On the Need to Be Creating Constantly
I sometimes worry that I only have a finite amount of ideas in my body and that someday I’ll have used them up and then I’ll be out forever. Like I’m a container with only so much space for ideas. What if I ran through too many of them when I was a teenage writer in my bedroom and now, as an adult at my desk, I’m left scraping the bottom of the barrel? But I’m a writer. A writer is supposed to write, to create, right?
More and more often, we’re hearing about the phenomenon called “burnout” in relation to creators, especially creators with online platforms. In a social media era that thrives off of constant output, the need to be creating is an ever-present one among writers especially. Ever since this pandemic started, I’ve been seeing tweets and articles about utilizing this time of quarantine for productivity and betterment of the self. And, while it’s all well and good for those who find that they can be extra productive during this time of upheaval, I certainly don’t feel as capable as usual when it comes to my writing. I feel buffeted on all sides by the daily tragedies and terrors of the world, and that feeling doesn’t make for an especially productive writing life. I sit down to write, to bring life into the world I’m creating, and the words stick, like a rusty tap that refuses to turn.
In my head, there is a near-constant radio hum of I need to write, I have to write. Funny that the words I want to write rarely make a cameo. They certainly used to be present when I was in my teens and early twenties, when I couldn’t get enough of writing, of sliding into the flow. Now, getting into that state of flow feels harder than ever. Even now, I have stopped and started writing this essay so many times I’ve lost count. There are so many other things that I need to do, must do to keep the machinery of my life running smoothly. They crowd around me at the desk, peering down at my page and wondering if what I’m creating is worth the time at all.
But if I stop working and actually spend time on those other tasks, the voice in my head starts up again, asking why I’m not writing? The feeling that I’m wasting precious time seems to follow me no matter what I do or how quickly I do it. I sit at my day job and wish to be at my writing desk. I sit at my writing desk and think about the dishes soaking in the sink. I do the dishes and find my head buzzing with the list of books I ought to be reading. And on and on the wheel turns.
As writers, we are in a unique position of never really being able to leave our work behind when we’re “done.” If we don’t constantly work at an idea, the idea will be like a lump of clay you haven’t warmed up first: when you sit down to mold it, the clay will be hard and unyielding. You have to work at it for a long time before the idea will give and take the shape you’ve envisioned for it. Unfortunately, that aspect of the writing life, that “walking around” time, means that we writers have minds that are at work almost constantly. And, if our minds are constantly working, then we feel that our fingers ought to follow.
But that isn’t always possible. Right now, it feels especially impossible. A person is not a content machine, no matter how hard companies or media platforms try to make them into one. You have to be able to take a break from time to time, to replenish the well from which you draw your ideas. That may mean walking until your feet tire or watching movie after movie, or diving into a video game hole for a few hours, but the common thread is that you’re doing something to reconnect yourself with the world outside of your writing. Those activities can help refill the well with story and nature and life so that, when you do come back to the page, you’re ready to start again.
I called myself a container for ideas earlier in this essay, but I don’t think that’s quite accurate. I think a wellspring might be a more apt term, a source of water tapped directly into the earth. Rather than being separated from the world, a freestanding receptacle for ideas, I can grow from the world, taking in and putting out content in waves, ebbs and flows. Those moments of creative dormancy are as much a part of my creative process as the moments in which I am supremely productive. Perhaps they can be part of your process as well.
About
Sebastian Murdoch
Sebastian Murdoch is a fiction writer living in Jackson, MS with her two cats, Kafka and Yoshimi. Sebastian is a graduate of the Lesley University Low-Residency MFA program, where she studied under experienced and talented writers such as Hester Kaplan, A.J. Verdelle, Rachel Kadish, and Michael Lowenthal. Her short story, "Georgia's Errand," can be found on the Johannesburg Review of Book's website, and she is currently an intern for WriteorDieTribe.com. You can find her on Twitter at @SEMurdoch, on Instagram at smurdoch94, and at her website sebastianwrites.com.
