Even if it doesn't look like anything is happening

“No, I can’t go out tonight either. I’ve got work to do.” (Image by Hans Benn)

I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve given up on creative work.

First of all, actually sitting down to do the creative work was rare enough. The list of prerequisites was long: tidy office and home, emails answered, bills paid, routine tasks accomplished. I may as well have been Cinderella trying to go to the ball, simultaneously playing the role of my own evil stepmother.

And then, every so often, I’d set aside a free hour with the explicit purpose of writing or composing. What was I going to make? It could be anything. That was the fun of it, right? There was no external structure to satisfy.

And then, with a pain that was almost physical, I’d sit there while ten minutes would tick by. There was nothing. No idea, no product, no spark. Sometimes, I would get frustrated and move on to something more obviously productive; other times, I would manage to run out the clock and sit there for the entire scheduled session, but I’d still feel like a failure.

What I know now is that an essential element of this creative work time is planning. I either need to plan ahead of time what I’m going to do or spend some time planning at the outset of the work session. The lack of structure does not usually lead to success.

And even with a plan in place, I still often require time to get my bearings. I used to give up after ten or twenty minutes of sitting there doing nothing, but now I understand this initial period, in which it doesn’t look like anything is happening, to be a sort of meditation practice that allows me to transition from routine work to creative work, building something from that nothing.

I accomplished little in my creative work not because I didn’t have good ideas or talent. Rather, it was because I didn’t sit down often enough or long enough. I seldom set the kettle on the burner, but even when I did so, I pulled it off before it reached a boil.

These days, I know that I have to make time for making things; the creative impulse is too proud to beg, and its voice is easily drowned out by the urgencies and routines of the day.

I also understand that I have to have a plan for how to use this time so that I don’t get overwhelmed by staring into the void.

And finally, I accept that I might sit there for awhile waiting for an idea to arrive. The blinking cursor or blank page doesn’t have to be a source of misery or proof that I have nothing to say. It’s just part of the process. If I am willing to hang in there instead of running away, I’ll eventually have something to share.

When I write, it’s not the result of inspiration striking. Instead, I sit down every day and invite that inspiration to come. Sure enough, it shows up, giving me exactly what I need to follow through on my plan. It doesn’t look like anything is happening, but I trust that it is.

If you’ve got something you’d like to create—something that you believe should exist in the world that doesn’t yet—you first need to allow yourself the time to work on it, even if you have other things to do. Then, you need to make a plan for how you’re going to proceed.

And then, you wait. Maybe the seeds are about to sprout, the stars are about to come out, or the birds are on the brink of discovering the bird feeder—choose your metaphor. Whatever it is, it’s okay if it takes a little while. Don’t quit, even if it doesn’t look like anything is happening. That way, you’ll be ready when your idea appears. Then comes the easy part.