All dried up

My creative well is in sad shape.

I have stared at this page for the past hour, typing a few words, then deleting them. Typing some more. Wiping the slate clean. I’ve gotten up to stretch, to pee, to eat a snack. I’ve wandered over to the various open tabs in my browser, as if they might contain the words I'm looking for. I’ve tried listening to music and sitting in silence. I even organized the items on my desk, a telltale sign of what I know is true:

I have writer’s block.

For the most part, my words and ideas flow freely, which tells me that writing this newsletter is a creative pursuit worth continuing. It’s rarely a chore to sit down at my desk and write. Quite the opposite: I feel immensely lucky to jot down my ideas, untangle my feelings, and share them with readers all over the world. Writing My Sweet Dumb Brain is an honor and a joy.

One of the amazing things about writing this newsletter — week after week — is how often I don’t suffer from writer’s block. But sometimes, like right now, I run out of steam.

For the past two-plus years, my creative well has been hovering near-empty. Thanks to the double whammy of living in a pandemic and becoming a mom to a (still unvaccinated!) little one, my options for finding creative inspiration have been limited. 

It’s no longer as easy, safe, or feasible to go to an art museum, spend a few days solo at a cabin, or enjoy live music — all things I’d do in the past to keep my creative stocks replenished. Gone are the days of traveling overseas on a whim or wandering a bookstore for hours on end. 

Still, I’ve managed to find ways to refill my creative well. In particular, reading has kept me inspired. Long walks always jog fresh ideas. And time away from my laptop gives my working brain a chance to rest.

But today, my well is bone dry. The cold I wrote about last week is still lingering, which means my walks have been shorter; my mind, fuzzier. Instead of engrossing myself in good books, I’ve spent more and more time on my phone — doing lord knows what.

There wasn’t much creative juice in my well to begin with. Now, it’s all dried up.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

Growing up just outside of Atlanta, I was lucky to experience a culturally rich childhood. My parents — both school teachers — took my brother and me to endless museums, festivals, concerts, and art exhibitions. We explored Howard Finster’s Paradise Garden and weaved through the masses at Music Midtown. Every out-of-town trip meant visiting a new museum or sculpture garden. My childhood home was covered in art and filled with the sound of music. 

My dad, a large presence in any crowd, would dance with abandon at concerts — often to the embarrassment of me and my brother. He always had money on hand to tip street performers. And he loved to explain the deeper story behind a piece of art, something that the placard or program didn’t include. I can still hear his baritone: Now, kiddo, here’s the interesting thing about this ...

Sometimes I wonder how my dad would have handled the creative drought of the pandemic, especially in those harrowing first months of 2020. Would he have risked his health to attend a live performance? Would he have tuned into livestreams and tipped artists virtually? Would he have channeled his fears into his own art? 

All I know is that he would have found a way to refill his creative well. He always did.

Photo courtesy Getty Images

Over the weekend, I started reading Beth Pickens’ Your Art Will Save Your Life. It was a timely read — and undoubtedly the fuel for today’s essay. In it, Pickens depicts art as a tool of resistance and offers tips on fostering creativity. Reading her words felt like the wake-up call I was waiting for.

“Part of your job as an artist is to take in a lot of art in a lot of different forms,” Pickens wrote. “Work you love, work you hate. All of it is good for inspiration and replenishes your internal resources to generate ideas, solve problems, and understand the larger context in which you are operating and making work.”

This is what I’ve been lacking. I’ve read lots of books lately, but that’s about it. I rarely listen to new music — much less, enjoy it live. I’ve gone to a museum exactly one (one!) time in the past two years. I haven’t been to the movie theater or seen a play since the pandemic began. And I certainly haven’t traveled anywhere on a whim.

Some of these things may not be possible for a while. Pandemic or not, my options are more limited than before, thanks to budget constraints and having a toddler. But that doesn’t mean I have to suffer a creative drought. 

It’s easy to blame outside forces for the uninspired predicament I’m in. I can come up with hundreds of reasons why I can’t get out there and reconnect with my creative side. In reality, there are countless ways I can do just that. Inspiration is all around me. It’s free. It exists as much indoors as it does outside in nature. I can find it at any time.

I’ve always wanted to be the kind of parent who would take her child to all sorts of cultural events and outings. I want to follow in the footsteps of my music-loving, art-appreciating, creatively generous dad. He always found a way to refill his well, no matter the circumstances. And I can too.

First and foremost, though, I want to do this for me. I want to treat myself to a creative outing. I want to feel inspired and awed. I want to sit back down at this desk, brimming with ideas.

Thankfully, this stubborn cold feels like it’s finally on its way out. I will have one less excuse standing in my way, plus more energy — and mental clarity — to get out of this creative rut. But as I do just that, I want to remind myself that fostering creativity isn’t a task. It’s not something else for me to add to my to-do list.

In her oft-cited creativity manual, The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron writes, “In filling the well, think magic. Think delight. Think fun. Do not think duty. Do not do what you should do — spiritual sit-ups like reading a dull but recommended critical text. Do what intrigues you, explore what interests you; think mystery, not mastery.”

That’s the reminder I needed. Finding inspiration is a treat, one that’s best enjoyed with an open mind.

And with that, I’m off to take a walk. Who knows what I’ll find along the way.

xoxo
KHG