The washing machine cycle of creativity
Alex is hosting the Indieweb blog carnival and the theme is Cycles and fluctuations.
An earlier post of theirs about embracing autumn says:
why do we have the same work hours whether the sun is up 16 or 8 hours, the same activities at a 30°C difference?
Thank you! This is exactly what I'm always banging on about!
But I spend a lot of time banging on about that. So I'm going to bang on about something a bit different.
Things beget things. This month I'm mostly thinking about that in the context of creativity.
Historically I'm most likely to start stories in November even when you remove my Nanowrimo stories from the mix. Without those twelve Nanos, November is still vastly overrepresented. Because the most common time for me to start one story is when I've just started another. The more intense the writing the more likely. It's also been more likely that in November I was around other people also doing this, there's a social and cultural element to it, a gung-ho all-in-this-together and pervasive enthusiasm. All in all, I'm primed, the ideas are flowing, I'm proving I can do this, my bum is in the seat, and it feels good.
When I am creative, I am more creative. More ideas come when I am riding that high, when my brain is on fire.
The cycle: be creative be more creative. Remembering this doesn't allow me to do the "I don't feel like writing" thing. It's not about feeling, for me. I have to be. I have to enter the cycle, then I will get picked up by it.
Like a washing machine. Slapped around in the drum. Rolled over and over. Soaking wet. On the ride. Because the door is locked and you can't get out.
If that doesn't sound like the most pleasant simile, no, it's not.
This is very much the 'inspiration shows up when you are at your desk' school of thought. I kind of resent it for being true for me but it's definitely true for me. It's probably also basic cognitive behavioural therapy.
There are fluctuations also. Sometimes I reminisce about an experience of writing a story. Get the rose-tinted glasses on. Look back on those halcyon days when I sneezed words onto the screen, thousands a day, inspired by all things, the sky was blue, the roads paved with gold. It felt like flying.
Then I occasion to look at my notes or my journal and see how actually in that moment I was rolling around in the mud in despair because the words wouldn't come and no one understood them anyway.
Because I can't be on a high the whole time. Maybe these are the moments I am more ruthless and kill my darlings, or add something ruthless. I do not suffer from an excess of self-confidence so I spend quite a lot of time in this part of the cycle. I can try to minimise it but also maybe embrace it.
Two lessons here. Firstly, in the moment when everything feels awful, remember this is a fluctuating cycle. It is inevitable, necessary, even, that sometimes everything will feel awful. Secondly, that perfect creative period when the words flowed and everything was well? It never existed. I don't need to beat myself up about not feeling that way now. Got to load myself into the washing machine, ride that cycle round, and make the most of what it brings.