Rediscovering the Gift Economy

(Or) The Internet Before It Became a Capitalist Hellscape

The year is 1999.

Every morning I sit down at a computer that looks roughly like this:

And I engage with an Internet that is much different than our own. Rather than being served up content from various data mining corporate entities I am very intentional with how I spend my time.

  1. I doodle while listening to this insufferable sound as I waited for the Internet to load.

  2. Log into Wotmania and check the message boards. (Every single day.)

  3. Check my email - hosted through the local phone company. There were so few messages each one was actually exciting.

  4. Visit other websites by “surfing the web” either from website to website through hyperlinks or typing very specific and intentional search terms into search engines. When I found something I loved I would bookmark it to come back to.

  5. Join a virtual scavenger hunt called Cyber Surfari where search engine Lycos partnered with various collaborators to hide clues across websites for participants to find. It was sponsored by Discovery Channel, Hewlet Packard, and National Education Association. The time I spent participating in Cyber Surfari had an outsized impact on my ability to find what I’m looking for online.

4. When I did find what I wanted I often printed it out. One printout I still have in the attic is Lewis Carrol’s Eight or Nine Wise Words About Letter Writing. I also printed quotes and images (rarely because ink was expensive) for my actual cork board.

6. Log into NaNoWriMo message boards every day of October and November.

6. Save drafts of my novel on 3 1/2 floppy disks.*

The smallest of these 3 and the only floppy disk which wasn’t actually floppy. We used the larger kind when I was a kid. Source.


The Internet wasn’t “better” but it was more intentional.

Furthermore, what we’ve gained in image resolution and loading times we’ve lost in connection. Those early days of the Internet it felt like a playground of possibility. Websites weren’t easy to monetize yet.

Everything on the Internet was a labor of love.

Writing, images, even software was given freely.

No one was using click bait because the structures that favored clicks weren’t yet created. Websites were shared and linked to because users found them interesting or funny.

Over the last 6 months I’ve done a deep dive into the “early” Internet.

I took over 10,000 words of notes from various articles and books (which you can trawl here). I have more than enough to write a scholarly article. But now that I’m here I don’t really care to use them.

It’s not about pointing with forensic clarity at the moment the Internet “changed.”

(But I am wondering… when did we stop capitalizing it?)

There was no single moment of corruption. Over time capitalism did capitalism. Spaces became monetizable and websites with a lot of traffic began to monetize.

There are definitely benefits. Artists & makers & authors can find new audiences and patrons can support creators to keep doing what they love.

But there’s also * waves hands * the rest of the garbage that came with monetization. The algorithms, the data collection, the noise, the click bait, the paywalls, the walled gardens, the misinformation, and the rise of reactionary content.

Most of the time the Internet feels like this:

Broadsheet of Fire in Sky from 1560. Source.

But it didn’t always.


The early Internet was a gift economy.

Because there wasn’t a robust system of monetization the incentive you had to create online was to contribute to a growing gift economy.

There was a culture of creating to share with others - from flashing GIFs, to “seamless” tiled backgrounds, to fan message boards. Artists and coders made free wallpapers and screensavers and even free software called “freeware.” I was part of a “sig tag” group where members used fonts and clip art to make signatures you could attach to “sign” your email. We’d type in each member’s name (around 15-20) and email the image files for the group.

You gave your time and energy and others were generous in return. It wasn’t barter or trade. No one was keeping a tally of how much each person contributed. But there was an overwhelming spirit of generosity and reciprocity.

Over the last year I’ve reconnected to the Wheel of Time fandom.

Coming from the “creative entrepreneur” corner of the Internet it has been a complete culture shock (of the best kind.) And it reminds me of my early days online. It’s no coincidence that this fandom has been around since the early days of the Internet on forums like Theoryland and Dragonmount.

14 Blue Wheel of Time Books (image credit: Juniper Books)

The Wheel of Time fandom still functions in a gift economy.

For most of us it is not a job. It’s our passion. Among this fandom I have seen a depth of generosity that seems unfathomable.

A gift economy functions because when you feel the warmth of generosity you want to contribute. When you walk into a new space and are welcomed you turn and welcome the next person. When you see someone create a cool fanwork you want to join in.

I wrote a bit about this last August.

One year later, I’ve found clarity.

I cannot continue to pivot between these paradigms anymore.

It’s dizzying.

I want to engage in the Internet as a gift economy.

I have no interest in selling art, content, memberships, or courses. Every time I have charged for this kind of content it has felt like I am pulled off course. I’ll continue writing and selling books, but I have no intention to leave my day job and become a “full time” writer. That allows me to make what I want without focusing on creating content that “converts to sales.”

I don’t begrudge anyone who chooses a different path.

If you’re a full time artist be a full time artist. I love that for you. I support lots of creatives online and will continue to do so.

But if the capitalist framework isn’t sitting well for you there is another way.

Your art isn’t any less valuable if you gift it.

Is a handsewn quilt less valuable than a bedspread from Pottery Barn?

Of course not.

We need to stop letting the dominant culture brainwash us into undervaluing the gift exchange.

What if we treated the Internet as a communally tended garden?

Or a fermenting compost heap?


But how would that work?

To be fair, this is early 90’s, but I had to shoutout my show Ghostwriter.

Let’s Internet like it’s 1999

  1. Create from your passion. Forget everything you’ve been told about offering value, funneling customers, and capturing eyeballs. Be authentically you and I guarantee that will resonate with someone.

  2. Give freely. I’m not going to begrudge you a shop or a paywall, but if you want to Internet like it’s 1999 most of what you offer is going to be for free. When you give freely people will want to support you when they have the opportunity to do so. A lot of the people harping on about funnels actually built their careers over decades of working for free. But they can’t sell you a $$$ marketing course for that.

  3. Spend your time and energy engaging with, appreciating, and sharing work that other people make. You are not the main character of this story. It is about us all.


Time to walk the walk

I’m in the process of removing the paywall here on Substack.

This month I’ve unlocked another session of Camp Kindle. (Last month I unlocked the Wonder session.) I created both of these for adults, but I’ve heard families really love doing the activities together.

Vintage Photograph of Girl Scouts filling water bucket at camp. To my memory this was scanned from my personal collection and is archived here.

If you’d like to support my work you caN:

  • Leave a comment!

  • Share my work.

  • Pledge $3+ on Patreon or Substack.

  • Buy my book.


Let’s Discuss

To everyone: How can we create spaces of reciprocity and connection in an online world that wants us to see each other as a “target audience”? How do we reframe the value of our work outside of capitalism?

To creative business owners: How can we make our businesses less extractive? How might we contribute to a gift economy alongside work that we do charge for?

Cheers,

P.S. If you missed last month I’ve decided to remove the paywall and send snail mail to my paying supporters instead. You can read that here.

** Personally I experienced the crush of change online between 2013 and 2016 (which incidentally is the time we stopped capitalizing the Internet… maybe there is something there.)

*** To bring more intentionality into my own Internet experience I’m spending more time on RSS and less time on apps, using Ecosia instead of Google (the AI snippets are killing me), and burrowing into my cozy Discord groups.

Papaya Leaves

A hyper focus project

Sometimes I give the idea that I am “very organized” and have things “all planned out.”

Reader, I do not.

In fact, since becoming a parent I have very little structure and planning in my life at all. But what I do have is hyper focus. And I surf it like a wave whenever it comes for me.

Act 1

A neglected compost heap.

I had big plans for a garden this year. I made a calendar with what to plant each month.

There would be squash.

There would be pumpkins.

There was not squash or pumpkins.

We made it to radishes before my back pain flared up and the whole garden (including the compost heap) was ignored for roughly 8 months.

Act 2

Enter Papaya Stage Left.

September 27th

When I started paying attention again there was a giant papaya plant (tree… a baby tree y’all) and burgeoning cherry tomatoes taking over the compost heap.

I learned it was a papaya plant with this cool identify plant feature iPhones have now. I double checked on Google and surely enough it was a match. The leaves are massive, but if we lived in a tropical climate they would get even bigger.

I immediately fell in love and knew I had to make art with these.

I wanted to preserve as many as possible before the frost comes in and ruins all the lovely leaves.

(I live in Arkansas so it won’t survive winter, but I’m holding out the smallest hope it might regrow from the root next year.)

October 3rd

I tried to press leaves in the largest book I own, but the edges stuck and out and eventually crumpled up.

October 11th

I asked Nathan to cut some plywood to make a massive flower press.

October 12th

I layered cardboard and leaves between two plywood sheets and put two heavy boxes of tubs filled with notebooks (which we pulled out of the attic for another project.)

Hand for scale.

This is one of the biggest leaves so far.

Like I said, it’s trying to become a tree.

Act 3

Making it work.

I had 3 mediums in mind for the leaves:

  1. Press the leaves to make imprinted pottery over winter.

  2. Ink the leaves and make monoprints on paper.

  3. Print the leaves onto clothing with fabric paint.

I may get to monoprints, but I started with clothing using a bottle of fabric paint I had on hand.

Results were varied, but I learned a lot about the materials.

I started on a pillowcase and then moved to printing olive green overalls.

This isn’t a DIY post, but I did learn that the best way to apply paint was a large flat brush and that you have to work quickly and thickly (but not too thick) so the paint doesn’t dry before the transfer. It’s also not the most washable technique. It will continue distressing with each wash so I will likely wash as needed using the gentle cycle.

October 16th

I printed two pairs of overalls and the back of an olive green chore jacket.

I’m wearing the overalls with my Gary Graham tee which feels full circle.

I bought this white fabric paint in 2021 after seeing Gary Graham paint a dress on Making the Cut.

I knew I wanted to paint a pair of olive green overalls, but didn’t know what I wanted to paint. Sometimes the seed of inspiration takes a while to sprout, but it’s always worth the wait. 🌱

After printing these they reminded me of the S. S. Daley collection Dan Levy wore last autumn. I fell in love with these looks on first sight so it was probably an unconscious influence.

I remember seeing the trench coat first and thinking “I want that, but with leaves.” Then I found the second.

Photo Source: Dan Levy

Wearing: S. S. Daley Fall 2022 & DL Eyewear

The Value of Creative Joy 🥰

And rediscovering The Wheel of Time 🐉

Yellowed pages with a preteen’s attempt at italic calligraphy copying passages of prophecy and names from The Wheel of Time

Today I want to talk about creative joy.

Reconnecting to The Wheel of Time has reminded me what creativity felt like before it got all tangled up in career and profession and entrepreneurship.

For the last decade my creative energy has been focused outwards.

Everything I did became fodder for “content” on Instagram, YouTube, or (eventually) Substack.

I love documenting the process, but the frame of creative business definitely impacted the types of things I chose to make and spend my time on. This was particularly tangled up in “positioning” myself as a professional artist & author.

Certain parts of my identity got lost along the way. I’m in the process of untangling it all which I wrote about a few months ago: I'm not a brand. I'm a human. 🫀

What I didn’t share then is that rediscovering my humanity was largely tied up in a book series called The Wheel of Time.

14 Blue Wheel of Time Books (image credit: Juniper Books)

During my teenage years I had basically no friends my own age. What I did have was The Wheel of Time. I logged in to a fansite called Wotmania every morning and later on a fan fiction site called Silklatern. The interactions I had with other fans was the one place that I really “fit in”.

Navigating two degrees as an undiagnosed autistic took pretty much all of my social energy. During that time I completely lost touch with fandom and reading for fun. By the time I finished my postgraduate studies I’d pretty much forgotten what it felt like to get lost in a book.

Enter 2020. I had a one year old baby. The world was chaos. And I turned to… The Wheel of Time. I pulled the Eye of the World off my shelf and fell into a world of magic that I knew and loved. The characters were old friends and the story was comforting in its familiarity, but that wasn’t all.

Rereading the books awakened something in me.

A creative spark. It is no coincidence that these are the books I was reading when I starting writing my first book, Discover Your Creative Ecosystem.

The writing of Robert Jordan just has this effect on me. I love other authors and other books, but the Wheel of Time is etched into my bones.

Myself in a multi colored patchwork gleeman’s cloak at WotCon 2023. Thanks to the volunteer photographers at WotCon for this shot.

It’s hard to explain. It’s… ineffable.

But there must be some kind of soul connection to something in this story for me. Why do we love the stories we love? It’s something I’m really curious about. It always feels flat and superficial when I try to explain.

The Wheel of Time has always inspired me to create. I high school I filled notebooks and notebooks with world building. I made sketches of costumes and drafted stories and put myself to sleep imagining characters in worlds of my own.

I gave up writing somewhere along the way, but after self publishing my first book I’ve also started writing fiction again. I’ve been working on a fantasy story that I’d like to tell for the last two NaNoWriMo’s and I’m ready to start working on it year round.

Meanwhile I have felt the ta’veren tug (if you know you know) pulling me deeper and deeper into WoT fandom community.

It’s becoming an important part of my life so you can probably expect to hear more about it here.

It all started in March when I created a muppet style puppet for a song parody contest… an in world version of These are the People in Your Neighborhood. The first project I’ve done purely for creative joy in YEARS. 🤯

Fluffy purple Ogier puppet with large ping pong ball eyes, a wide purple nose, and tufted ears. Ogier are book loving creative souls and I feel a deep kinship with them.

This was in no way for my portfolio, content marketing, or even something for my family. It was a gift for the Wheel of Time community and complete joy to make.

I really loved the challenge of creating in a brand new medium (I’d never made a puppet before) and figuring it out through trial and error. I drew on various creative skills in a way I haven't done since working on set and props during my undergraduate degree.

Almost immediately after finishing it I jumped into another project. A gleeman’s cloak.

Something I noticed about making something for me was that I didn’t have to fuss over setting up a camera to film or creating perfect process photos.

I wasn’t making this for DIY content. I was making it for me.

Because of this I worked for many hours at the kitchen table (much less photogenic than my studio) simply because I could cut squares or I could sew while Davy role played as Link from Zelda.

I wrote a bit about that here.

Multicolored and textured patches for my cloak. These are 209 out of 350 patches required.


I sat down to write about the cloak itself today, but instead I found myself wanting to share the story behind how it came to be.

The shift that opened up “time” for something like this. News flash: I didn’t actually have more time. I just used my time differently. I spent a similar amount of time last summer making this.

And the value I’m finding in creative joy.

Let’s discuss.

What would you make if you had a dedicated period of time where you couldn’t do anything productive and had to let yourself play?

Where do you find creative joy?

Cheers,


Fluctuating Capacity & Neurodivergent Energy Levels 💥

You know the film Back to the Future?
The whole plot revolves around repairing the time machine’s flux capacitor - the bit that makes it possible to travel through time.

While I was editing the first draft I connected the words fluctuate and capacity. My geek brain immediately jumped to flux capacitor. So I’ve decided to illustrate this newsletter with Back to the Future gifs.

Ok, let me get back on track.

Neurodivergent brains are always taking in more sensory input than our neurotypical peers. That means our capacity (our ability to do things) is always fluctuating depending on our environment and life circumstances.

Before parenthood I could pretty much always push past my limits. I had the capacity to manage a lot of things in my work because of the priviledge and flexibility in my personal life. I had time and space to reset and recover in my own time.

But parenting is an energetic and sensorial drain. Meanwhile I have fewer supports like adequate sleep, solitude to reset, and extra time to transition or complete tasks.

When new parenthood met pandemic life I quickly learned my capacity is insepearble from my supports and whether my autistic needs are being met.

(Can of worms, but capacity is often referred to by the outdated term “functioning level” which is inaccurately imagined as fixed.)

The idea that we have a fluctuating capacity to focus, or be organized, or get stuff done is often hard for neurotypicals to understand. When someone sees we’re able to drive or cook or talk to a room full of people they might assume we can do these things all the time. Or they may not realize the toll it takes on us before and afterward.

The smallest factor can tip the scale and drain our capacity. And so our ability varies every day.

One day I might bake from scratch sourdough banana bread.

The next day I might not be able to prepare any food at all.

A neurodiversity affirming approach means having supports and alternatives in place when capacity does not match intentions.

In the case of food that might be: batch cooking when capacity is high, grab and go food, healthy snacks, ordering takeout, or asking for help. Or in my case setting a timer to make sure I prepare meals in advance because I can’t cook if I’m hungry.

So I’m cultivating awareness of my own capacity. And I’m learning to make adjustments. This is incredibly hard and not at all intuitive.

Neurodivergent folk often hyper focus on something to the point our physical bodies melt away.

This is one reason we end up overcommitting. We take on projects when are running high on hyper focus and when we land in our bodies realize we’ve taken on too much.

Other times our environment or circumstances change.

This has happened to me with this project.

I had a vision for sending out book chapters every month, but that structure isn’t aligned with my current capacity.

Past me would have pushed myself into burn out. But I am learning to make adjustments for my current energy levels. Rather than seeing this as a failure I am trying to reframe it as a strength.

Often, especially for austitics, black and white thinking can keep us from even seeing the option to restructure commitments, take a break, or ask for help.

Bonus content!

I’m fascinated / obsessed with the idea that ADHD & Autism may be part of the same spectrum. Both diagnosis profiles are based on outdated stereotypes and external behaviors versus internal experiences.

Here are two neuroscience studies exploring how there may not be a scientific basis for separate diagnosis.


Discussion time!

So many of us found our place in the world by being “organized” or “helpful”. We’re white knuckling our way through the world clinging to those moments of praise and think that’s where our worth is.

Meanwhile we’re doing real harm to ourselves trying to maintain impossible levels of professionalism and productivity so we don’t appear “lazy” or “flighty”.

How perfectly neurodivergent is this Maria song? (Sorry not sorry for my segueway from Sci Fi to Musical Theatre. It’s who I am.) 😂

Do you struggle with knowing your capacity or managing commitments?

How do you know when you’ve taken on too much?

Originally published to Substack on October 7, 2022.