I took a break from Substack in the last couple of weeks. I posted my end-of-year summary and promptly got a dose of writer's block just in time for the new year. There is a piece I've been working on for a while, adding to it, revising, restructuring…abandoning. I had planned to post the finished piece last week, and the week before. Today I opened the laptop and started reading, revising and rewriting again, but it just isn't working.
I’ve been consistent with my Substack posts since launching, and not for anyone other than myself. Coming back to writing and using Substack to keep myself accountable has been so creatively fulfilling that I haven't felt a need to pause. Unintentionally taking a break from publishing over two weeks has felt like a failure. As I wrestled with this tricky piece again today, a tangle of unpleasant feelings emerged. Resistance, frustration, annoyance, self-doubt and anxiety. An acute response to non-productivity and the inability to create something to publish and get my writing “done”. I realised my struggle with this niggling piece and the conflict with not being productive has nothing to do with me or my ability. It’s a a block, and I’ve been well and truly stuck.
Creativity can flourish at times, flowing effortlessly without any drive or desire. It can happen as if by magic. An idea emerges, and you enter a period of intense focus, an almost euphoric state of absorption in your chosen medium, processing the ideas out of your being and into the world. This is known as the "flow state" in psychology. It is what artists and creatives of any kind aim for. A sort of meditative, liminal space where time seems immeasurable. A piece of work can be forged through feverish concentration and you realise hours have passed, you haven’t eaten or checked your phone. When you can't access this state of flow, it can feel enormously frustrating, leading to thoughts and feelings of failure and inadequacy.
These feelings are not unique to any artist or creative. Lauded artists have experienced the same struggles as any other creative, inside or outside the studio, whether they are recognised publicly or not. Philosopher and writer Alain De Botton says, “writer’s block is an emotional or logical incoherence in a future work slowly working its way through our unconscious". There is something reassuring in his words. This is what it means to be human. We have all experienced negative emotional responses to our creative processes, thwarting flow and progress. We see a flaw in what we've created, make a judgement and then struggle to move on. Creativity is entirely personal and reflective whether you are aware or entirely unconscious of the origins of what you create. Novelist Toni Morrison said “I tell my students there is such a thing as ‘writer’s block,’ and they should respect it. You shouldn’t write through it. It’s blocked because it ought to be blocked because you haven’t got it right now”. Respect the block, stop pushing. I’ll take that.
My attempt over recent weeks to push through that piece has been unsuccessful. It would be impossible to write through it because it is a jumbled mess in my mind, let alone on paper. What I have done today, now, spontaneously, is write about the experience of the creative block. This has flowed effortlessly. It has been bothersome, not knowing how to move past this block because the concept and idea behind it are significant to me. The grasping for coherence and clarity in conveying the idea has strangely muddied the water even further to the extent that I no longer have a clear narrative in my mind. As Alan De Botton rightly observed, the block is emotional.
I have tried to get out of this creative riptide. Until this point, I have been dragged and pulled, trying unsuccessfully to swim against it. This reflection on the creative process brought to mind being caught in a real rip tide on a famous Sydney beach. I entered the water between the flags, and I diligently checked my location in proximity to the two points. My feet confidently bounced on the sand below, within my depth. The water was crystal clear, and I was transfixed by the patterns of the light and water in the shallows. Slowly, unbeknownst to me, I was drifting. I had no idea until I slipped off a sandbar and into a deep channel and off I went, I tried swimming back to no avail, I wasn’t in a panic state, not yet when a surfer paddled coming back to shore could see I was struggling. He pointed out where to swim with the flow to get me to the next sandbar and out of trouble. I gratefully found my way back, bedraggled but relieved. I feel that way now. I was so flummoxed and now I’m relieved to not struggle against something that’s not working, I haven’t got it right now, and that's ok.
I'm realising there is a natural ebb and flow with creativity and even with the best of intentions you can't force it. Sometimes it flows without effort and sometimes inspiration evaporates entirely like the tide receding. It seems in those moments you need to find ways and means to replenish, refill and resource yourself for the next output.
The urge to fight against the tide of negative feelings is immensely difficult and it's easy to see why people give up. I have done so many times myself in other creative pursuits. I may not 'succeed' in overcoming my block with this piece. Comparison, perfectionism and uncertainty are alive and well. Even writing this observation of failure or block, is challenging. Creativity could never be described as easy. Part of any creative process is overcoming ingrained ideas about what the so-called perfect outcome is. The thing is, there is none.
So where to from here? I’m leaving that troublesome piece to one side. It will emerge again when it's ready, or maybe not. How do I recognise a creative block next time? If I feel that struggle, resistance and frustration, it will be a sign to switch off and do something completely different. I’ll take myself into the wild. Time outside in nature, its restorative effects, mentally, emotionally and creatively is a balm, no matter the affliction. I'll take a break from writing, rather than trying to think my way out of this problem piece. I'll be with my senses, not pushing or scrambling to reach an unknown, imaginary goalpost in my writing or my wider world. I'll stay with the real imperfect, ever-changing, uncertain world in all its beauty and complexity.
Natures notes is proudly written on and inspired by Dharawal Country.
I recognise the Dharawal & Wodi Wodi custodians and ancestors who have an enduring connection to land, water and skies. I give thanks for reciprocity and acknowledge that this
Always Was and Always Will be Aboriginal Land.