn’t feel like I thought it would. I didn’t get an adrenaline rush. I didn’t feel nervous on stage. It felt comfortable. It felt good.

I couldn’t have asked for a more attentive, open-hearted audience. When they started singing along at the end of my first song “Scared To Capsize” (a SMW set-closing classic), I knew we were embarking on something special together. The singing along didn’t stop for the rest of my set. They laughed, they applauded, they played along with all of it. I felt held, supported, encouraged and loved. Thank you so much.

And afterwards? A quiet satisfaction. A glow. A midnight burger because we didn’t have chance to eat dinner before the show (some things never change). No plans for bigger better more more MORE. Just gratitude.

Saturday night was a big moment, but all the things I’ve created since I stopped touring in 2019 have more than filled any potential void. Perhaps playing venue gigs will become something I do a few times a year. Perhaps one of my musical heroes will invite me out on tour with them. I’m more open to it after last week’s gig, but where in my former life as She Makes War I jumped at every opportunity (often living to regret my haste), Penfriend is far more discerning.

Some people have commented that it’s great to see I’m “back”. I’m not “back” – I never went away.

I have four more self-promoted Penfriend shows this year, and no live plans whatsoever yet for 2026.

Get your tickets and exclusive tour tee direct from me here.
Support at all shows is from the fabulous Carol Hodge.

Wednesday 17th September
MANCHESTER – The Lodge @ Deaf Institute

Thursday 18th September
BRISTOL – Rough Trade

Wednesday 24th September
LONDON – The Grace (formerly Upstairs at The Garage)

Thursday 25th September
BIRMINGHAM – Hare & Hounds

Love,
Laura xxx

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What Do I Do Now? (I thought I had it sorted)

by Laura Kidd Creativity Letterbox Mindfulness Process

On Friday 25^th April 2025 my seventh solo album “House Of Stories” reached #2 in the Official UK Independent Albums Chart.

I recorded and released the album from my attic home studio The Launchpad in Nottingham through emails, social media posts and Facebook ads. No manager/label/press/radio.

This sort of thing shouldn’t really be possible. Music fans are absolutely amazing.

The next day I walked out of an art workshop in floods of tears and stood by a lake watching a Eurasian Coot dive for treasure to make a nest with. The plucky little bird dove and dove, bringing up all sorts of interesting bits and bobs clasped in its beak. A slice of slippery algae, bright green; a thin branch three times its width; a clot of unidentified mush dripping with water. Sure in its choices, the bird added each new piece of treasure to a floating mass, then swam away in a big circle, returning to dive – collect – add, dive – collect – add.

I was fully aware of the metaphor at the time, but it didn’t get me back inside the building.

I wasn’t ready to dive back into my memories to create a map for an art workshop, however engaging and fun the facilitator was (and she was), and however supportive the environment was (and it was). The well was empty of stories; I had only tears to give.

I didn’t want to make a scene, so I left quietly to cry it out, calm down and return to class. But I couldn’t calm down, and I couldn’t return.

Younger Me would have been horribly embarrassed; Current Day Me knows when she’s in the wrong place and gets out as fast as possible, as politely as possible. Current Day Me does not hide the tears. Current Day Me cannot hide the tears.

The Sleeper song “What Do I Do Now?” popped into my head when I started thinking about writing this, even though only the title is relevant. It’s a brilliant song, much loved to this day by me, but I’m lucky that being stuck in a bad or confusing relationship is not my current experience.

Gratitude is a helpful emotion to centre at times like these.

My current experience is a mix of emotions. I’m not trying too hard to figure it out; it feels smarter to just let the feelings wash over and through me while trying to get back into good healthy habits and making semi-sensible plans for future creativity.

I don’t know if there are any songs about this particular feeling of post-big-project comedown, because whenever I’m in one I’m not really up for writing a song about it and, later on, in reflective songwriting mood, I can already project that I will find the topic far too mundane / indulgent / entitled to reference.

After the Big Chart News I had some dinner at home and went to bed. I had been sleeping terribly in the weeks leading up to the album release, which is very unusual for me, and that may have influenced what happened with the art workshop and the incessant crying.

I felt much better when the requirement to suddenly create something new was removed. Tim took me home and we sat on the sofa together. The following week we went on holiday to Naples, and had our minds blown by the busy, colourful, gritty city.

Now I’m back, somewhat rested, and I have to keep going. Because that’s the goal.

I make music and share it so I can keep making music. I make videos and I write to share my experiences as part of my creative practice, which is what drives me to continue making music.

It’s weird how you can focus so intensely on something for so long – in this case a full year, pretty much – and then it feels so suddenly over and done with. The album only came out four weeks ago, and it did really, amazingly well, but now it feels like there’s zero interest in the new songs, everyone’s moved on to something else, and I have to quickly summon up new things to share.

Of course I don’t have to do anything¹ – but as an artist I get to do whatever I feel like doing. And that’s a gift, and I am grateful.

I last wrote a new song last July – “Space, Man”. I don’t want to let it be a full year til I write another one. So, I won’t!

It’s time to don the lab coat again for musical experiments. And this is where you will hear them first.

And if you haven’t heard “House Of Stories” yet, I made this nerdy microsite to introduce it to you.

Thank you for reading.

Love,
Laura xxx

I mean, I do – this dream job is my only job, and I have to continually figure out how to keep making ends meet, and that’s not always a given – but in this context I mean no-one is forcing me to make songs or market them and it’s a great privilege to get to do so x ↩︎

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Vibrating at a higher frequency…or just dreaming big?

by Laura Kidd Essays House Of Stories Letterbox Mindfulness Process

Before yesterday I’d never heard of Doechii.

Her Grammy acceptance speech showed up in my feed, so I looked her up. I read she’d risen to prominence after creating YouTube vlogs during the pandemic, so I went to her channel and tried to find her earliest video. My internet was being weird and just showed me this one.

She talks into her laptop, eating crisps, saying she’s just been fired from her job and she doesn’t care. She says she’s going to try and get an internship at a record label.

It’s not an interesting video on its own. She gives no context and no details. There’s no resolution, no takeaway. If you don’t know her, and you’re in an impatient mood, you’d likely shrug and say “and…?”

But that’s not the point – she wasn’t trying to “do” YouTube, she was documenting a real moment in her life, in real-time.

Five years on, Doechii has won a Grammy for best rap album, plus two MTV Video Music Awards, a BET Award, two Soul Train Music Awards and the Rising Star Award from Billboard Women in Music.

Five hours on from watching her video, I’d seen it pop up another 10 times around the internet.

Weird.

Two nights ago, I started reading “Manifest” by Roxie Nafousi, a cheerful orange hardback that’s been sitting on my To Read pile for a year. For whatever reason, it felt like the right moment to start making some changes. I read about the science of it, the quantum physics theory that we attract the energy we put out into the world. We have control over that – we can choose to vibrate at a higher frequency, to attract higher frequency things. We decide what we want to do, we put the work in, we vibrate.

Interesting.

Last night I dipped into my blog archives to try and find something well-written and timeless to share with you today¹. At random I picked out a piece I wrote in 2020.

Inspired by a podcast chat I’d had with comedian Bec Hill², I wrote about the need to zoom out from your current busy day-to-day work life to set goals beyond the old-you dream you’re currently maintaining.

A few months after our conversation was published, Bec was announced as the host of a new kids’ TV crafting show. It didn’t happen to her out of the blue – this is something she had decided she wanted, and had aimed her efforts towards. She was absolutely perfect for it, and did a great job.

Did I pick that blog post out because I’d already started vibrating at a higher frequency? (I didn’t see the date til I’d re-read the whole thing.)

Is that also why I suddenly heard about Doechii and found that particular video of hers from 5 years ago? (I don’t usually read up on the latest music news.)

Five years is a good block of time to measure things by.

In five years, Doechii went from being fired from a job she didn’t care about to winning a Grammy. (I look forward to learning more about that journey.)

Five years ago, I had recently ended my solo music project of 15 years to launch a new one, Penfriend, in May 2020. I was living in Bristol, recording music by myself in a colourful attic room. A pandemic was right around the corner. I’d started running twice a week, and was making my third and final bid to complete the famous Julia Cameron book “The Artist’s Way” (I did it!). I’d made a list of ways I wanted to change my life in this fresh new decade, and I was taking positive steps every day.

In February 2025, I’m working out of a different colourful attic studio in Nottingham. I’m still doing my thing, maintaining my 5-years-ago-me dream. And what a gift! It’s still one of my current-me dreams, but I know that I’ve put any future-me dreams on hold to keep the wheels turning.

It’s time to start making some new plans. It’s time to dream big again.

When violent, racist narcissists are causing chaos on the world stage, hurting people every day with their actions, it feels ridiculous to write about manifesting. When genocide is ignored, when our bodily autonomy is in the hands of powerful men, when trans rights are being erased, when tech bros have WAY too much influence and N*zi salutes go unpunished, it can feel redundant to focus on my own supposed day-to-day problems, let alone my future plans and dreams. What do I matter in all of this?

I’ll never forget a post I saw a few years ago that read: “It’s not manifesting: it’s white privilege”.

I’ll carry that reminder with me. It’s important to check ourselves.

But I’m still going to dream big, because I exist too, and I can be more helpful to everyone when I’m vibrating at a higher frequency.

I’m thankful for the life I manifested through my previous actions, thankful for those who make this possible by supporting independent music, and thankful to inspirational figures like Doechii, Roxie and Bec for reminding me that the future is full of possibility.

Where were you 5 years ago?
Where do you want to be 5 years from now?

Let’s dream big together. Let’s take care of each other.

Have a wonderful week.

Love,
Laura xxx

Check out Doechii’s work here, Roxie Nafousi’s work here and Bec Hill’s work here.

I failed. I found two fatal flaws with my idea of sharing that older piece with you:

1) It contains a paragraph about a recently disgraced author which is central to the point I’m making, and he can absolutely do one.

2) I’d somehow confused the words “infinite” and “infinitesimal”, which are basically opposites, and the sting of embarrassment is too fresh in my mind to consider reposting it.

Oh, the shame.
↩︎
Listen to my conversation with Bec here. ↩︎

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Indecision: an elaborate and time-consuming way of achieving absolutely nothing

by Laura Kidd Creativity House Of Stories Letterbox Mindfulness

15 months after setting up my Substack and deciding to get back to my writing roots, I’m still twisting myself into knots about what to write about what and where to put it.

What an elaborate and time-consuming way of achieving absolutely nothing.

The latest obstacle I’m putting in my own way is this idea of having to have three things finished before publishing anything. I watched a video about this recently, and it made total sense at the time.

It’s a great idea – if you’re a few pieces ahead you can detach from the immediate impact on “the world” of what you just published. Numbers schmumbers. You can concentrate on the next thing you’re working on, and focus on building a library of writing, or videos, or whatever you’re sharing.

I love this. I agree wholeheartedly that the work is the thing to concentrate on. Lead indicators (what you put in) over lag indicators (results) every time (spot the “12 Week year” fan!).

But at the moment – recently recovered from a nasty bout of burnout coupled with a Christmas-consuming cold, depleted from recording my latest album of sad songs and, to be honest, a little daunted about releasing it in April – finishing one new thing and publishing it feels like an insurmountable task, let alone waiting til I’ve finished three.

I’ve been writing on the internet for a full 20 years now, but starting from scratch on Substack – and on my deliciously secret new YouTube channel – is incredibly freeing. I feel like I’m lifting the lid off a box I made for myself that grew tighter as the years went on.

I’ve been through this before, deciding to end a music project I’d been working on for 15+ years to start fresh in 2020. This time it’s not an ending, but an expansion. A sideways, onwards and upwards move.

A simple shift in thinking about how and where I share what I make has got me excited about making things again.

And it turns out I don’t want to wait til I have three finished things before I start sharing.

Here I am.

This is the start of something. My attempt to do my best as an imperfect human to create a sustainable practice of writing essays and making videos, while continuing to make music I’m proud of.

I’m absolutely sick of waiting for the right moment to do things. I’m tired of annoying myself with my lack of ability to complete things, throw them out there and move on.

The release of any creative work is a release of tension which creates forward motion. As long as the time is set aside to continue to build the practise of making the next thing, I’ll gradually get three pieces ahead and enjoy this glorious detachment. Or I won’t, and it’ll be a scramble, and that’s also fine.

A joyful, messy creative scramble is a fine life to live, and I’m grateful to live it. Staying quiet, writing thousands of words and keeping them locked inside my laptop is no fun at all.

I’ve been releasing music for 15 years without any set schedule of consistency, and everything has worked out just fine. My eighth album is due out in April, and as I figure out the words to describe it, I’ll share those here as well.

I’m all for creating systems, putting the work in and showing up on a regular basis, but I’d rather do it haphazardly than not at all.

Having said that, I’ll (try to) see you here next Thursday for more.

Have a wonderful week.

Laura x

PS the image up top is a photo of an index card I decorated yesterday – another way I’m unblocking my creativity in 2025. More on this experiment soon.

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Why I stopped making videos…

by Laura Kidd Letterbox Mindfulness Process

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What’s the worst that could happen?!

by Laura Kidd Letterbox Mindfulness Process

A brief explanation of why I haven’t been posting videos via some thoughts on sustainable creative practices and getting over ourselves to be able to do the things we enjoy, beaming to you from the northernmost German island, Sylt!

Thumbnail fire image by ArthurHidden on Freepik

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Mending the year (livestream invitation)

by Laura Kidd Letterbox Mindfulness

It’s that time of year again… and I’ll admit I find it challenging, especially this year with a very fresh, very sad family loss.

At my last livestream I said I’d set something up for the end of December, and this is as much to give me something to aim for as it is to welcome you if you’re in need of some hopeful sad songs, friendly chat and community.

Date: Friday 29th December 2023
Time: 8pm UK (turn up and chat from 7.45pm)
Entry: FREE to all, just make sure you subscribe to join the chat
Watch link: https://www.youtube.com/live/zM5tNEDElFY?si=Yo_P2_BQcnNlJIw-

The concept of being able to “mend the year” (a lyric from my 2016 song “Paper Thin”) is something I picked up from Siegfried Sassoon’s 1916 anti-war poem “In The Pink”.

“For once his blood ran warm; he had pay to spend. Winter was passing; soon the year would mend.”

I try not to wish my precious moments away, but have often found myself in late November / early December wanting to skip to the end and launch fresh into the New Year. There’s something about turning the proverbial page that appeals so much to me, as arbitrary as the shift from 31st December to 1st January may be.

“Paper Thin” is a song about picking myself up after one of my worst years – 2014. Bereavements, breakups, illnesses…it was one of those years where you can’t believe yet another rubbish thing has happened, and you wonder how much more you can take. And then another rubbish thing happens.

“I’m in the wars – I blame the bad weather
A flood of tears, I drift without a shelter
Reduce my world to things that I have worked for
I lick my wounds and wonder if I can mend the year”

In the song I didn’t want to leave things to nature, as Sassoon’s poem does – how sure does he sound? “Soon the year would mend” – because I like to think I’ve got control over things (haha). Instead, I list the things I know will help me:

“I heal myself with friends and conversation
Some time alone, a sober celebration.”

It’s helpful, when I find myself thrust back into those feelings of loss, grief and sadness, to remember these lyrics come from experience. And that the feelings aren’t insignificant, but they do shift and change and feel less BIG with time.

All of which is to say: if you’re feeling less than jolly with Christmas round the corner, I get it. You’re not alone. It helps me to know that I’m not, so thanks for being here.

Jolly or not, you’re welcome at the livestream next Friday. Bring yourself, a tasty drink and a snack and any questions/comments for the live chat (you’re also welcome to stay quiet and just watch).

Warmest wishes and lots of love
Laura xxx

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I can’t do this any more // Tea & Empathy Episode 004

by Laura Kidd Creativity Letterbox Mindfulness Process

Have you ever wondered what happens when you click “BUY” on an indie artist’s products?

In Tea & Empathy Episode 004, join me as I package up orders from my House Clearance music and merch sale prior to leaving Bristol FOREVER. I talk about upcoming changes, gratitude and more.

Starring Lunapup and Albydog.

Watch more episodes of “Tea & Empathy” here xo