In my work as a writer I’ve been going through a phase of trying to identify my PRACTICE. That’s Practice with a capital ‘P’. This is because I’m often not sure whether to call myself a Creative, an Artist, a Writer, or a Journalist. Or all of the above. I operate in all of these modes interchangeably – sometimes at the same time. A couple of people I’ve mentioned this quandary to have countered with “Does it matter what you call yourself?” And they’re right; it doesn’t matter. But then, it matters enough for me to want to know what I am in my own mind. This is about trying to capture my own approach and answer that dreaded question ‘What do you do?’ without fumbling. Because, it feels inherently linked to a process. And instead of feeling assured, my answer is usually a sequence of stilted semi-ramblings because I don’t have a coherent answer.

Perhaps it’s about identity too – a ‘Who Am I’ big life question. The truth is of course, that you can be several things at once. I’m a writer and I’m also an artist – both involve a certain shared perspective – looking at the world from the outside-in. You’re an observer trying to make things make sense; steering a course through a set of fractures and connections. And as you articulate what you see, you are hopefully helping others to articulate things for themselves too. Sometimes I’m writing opinion pieces and sometimes I’m reporting as a journalist, sometimes my writing is expansive and descriptive, sometimes it’s taut and to the point. And most often it is realised through the Media – published in physical magazines and on digital platforms.

It’s easier than ever for people to present themselves as experts, as a recent HBR article on thought-leadership versus ‘thought-doership‘ explores. A few prompts into an LLM, can throw up a suite of expertise to call one’s own – except that ‘this’ expertise was never actually discovered through experience or won through the school of hard knocks. Whether using AI or not to conjure expertise, theories need to work in practice. So we might as well make sure they do. Because if they don’t they’re of little use. And so it is, that in this AI age, having a Practice – the all-important ‘doership’ of putting theory into practice has never been more important. For example, a neat and tidy principle for how to fix the team dynamics at work – however groundbreaking as an idea, might turn out to be a dud in practice, and God-forbid, make things worse. Experience and knowledge straight from ‘the coal face’ will stand out amongst the untested and unsubstantiated advice presented as second-hand theory. The advice people offer from lived experience keeps us grounded too – it’s humbling for someone to have to speak from their own successes and failures, and that is exactly what gives people authenticity. It also underpins any genuine sense of authority. In terms of my writing, I want my words to have had a real physical life before they hit the page. I’m convinced that having a real world, lived Practice is creatively vital and leads to our best work.

At a recent three-day course I attended, I saw firsthand the importance that having a sense of Practice makes in the context of leadership. One speaker amongst several contributors stood out particularly because everything she spoke about was rooted in her own day-to-day on-the-ground experience. And this wasn’t an average role. – Nikki Marfleet had been (until recently) the Governor of one of Britain’s high-security men’s prisons – HMP Woodhill, where violence, drug-issues and safety were everyday challenges. Here the importance of effective leadership was vital for her team and the 800 prisoners in her charge. She had done an art degree (before also studying criminology) and it was both amazing – and a little surprising – to hear how she brought her creativity into her role as a prison Governor. A seemingly simplistic approach but incredibly effective: was to make handmade cards for staff which included personal messages offering encouragement. This could be taken as naive but the result was that it really helped staff to feel seen and valued. And with some more imaginative problem-solving she set out to improve prisoners’ experiences by planting trees in the grounds so that they could see the changing seasons from inside, which helped their mental health. Taking action like this began to give staff and prisoners alike a more positive outlook. It was still a high security prison but in terms of her leadership it was a game-changer, improving the overall wellbeing of staff and prisoners alike.

When writing, ‘Be better, be punk’ I really started to notice how my Creative Practice is developing. The piece had a momentum of its own right from the beginning – as if it was a story that wanted to be written. I kept finding myself, over and again, in the right place at the right time. From the initial idea, to the experiences and interviews along the way and the conversations it sparked with people after it was published – it was a living and breathing entity captured in words on a page. It had its own life. And I felt alive too. I suddenly noticed the things I already do very naturally, and when I feel at my best. It was a signal to me of the wider creative process I was participating in as I ‘made’ the article. Importantly, it relied on my being ‘out there’ and engaging myself – being present and active in the world. And I found that my Practice is very much rooted in these things, which contribute to the wider work of researching and developing the idea – exploring a hunch and being really inquisitive and curious. My Practice felt like I was hosting a wider conversation with every person I met along the way. This threw open new avenues and made me realise that as long as I continue to write I’ll be having an ongoing conversation with the world.

An example of this was at a networking evening: I had written on the sticky label I was given to wear: “My name is: Alex Noel… Talk to me about: Punk Spirituality”. It was far better than inviting people to talk to me about writing, which has never gone particularly well. I would get questions about whether I still even have a job (I do, by the way). It was fascinating to discover how many places Punk has reached into as it has pervaded our culture over the last 50 years. From design principles of ‘punk production’ to Punk’s DIY ethos influencing leadership and coaching, and then further insights into my particular focus for this piece of punk spirituality.

In that sense, my Creative Practice, is about fieldwork – talking to people, finding out what they think, connecting with them. It becomes a whole dialogue where ideas and points of view can flourish and flow. This is most true in person but I also want it to be true for how I engage online. I think making that shift is really important for engaging well with people. And always remembering that an audience is made up of individuals, each with their own stories and experiences. Recording my experiences diligently is all part of that Practice, whether in note-form, with audio or photography together with other research – it forms part of my ‘field notes’ which has a similar function to an artist’s sketchbook – tracking the evolution of the idea and deciding how best to communicate it. It’s a work in progress but this is what I’m realising as I go.

I would also be lost without having read The Pyjama Myth; The Freelance Writer’s Survival Guide by Sian Meades-Williams. Although I’ve got this far, I have been largely making things up as I go along ever since I launched as a Freelance Writer three years ago, and I felt so seen when I read her book. It was brilliantly practical and no-nonsense. And it was both validating – I was getting some things right – and challenging; I needed to make some changes and upgrades to how I work. 

So this is my Creative Practice, which, as I’ve now come to understand forms ‘the architecture of my creative voice’. The more I lean into it, the more momentum and clarity and opportunities I create. And the more confident I’m becoming – having the framework there, gives me freedom.

© Alexandra Noel 2026. All rights reserved.