Category Archives: Uncategorized

Ex-Girl Scout Finds Cause: No Cure Magazine

I’l admit I was never a big fundraising person. Call it my shyness, or being a little too empathetic to put people on the spot. Call it, Beth – someone who watched her dreams of earning Girl Scout badges slip away… all because I wouldn’t sell the d*mn cookies. (On the bright side, our freezer was a wonderland of Thin Mints and Savannahs.)

I never would have guessed that one day, something I truly believed in would pop up, in need of my help – NO CURE MAGAZINE. It’s an online publication I write for, that gives innovative design, art and music, a platform to be seen and heard; and artists, a voice they may not otherwise have. The editor, Mark Zeidler, is like any one of us who has a big dream: he’s spent countless hours bringing this piece to life bi-monthly, as well as whatever’s in his back pocket. But it’s slowly paying off: Mark is on the brink of taking No Cure to print across booksellers and News Agents (that’s stores that sell magazines, to my US friends). This is a tremendous opportunity to keep innovations moving, artists creating, exposure happening. This is especially crucial during a time when arts funding is often cast to the wayside.

Using the Pozible website (an awesome, community forum that lets you pledge the amount of your choice to make creative projects happen), No Cure has been running a fundraising campaign with the financial goal of $6000 to get the magazine printed. Currently, we’re just under $1500 away from making this happen. The catch: we only have 5 days left, to do so.

So… (insert ackward, foot-swooshing Beth here) if you’re a big believer in keeping the arts scene alive and thriving, consider donating the amount of your choice to this project by clicking here. If you’re anything like me, you’ll love the no-pressure situation of the Pozible site – it’s totally legit, and whatever amount you donate is processed ONLY if our $6000 goal is reached. You’ll also have the chance to receive some pretty cool incentives if you donate anywhere from $5 and up.

And even if you don’t wish to make a donation, check out Pozible anyway for even more creative projects on the brink of existence – with your help. Or, if you have an idea you’d like to get off the ground, Pozible could be your platform.

This is a time where paying it forward could have a big payoff, if you truly believe in the arts.

Thanks so much for your consideration, and for listening.

Happy creating!

Beth xo

No Cure


No Cure? Oh yes, there is.

Fellow artists, creatives and dreamers…your cure for “creative block” is back.

No Cure Magazine has just released its third captivating issue. To put it quite humanly—as I prefer to be—writing for this magazine has been as inspiring for me, as the articles themselves.

This month, I had the opportunity to interview the men and women who defied the economic downturn by starting mobile businesses. Prepare to be motivated by the unquestionable drive you’ll feel from their personas, word by word. And if you’re into all things visual, you’ll love how these visionaries prove that standout design (on their trucks or trailers) is crucial to the success of any business dream. So, if you have a little start-up in mind, these folks will get you revved up and ready to roll.

Read the feature article here: Driven: The Journey of Nomadic Businesses

And remember embroidery–the craft we all used to associate with wall-hangings made by our grandmothers? Not anymore, after you meet Jazmin Berakha, a cutting-edge, embroidery artist from Buenos Aires. Talk about talent at the fingertips. Check out her intricate, dreamy works, then learn a bit about the craft’s long, fascinating history – finally recognized as the true art that it is.

Read the article here: Jazmin Berakha

Don’t forget–the whole magazine is a feast for creative junkies, so have yourself a good read.

And special thanks to Editor Mark Zeidler–an incredible designer–for making it all possible.

Enjoy! xx


Where I Know My Way

courtesy of last.fm

Matthew Sweet

Looking at the sun
waiting for you
to appear

-Matthew Sweet

Yesterday, Matthew Sweet was the answer for me.

I was having one of those days where you’re just having trouble focusing. It’s hard, sometimes, when there are lots of little worries and what ifs and wishes on your mind. And especially when you’re living in a foreign country for two-and-a-half years, and still have little “freedoms” from back home that you’re missing. Like being able to drive (which I am working on) just to, say, run to the post office or go to a beauty appointment when you simply don’t feel like walking or biking. Or just wanting to talk to your Mom or a bestie back home, but darn that time difference. And the list goes on.

The feeling of constant climbing can be a frustrating one. Like life, there is always something. And when you’re in a situation like mine, you blame it on: It’s because I’m not in Minneapolis. You know, deep down, that these little issues can be solved. But some days you’re simply just sick of yet another hill to climb over. Like when I’m riding home from work in the dark and I’ve got that last hill before the turnoff to my house – what feels like a 90-degree angle and as the Aussies say, “I just can’t be bothered.”

And then, as life goes, you sleep on it and feel better the next day. You lean on the support of those around you. You learn about going into “the moment” as soon as you feel those worries start to pile up into one large glob. You give yourself a day of walking in the sunshine in your favourite part of town – alone. For me, it’s about bringing back those little pieces of life from my past that used to “fill” me. Having time by myself. Buying myself a very American Subway sandwich. Coming home to write about it.

And listening to Matthew Sweet, the soundtrack from my past. The “Girlfriend” album. The songs I know by heart; songs I can have for myself, which all the 24-year-olds that surround me at work are too young to know about. It’s about having something that’s mine.  Something that takes me back home, where I know my way. Home, where I’m strongest. Home, where I’m me at my best.

I love and respect my home here in Australia, too, and can appreciate how my life is growing and changing in beautiful ways. But I think it’s fair to pay homage to where I came from, and why I am the person I am today. I think it’s okay to acknowledge I miss the place sometimes, and then let go. Because this is where I need to be right now. So, I make the very best I can of it, and incorporate as much of “me” as I can – at all times.

‘Cause I need to
get back in the arms
of a good friend.

-Matthew Sweet


Have you written your manifesto yet?

It’s not necessarily easy to live exactly the life you want for yourself. We all have to pay the bills, right? But what if you could live by your inner, life manifesto?

The founders of Holstee sustainable lifestyle products have based their entire business upon theirs. Brothers Mike and Dave Radparvar  began their company with the dream of an environmentally ethical lifestyle. Soon after, they decided to write a manifesto – a ‘call to action to live a life full of intention, creativity and passion’ – to back up their company, which went viral across the web (in different languages), T-shirts and posters.

Most importantly, this life-purpose statement has inspired people worldwide to live fulfilling lives – okay, and probably purchase the products (even world-acclaimed Alchemist author Paulo Coelho ‘Likes’ Holstee on Facebook). Meanwhile, the brothers reportedly still use their manifesto for guiding product decisions.

Manifestos are ‘powerful tools’ for steering life and business choices, according to Fast Company executive editor Noah Robischon. And if Holstee’s written statement isn’t enough to convince you, check out the inspiring film version here. I think a manifesto is worth a try. How about you?

Courtesy of Holstee

Courtesy of Holstee


All Around the Jacket

Is it just me, or is it a whole lot of fun to attempt poems that read well aloud? That said, here is my poem for today.

All Around the Jacket
By Beth Greshwalk

I was tied around

her waist, dancing

to the upward beat

of her flying feet. Over

footsteps of folks

she climbed

the starry stairwell

to the Paris moon.

I was wind-resistant.

Most insistent to hug my

arms around a rolled up rock

poster, a gift for a sister.

Oh, just ask me where I’ve been.

I’ve felt the sweat of Athens’s

handprints on the heart,

and sprawled, beer-stuck on

plastic seats, waiting patiently

as he wrote Nikos in her

journal. Translation, the beginning

and the end. And what’s a trip without

my zipper teeth making melodies on

the hand rails of trains, clankety

clank and the rain, downpour on

Delphi, how a wind-breaker cannot shake

the breath of the gods, I let them

inflate me, I am theirs to fill,

along with My pockets, heavy

with copper Euro, I am the hero

who holds the stubs, the camera, the rocks,

the rolls of flim, the air passes, the pretzels,

the sleepy hands. I am their hammock.

This is why she wears me.

to drink the seductive waters of Venice,

one-night stands with the Grand Canal,

each spark of orange splash a kiss,

or was it good-bye tears,

that’s amore, that I must leave,

You’ll find another like me.

Gondolas, God speed!

Now zip me up,

We’ve got a train to catch.


Cat Dream

My poem for today.

Cat Dream
By Beth Greshwalk

If she had it her way, she would be an indoor cat,

every day a hot radiator, a soft sofa cushion, a warm, willing lap, naptime, respected and

expected, oh, to be rested, sleeping through

it all, never having to explain, you’ll love her anyway, a body velvet to the touch, cute no

matter what, graceful footsteps and a face of

unsolved mystery, eyes that glow in the dark, worshipped for her independence, when she

says no, people listen, safe from a world

she could watch from a window, watch and learn, watch and learn, no pressure to act,

getting what she wants, when she wants, like love,

and sleeping through it all.


Creativity and Black Coffee

You wouldn’t think I’d be such a whinge-queen on a cold, drizzly day in Melbourne, being a veteran of Minnesota winters. But the symptoms of an ash-colored sky and frigid rain come right through the panes of our poorly insulated windows and I shiver with discontent, distracted from inspiration of any form. So, I search desperately for little gift in the moment, as I strive to do each day. Surprisingly, today’s motivation comes out of a whole other complaint, which has nothing to do with this grey day.

These doggone coffee stains on my teeth.

“Guess that means you’ll have to stop drinking coffee,” says Brian, a non-coffee drinker himself. He barely finishes his sentence before I butt in,

“Well, that’s not going to happen.”

Perish the thought—I love coffee. I mean, love, worship, adore, consume it. And I’m not talking about a fancy Frappuccino or even one of those silky lattes Melbourne does so well. What I mean is, give it to me straight and black. No milk, no sugar. Just pure bean, in a big, round, full mug. (Emphasis on “full”—we need to keep it that way.) Why mess around with what’s already heaven? For me, coffee is no longer about the wakening effect that got me started on the cup in the first place. No, my long-term addiction has reduced the caffeine rush to that of a warm shower, to wake up. Ever so gently. Two and a half cups in one morning is now about taste. The coffee bean, to me, does what a malbec grape does to the red wine, and I am thankful for it: the distinct, earthly flavour organically coats me in calm.

But don’t get me wrong. I am awakened.

One of the things I love most about coffee is that it goes hand in hand with creativity. Let’s face it, many famous artists were connoisseurs of coffee. Take composer Johann Sebastian Bach, for example. He wrote a cantata about his love of coffee entitled The Coffee Cantata. The librettist for the piece, Christian Friedrich Henrici, wrote lyrics like (translated): If I can’t drink my bowl of coffee three times daily, then in my torment, I will shrivel up like a piece of roast goat.

My sentiments exactly, brother.

I think back to how coffee played a recurring role during my pursuit of a postgraduate degree in creative writing. Arriving to a night class after eight hours writing retail advertising meant the embrace of a tall, travel mug of coffee, to refresh my brain so that I could participate in a discussion about really good poetry. I remember consciously appreciating how that little perk-up actually opened an extra door in my mind, enabling me to truly see poetry beyond the metaphors.

I think back to my fourth ever night in Athens, Greece. I spent the evening sitting solo in an empty taverna, downing Greek coffees to the succulent sounds of a two-man mandolin band and writing furiously in my journal—in the moment, and about that moment. To this day, I’ll never forget how blessed I felt.

I think back to how my good friend Scott and I used to commit ourselves to three hours at a different coffee shop every Sunday, to “create” for the love of it. He was designing a new card game for kids and I was perfecting, you guessed it, my manuscript.

Last but not least, coffee is associated with love, which is a constant source of inspiration for me—and probably just about everyone. Take my mom, for example. Someone who’s always supported my lengthy stints in foreign countries “to write,” and my decision to write for the love of it, rather than for a paycheck. Someone who raised four kids, went back to school, achieved a master’s degree and a fulfilling career of giving, and is now retiring to do artful things, herself. Growing up, her own mother used to gather her and her four brothers and sisters around the dinner table to drink coffee and talk into the wee hours. Today, Mom, my siblings and I share this same, sweet memory-in-the-making every time I visit.

So you see, a lot of life can fill a cup.

And besides, I can always go to the dentist.