What to do with your newborn creative idea
Dear friends,
It was born a couple of weeks ago: the idea for a new novel. I was sitting at my kitchen table, chatting with a couple of friends when I felt it appear. It wasn’t a dramatic moment, but it was a very clear one. It rustled.
“Ah,” I thought. “It’s arrived.”
I knew almost nothing about this newborn, though, because I couldn’t see it yet. It was born in the shed.
The shed
I have a shed inside me where my creativity lives. It sits in the backyard of my self; it’s a bit ramshackle, built of wood and corrugated iron and probably put together by whoever lived here last. You might have something similar, although yours might be more like a theme park, a theater, or a cave in a rock face.
I value my shed very highly, but I’ve never been inside it. I just recognize the rustlings.
Here’s what it feels like: suddenly, something is moving around somewhere inside me. It feels as though parts of my body are very slightly displaced by it. But because the idea hasn’t taken its final form yet, it kind of morphs and pulses inside me. It’s very new.
The Khoisan people of the Kalahari Desert have a sacred text that describes “a kind of tapping, or presentiment” (source) to describe the coming of the year’s hunting.
“We have a sensation in our feet, as we feel the rustling of the feet of the springbok.”
It’s all about the rustling.
What my brain wants
The first thing I want to do when my rustling comes is to run straight into the shed. I want to meet the baby, to take this little creature in my arms and cuddle it. I want to see how many legs it has, and how many eyes. Mostly, I’m just dying to know what it is.
This is the brain weighing in, of course. Earnest and a little bossy, my brain firmly believes that this is a moment for discipline. It wants to seize the fresh little idea and interrogate it.
What ARE you, anyway? And what is that, exactly? What are you going to grow into? How can I make you grow faster, and better, and in a way that will appeal to the widest possible market?
The brain, of course, is sure that it is the one best suited to foster the idea into reality.
But it’s not.
It’s really not.
What I’ve learned by living this way for a while is that the creature in the shed is not ready for me yet. If I go barging in right now, this sweet baby is going to become terrified, and—I’ve gotta be honest with you, folks—there’s a good chance the little critter will actually die.
Receptivity and play
My brain is right about one thing: this is a time for discipline. But it’s such a different species of discipline.
A lot of this phase is about waiting and staying receptive, which is torture for the brain. But it’s what the creature in the shed really needs. So I have to put my bossy brain on ice and instead, start listening to my body.
I can feel the idea growing as I embrace waiting. Every now and then there will be a bit of movement and I’ll learn something new, like Well, it definitely has feet.
Then I get to start playing. But STILL I don’t get to go in the shed.
For me, playing with the baby idea—even while it’s still sequestered—tends to mean asking the creature a series of “What if…?” questions.
What if these two characters are reluctantly thrown together by their shared objective? What if it’s all set in the Lower East Side of Manhattan?
Want to play?
Asking the body
I know the story idea is ready to play when it starts answering these “what if” questions. It speaks its answers in my body, because that’s where it lives. (Must... not… listen… to… brain!)
If the idea likes my “what if” suggestion, the rustling increases. I’ll feel a twitch of excitement, a glow of warmth, or a jolt of enthusiasm. On the other hand, if the gambit I’ve offered isn’t a good fit for this idea, there’ll be a stillness within the shed, or I’ll even feel a slight reduction in my physical energy.
What I need to remember now is that the story already knows itself. It's trying to find a teller.
The truth about discipline in creativity
When creativity is new, it’s shy. It’s easily spooked. Nevertheless, there is a specific kind of discipline that I can use to help my idea grow from a helpless newborn to a vivacious toddler. And that’s what I need to do right now.
Here’s how it goes.
I create a container. An area where my creature can play once it’s strong enough to leave the shed. A place and a time in the real world (outside my shed), which I can dedicate to keeping the idea safe and nourished.
Now my brain can come online. I give it the job of making the container, and creating whatever parameters are required for a firm commitment.
Then… I show up and see what happens. I listen for updates, I stay playful, and I trust in the perfection of whatever shows up (or whatever doesn’t). I refuse to engage in force or coercion.
Here’s what I personally need for this creative container:
A commitment to caring for my idea as it grows,
Accountability for the commitment, and then
A soft atmosphere—one that’s gentle, patient and kind.
Recently, I found this when I joined a virtual coworking program. I showed up on Zoom a couple of times a week, and somehow the alchemy of making stuff within a group of silent, creative human beings worked for me. It was as if the shed door had started to open.
When the coworking program came to an end, I eagerly asked the organizer if they would be offering another one. The answer was no—with this addendum: “Why don’t you start your own group?”
And maybe I'll do that someday.
In the meantime, if your new creative ideas are as fragile as mine, remember: don’t hunt down the next step. Instead, listen.
It’s just a baby!
Have a great week, gorgeous people!
Love, Ro
PS You can also listen to this newsletter as an audio podcast.
Questions for Ro?
My dear paid subscribers, this one’s just for you!
After our discussion last week, I decided to try out a Q&A video for your exclusive content this week.
In the comments below, please ask me anything. (I won’t answer certain things, obvs, but you sure can ask! 😂) And I’ll answer the questions in a video that will land in your inbox later in the week.
Recommendation: Courtney Maum
Is anyone else in some sort of book publishing limbo right now? If you are, I can’t recommend Courtney Maum highly enough. I’ve listened to the full audiobook of Before and After the Book Deal at least three times, and I’m devoted to her Substack newsletter of the same name.
Community Voices
I loved the comments from last week’s newsletter, The Joy of Getting to Zero.
“Rather than getting to zero, I think for me, what I've gotten to is deeply knowing both calm and storm can co-exist and that all will be well. That anxious 20 year old, overworked 30 year old, striving 40 year old, and confident over-busy 50 year old are all still within me and emerge every so often. The difference is now a very funny, wise, and loving 62 year old greets them with a smile and a hug and sometimes a tasty treat!” ~ Donna Kiel
“From a young age I could see/sense that the way everyone around me was living wasn't going to work for me.” ~ Aliyah Washington
“I am at zero and free! I don’t have to count or manifest a thing.” ~ Amy Razeghi
Meme corner
A few recent faves.
Feeling creative?
I’m so curious about your own creative process. What do you need to do when an idea is fresh? Are your ideas any more robust in the early days than mine?
Use the comments to tell me about how you create! And remember, ask me anything in the comments and get a video of my answers in your inbox this week!
(Discussion and Q&A is for paid subscribers only. You can upgrade at any time for $7 per month! xR)
Oooh, the part where you talk about the shed being 'built there by whomever lived here before.' That was particularly spine tingling!
I love that you've found that having that creative space/container works so well for you. Again I think we're often fed this narrative of the 'lonely artist' who has to suffer and toil away in the shadows all alone in order to create their work of genius, when in reality this isolation is often NOT what we need. I love that you're shining a light on this totally different approach to creativity that takes it OUT of being this struggle bus/alone time torture idea and into a collective support and, dare I say, even ENJOYABLE process.
I've always had a bit of an opposite experience with creativity. For me the impulse to write and create came on early and it came on HARD. I started journalling in fifth grade, and essentially never stopped writing ever since. I remember the FIRST thing I did when I got facebook was write a 'note' about the song 'womanizer' and how our culture had drifted so far into disconnection and frivolity that this was the kind of thing we wanted to listen to - and suggesting that maybe instead we should find our friends and go out for coffee with them. Deep thoughts for a 17 year old... ;)
I've always really loved the idea of 'building a vessel.' Like you, I sort of feel like what I create comes through me vs. being FROM me. With that it's always felt like if there was ever a 'block' in the stream it was always because I wasn't strong enough to hold what was coming. Meaning my mind was too scattered, my body wasn't built up enough, I didn't have the requisite understandings to say what needed to be said. It's always felt like this creativity thing is like an athletic pursuit. I have the image in my mind of what I'm SUPPOSED to be creating, and the gap is always in my physical capacity to bring life to that vision.
I remember getting to a place where I decided I would write a full blog post every day for 30 days because I wanted to be fit enough that no matter what was supposed to come through that day, I would be able to get at ALL of it. For me, in the beginning, it was kind of painful, setting aside the time to write in between two jobs and all the other life responsibilities, but for me it was this *thing* that I HAD to do?? Over the years, it's become such a part of my every day that now I feel really weird and off if I HAVEN'T written something.
But as far as big projects like what you're talking about - I feel similarly. I usually get the BIG VISION and then want to CHARGE AHEAD and make it NOW. But usually, there's much I need to become before I'm going to be capable of creating the thing. I have always felt like my creations are really just the carrot on the stick for ME to take the steps in my life I need to take to create the next version of MYSELF. The muse is there to tempt me with a project, so that I will walk the path of growth required to create the thing.
Which means treating myself like the baby. Being gentle. Being open, curious, humble and respectful of the process. Learning not to burn myself out and fry the vessel. Learning to rest and nourish along the way. Learning that THE THING isn't to get it done, but to become something. The thing is a bonus.
This creative life is a weird one. It constantly challenges me in what I believe about the Universe and greater powers, myself, what creativity even is. You can't not be in a slightly existential space most of the time and be in this work - which is why I think community is so important. As you so wisely have discovered.
We don't have to toil in pain and shadow, and we can let the thing come through slow so that we don't fry ourselves out. We can rest in between. It's all about who we are becoming anyway.
<3
Hello Rowan! I am new to sub stack but I am familiar with you and I have been riding the bewildered train and coming to my senses along with you and I want to sincerely thank you and Martha for being you with all the weird and intellect and humor. The wisdom you have to share has been a piece of my puzzle I didn’t know I was missing until I found it.
My creative process has changed over the years. When I was younger I would stop before I even started, being scared of failure or showing too much of myself, consequently being rejected and ridiculed. I was depressed and anxious for years and I still deal with anxiety here and there but I will tell you what has worked. Having ideas, and creating them as soon as I have the time and energy. The need to get my feelings into words and out in a poem feel like I am choking to speak, until the words are down on paper. Each time I write I am healing more of my inner wounds by giving them air. I believe this is why I was depressed for so long, I was only half living if I wasn’t creating.
As I have written it has loosened my drawing muscles. Making them itch to work again, to find images that reflect back to myself my own experience, making it concrete and real. Creating and making and then seeing the work as it progresses, to see the collection of what has been made through my human experience reminds me of my own worth. When I create I heal. When I revisit my work, I remind myself from the past of where I have been and how far I have come. I remind myself of my own beauty and truth I hid for so long.
With all that said, I do have quite a few projects I am working on slowly. They live in my notebooks and studio, living and breathing, and waiting. Availability of my free time, motivation, energy, inspiration and fear stand in the way of truly feeling as if I they are “in progress”. Some days I do not feel as if I am working on anything important. Times I am completely “stalled” days or even weeks. I have two young kids and that is hard. Life is hard and so is the creative process….but if I can allow the process to unravel as life happens instead of resisting the whole process of living, mothering and creating, I can find my way.
I found my way to Martha who led me to you who led me back, for the second look at substack. Leading me back to this forum and your proposal of The creativity collective filled my belly with a tiny firework burst. The feeling I get when I am being pulled to something that feels like the next right step, excitement on a mystical nerd level. This is where I could begin to creatively connect. I long to share what I have created, can and will create. I want to share me. Support in life and in creative endeavors help us grow. And I am in the market for support and growth.
Rowan, have you ever been fearful to share your work?
With Kindness,
Rae Delisle