Making space for creativity

Lately, I’ve come to believe that a significant barrier for writers nowadays is not having enough free time—and by “free time,” I do NOT mean time to write.

For years, I struggled with being seen as a Creative Person. People would tell me “I wish I were creative like you!” and I’d say “But I’m not creative!” and they’d laugh, not knowing how seriously (and fearfully) I believed that anything I created was the result of intense training and sheer luck, not creativity.

And sometimes, that was true. Whatever I couldn’t produce on the spot, I could sometimes make up for with knowledge and preparation. I’d spend hours, days, weeks, years cramming information into myself so I’d never get caught without an idea. I didn’t need to be free; I just wanted to be safe.

Whenever I came up short, whenever I struggled with writer’s block, whenever someone said “What do you think, Stephi?” and I had no answer, I told myself: work harder so this doesn’t happen again.

Look, hard work counts. Whatever our work is, consistently doing it well requires experience and practice. I could’ve avoided many mistakes with more time and attention. The mistakes that have haunted me most, though, were those that happened despite preparation. They taught me that I can’t just do my way into creativity. But maybe if I worked even harder, no one would ever have to find out.

Then my health plummeted. I could only do a few things at once, then one thing at once, then… nothing.

Nothing lasted a long time, so long that when the music started back up, I almost didn’t notice. I’d forgotten what it was like to hear a melody I hadn’t spent forever practicing. To know a story I hadn’t crafted word by painstaking word.

It turned out that doing nothing created space. And maybe what I needed to do was a whole lot more of nothing.

Creativity takes brain work, the kind that thrives when we're not doing other work. When we're always doing, our minds can't wander.

I’ve lost track of all the craft books I’ve read and lessons I’ve attended and projects I’ve worked on, which means I’ve lost track of the number of times I’ve seen (and echoed) the familiar refrain: Work hard! Push through! Practice discipline!

I just wonder…

What if sometimes the answer is not to get going, but to get bored?

And what if boredom is what you need to get from "I SHOULD write" to "I COULD write"?

And if you stop doing all the things you should, what could you do?