There is a strange moment that arrives somewhere between becoming who you were and discovering who you are going to be. Nothing announces it. There is no dramatic music, no neatly drawn line beneath the past, no sign pointing toward the future. You simply look up one day and realize that the life around you no longer fits quite the way it used to. The dreams that once felt distant have moved closer. The things you once tolerated have begun to feel unbearable. Even your own reflection seems to carry a question you cannot quite answer yet.
We tend to imagine growth as something obvious. We picture ourselves moving confidently toward a destination, collecting victories along the way, each accomplishment proving that we are headed in the right direction. Real growth is rarely so courteous. More often, it leaves us standing in unfamiliar territory with the uncomfortable knowledge that we cannot return to who we were, even though we are not entirely sure who we are becoming.
This one is a little late for Pride Month, but I still wanted to do this feature.
Every creator has a reason they keep reaching for the page, the camera, the canvas, or whatever tool helps them turn feeling into something real. For Spencer Carter, known online as GayGodSparkles, that reason seems to come back to hope, imagination, and the belief that even small actions can ripple outward in ways we may never fully see.
Spencer is an aspiring novelist, photographer, aquarist, and creative soul currently working toward the completion of his debut novel, Ancient Beginnings. Like many artists, his creativity does not stay in one lane. It moves between storytelling, visual art, video, and even the quiet care of his goldfish: Newton, Einstein, and Buford.
A Creator in Author Mode
Right now, Spencer says he finds himself mostly in “author / edit mode,” which is a familiar place for anyone who has ever tried to bring a book into the world. Writing a novel is not just about getting words onto the page. It is about shaping an entire world, listening to the characters, revising the rough edges, and staying committed even when the finish line feels far away.
His debut novel, Ancient Beginnings, is nearing completion, and that alone is worth celebrating. Finishing a first book takes patience, discipline, and a kind of stubborn hope. It means believing in the story enough to keep returning to it, even when life gets loud.
Alongside writing, Spencer has also explored photography and video creation. He has uploaded videos to YouTube in the past and plans to discuss his forthcoming books there soon. His creative history also includes artwork shared on DeviantArt, giving people another window into the visual side of his imagination.
The Ripple Effect of Hope
One of Spencer’s most-used phrases is simple but powerful: “Much Love, There Is Never Enough.”
That message sits at the center of how he talks about creativity and impact. He shared a poem he wrote in high school called A Drop With No Bound, and its imagery captures something many queer creators understand deeply: one small thing can become much larger than itself.
A drop of water, falling from the sky.
Plummeting, tumbling, descending
into nothingness,
Finally hitting the mirrored surface.
The poem follows the image of a single drop becoming a force, spreading outward until it changes what surrounds it. Spencer connects that image to the way our words, actions, and gestures affect other people. Sometimes the smallest kindness can stay with someone. Sometimes one moment of courage can inspire another person to keep going. Sometimes art itself becomes the ripple.
That is one of the most beautiful things about queer creativity. It does not always have to be loud to matter. It does not always have to be polished, viral, or perfectly understood. Sometimes it simply has to exist. A poem. A photo. A novel in progress. A phrase offered with sincerity. A reminder that love is still worth choosing.
Choosing to Be an Inspiration
In his own words, Spencer hopes people choose to be an inspiration to those around them. That is a gentle mission, but not a small one. In difficult times, choosing love, hope, and creativity can be its own form of resistance.
Queer creators often know what it means to build meaning from the margins. We write ourselves into stories where we were once left out. We make art from survival. We turn private feelings into something someone else might recognize and feel less alone inside.
Spencer’s work and message remind us that creativity does not need permission to begin. It can start with a sentence, a photo, a fish tank, a YouTube video, a draft waiting to be finished, or a drop of water hitting the surface.
And from there, the ripple grows.
Where to Find Spencer
You can find Spencer Carter online as GayGodSparkles.
It is easy to look at a photo and decide you know the person in it.
A pose becomes confidence. A caption becomes arrogance. A body becomes an invitation for strangers to comment, judge, desire, dismiss, or project whatever story they already wanted to believe.
But there is always more behind the post. There is always a person just outside the frame.
There is something quiet about sitting beneath the trees and letting the sunlight reach you in pieces. Not the full blaze of afternoon, not the kind of brightness that demands you open your eyes wide and pretend it does not burn, but the softer kind. The kind that slips through leaves, lands where it can, and leaves the rest of you in shade.
I think we forget that light does not have to touch every part of us at once to still be real. We are so often taught to chase the brightest places, to stand fully exposed, to prove that we are glowing, growing, healing, thriving, surviving. Especially when you live any part of your life publicly, there can be this constant pressure to be visible in a way that feels effortless. Be confident. Be clever. Be beautiful. Be strong. Be inspiring. Be unbothered. Be everything, all the time, where everyone can see it.
There is a strange thing that happens when you start putting yourself out into the world.
People see you.
They see the photo. They see the smile, or the pose, or the confidence. They see the body, the outfit, the caption, the joke, the clapback, the Pride flag, the little pieces of yourself you choose to share.
And then some of them think they know you.
But being seen is not the same as being understood.
Sometimes people see rainbow colors and think they are just fashion. Something bright. Something loud. Something meant to get attention.
And maybe, sometimes, they are.
Maybe sometimes the colors are worn because they look good, because they feel fun, because they catch the light just right, or because a little extra color can turn an ordinary day into something worth smiling about.
But for many of us, wearing these colors means something deeper.
There comes a point where hiding your progress starts to feel less like humility and more like fear.
For a long time, it can feel safer to downplay yourself. You make yourself smaller before anyone else gets the chance to comment. You soften your confidence. You pretend not to notice the growth. You act like the work did not matter, because admitting that it mattered also means admitting that you are proud of what it became.
But pride is not always arrogance. Sometimes pride is just honesty.
Some days do not arrive with motivation, clarity, or some big emotional revelation. Some days are simply about getting up, getting dressed, taking the walk, drinking the water, doing the small thing, and trying not to talk yourself out of caring.
That kind of effort can be easy to overlook because it does not always feel impressive while you are doing it. It is not dramatic. It is not always inspiring. It may not look like the kind of progress anyone would stop to celebrate.
We want to know where we are going, how long it will take, what it will cost us, and whether the path is going to lead somewhere worth the effort. We want certainty before movement. Proof before risk. A clear destination before we let ourselves take the first step.
But life rarely gives us the whole road at once.
Sometimes all you get is the next step. Sometimes you have to move with only a little light, a little instinct, and the quiet understanding that staying where you are no longer feels right. That can be frustrating, especially when part of you wants a guarantee. But clarity often comes after movement, not before it.
Not every version of you arrives with an announcement.
Sometimes change happens quietly. There is no dramatic breaking point, no cinematic transformation, no clear moment where the old life ends and the new one begins. Sometimes you just wake up one day and realize you are not exactly who you used to be, but you are not fully sure who you are becoming either.
That space can feel strange. You may recognize the old patterns, but they no longer fit the same way. You may want something different, but not know how to name it yet. You may feel growth happening inside you before the outside world has any proof of it.
The in-between is uncomfortable because it asks you to exist without a finished answer. But it is also where a lot of real change begins.
