People often ask me where creativity comes from. My answer is always the same: it’s everywhere. Creativity lives in conversations, in quiet observations, in grief, in joy, in curiosity, in the way light moves across a room. But accessing it is often more counterintuitive than people expect.

For me, creativity begins in stillness.

Sometimes I sit quietly and breathe in for four and out for seven until my body softens and my thoughts stop fighting for attention. Then I let my mind drift like clouds across a windy sky. Somewhere in that stillness, ideas begin to arrive. Not forced. Not chased. Just gently welcomed.

Deepak Chopra once said we find answers in the gap between thoughts. I think creativity lives there too.

When we slow down enough, we begin to see the world differently. With what I call “baby eyes” — with curiosity, wonder, openness. The world becomes less about performance and more about discovery.

And maybe that’s important, because so many of us move through life carrying the quiet belief that we are somehow not good enough. Not good enough as parents, artists, writers, partners, sons, daughters, or simply as ourselves.

But creativity was never meant to be perfect.

It was never about flawless outcomes or polished appearances. Creativity is the deeply human act of continuing to show up despite uncertainty, despite doubt, despite the messy parts of being alive. It’s writing the paragraph anyway. Painting anyway. Loving anyway. Beginning again anyway.

We honour creativity not because it is perfect, but because it is alive.

I’ve come to believe optimism and creativity are deeply connected. Optimism gives us the belief that something better is possible, and creativity gives us the courage to help build it. Every invention, every piece of art, every act of kindness begins because someone imagined a different possibility for the world.

Creativity isn’t only about making beautiful things. It’s about solving problems, adapting to change, helping others feel seen, and shaping the future through the energy we choose to bring today.

And when life becomes difficult. When uncertainty, grief, or exhaustion arrive, this is when we need to activate compassion… for ourselves.

Speaking gently to ourselves when things feel hard. Accepting that growth is uncomfortable. Allowing ourselves to create imperfectly. Sometimes creativity is simply continuing to move forward in small ways: writing a sentence, helping a friend, reflecting quietly, or allowing ourselves to feel without judgement.

Self-compassion creates the emotional space where resilience, imagination, and hope can grow. It is not a luxury. It’s part of what keeps us connected to ourselves and each other. It reminds us that even in difficult seasons, something new can still emerge.

Take a moment to slow down. Sit quietly. Breathe. Look at the world with curious eyes again.

You will be surprised by what is waiting for you in the stillness.

As Anzac Day approaches, we turn our thoughts to the history of war and to all those who served and sacrificed. We remember not only the fallen soldiers, but also the many who supported them, the nurses, families, and communities whose contributions were equally vital.

Anzac Day has always held deep significance within my own family, a connection carried through generations, shaped by my ancestors who served, and most personally through my father. As a young boy, he was part of the effort to help rebuild a school in France following WWI. That experience remained with him throughout his life, becoming a quiet but powerful thread in our family history, leaving a lasting impression on me and ultimately became part of the inspiration for my first Anzac children’s book Two Pennies which tells this story. alongside the documentary Never Forget Australia, which I wrote, directed, co-produced and distributed by Umbrella Entertainment. 

Over time, I have written five books connecting to elements of Anzac Day.  Through these works, I found myself continually drawn to true stories that could be shared with younger audiences. Stories that help make sense of the past and preserve its human meaning.

What has remained most significant to me is the understanding that from the devastation of war can also emerge lasting friendships, shared purpose, and the rebuilding of communities. In particular, the relationship between France and Australia stands as a powerful example of this, shaped in part by Australian soldiers who remained after the WWI to assist in reconstruction efforts, especially around the Somme region.

These connections continue to speak to me today, not only as history, but as lived legacy. They remind us that remembrance is not only about loss, but also about resilience, humanity, and the ties that endure long after conflict has ended.

On Anzac Day, we honour all who served and all who supported them. We remember their courage, their sacrifice, and the enduring mark they left on families, nations, and generations still to come.

People often assume creativity arrives in dramatic flashes of inspiration, but for me, it’s the opposite. I notice the small things. I pay attention to stuff most people hurry past. The way a child drags their feet when they’re tired, the way a neighbour’s dog pauses as if it understands something I don’t, the way a single sunbeam lands on my desk in the afternoon, these little moments become sparks. They remind me that creativity isn’t about chasing something grand; it’s about being present enough to catch the quiet details life offers freely.

And the best lessons aren’t the ones we memorise; they’re the ones we live. They come from making meaning out of what’s unfolding right in front of us. Each day asks us to move through the world with a little more confidence, a little more steadiness, and a willingness to notice what we usually overlook. When we slow down enough to connect the dots, the simple with the complex, the joyful with the uncomfortable, we begin to understand how to navigate this extraordinary, messy, beautiful life we’re all living. Creativity, it turns out, isn’t something we find. It’s something we’re already surrounded by.

You are warmly invited to the opening of the Stillness art exhibition. A collection of creative mixed media art and poetry, which emerged from a profoundly challenging chapter in my life. In the midst of turmoil, I turned to my enduring sanctuaries: writing and painting. These practices helped navigate a personal labyrinth of discomfort, transformation and learning. Supported by a circle of fellow artists, I embarked on a journey that culminated in these Stillness works.  

The essence of stillness lies in its ability to invite presence, evoke introspection, and suspend a moment in time. Where movement demands energy and attention, stillness holds a quiet power. It creates space to pause, breathe, and connect on a deeper emotional level. Through minimalism, subdued colour palettes, gentle lines, and an open mind, these works seek to evoke silence, solitude, and transcendence. 

Stillness in art is not the absence of life, but rather a distilled concentration of it. An invitation to hear what is unspoken, to feel what cannot be rushed, and to experience the sacred within the quiet.

Please join me at 5:30pm on Saturday 12 July at Studio Brunswick, 1/374 Brunswick Street, Fortitude Valley.  

Publisher: Boolarong Press
Price:$32.99

The Letters

A gripping tale of adventure, passion, and generational healing which takes readers on a spellbinding journey through time that begs the question: If you could go back in time, what would you change?

The Letters blends commercial fiction with speculative historical fiction against the backdrop of war and resilience. This compelling story explores the intricate connections between three generations, the secrets of the past, and the enduring bond between Australia and France.

When rebellious Ruby is bequeathed her late grandfather’s personal letters, she is pulled from peacetime 1973 Australia, to 1917 World War I France. Without identification or any way home, she sets out to right a wrong that has broken her family for generations. Ruby meets a resistance fighter, Henri, and finds a love that transcends the boundaries of time, drawing Ruby from the security of her century to the dangers of his. And as they navigate a dangerous terrain, Ruby is torn between the love of this mysterious hero, and the life she left behind.

$32.99

www.vickibennett.com.au

I’ve been conducting a series of Writer’s Workshops, focusing on the art of crafting compelling narratives. I help writers construct their words and meaning into easy-to-read, elegant words and sentences. Many writers believe their work is complete after three or four drafts, but true refinement often begins at this stage. Diligent crafting is essential to elevating a manuscript to its highest potential.

Recently, I collaborated with my publishing editor on my latest book, The Letters. Over the past decade, this project has undergone numerous rewrites, and restructurings, including twenty edits. Even after this extensive process, my editor identified areas for improvement.

Effective crafting demands time, attention, and a clear sense of purpose. It involves consistently refining voice, rhythm, tone, and meticulously reviewing each line. It also involves the willingness to remove unnecessary elements, even if it means cutting cherished words or sentences.

By dedicating ourselves to this process, we demonstrate respect for our reader and for ourselves as writers. Through conscious cultivation of insight and technique, we transform our writing into art. When we craft the written word, we consciously improve our insight and skill, developing our technique as writers, through repetition and devotion. 

We engage in writing because it holds profound significance, and ultimately, we craft our writing because it matters. The Letters will be in bookstores in April 2025. 

Overview:

‘As a child, I was captivated by my grandfather’s stories. A World War 1 veteran, he told me stories about France and the people he meet during the Great War. I have been under the spell of this period ever since. My grandfather’s account of the enduring bonds between Australia and the France left an indelible mark on my imagination, inspiring a lifelong passion for this historical period. Long after my grandfather died,  I discovered letters sent to him from France, revealing long-held secrets. These letters inspired The Letters, a narrative exploring themes of hope, courage, and compassion. This story bridges time and culture, posing the compelling question: If you could go back in time, what would you change?

Vicki Bennett