on creativity and my writing process

as a receptive being.

After I graduated from university, I was convinced I was a bad writer. 

Instilled with the principles of “quality journalism”, I had come to believe, over the five years of my bachelors degree, that writing had to be hard. You had to have an argument, a thesis, a clear and organized structure. You had to do research. You had to provide evidence. You couldn’t just start writing. 

I was always itching to write but felt burdened by the planning and strategic aspect of it all. I felt embarrassed because I wasn’t interested in news or politics or hard-hitting stories that required investigative journalism. I wanted to write self-indulgent personal essays about the topics I was interested in (namely, astrology, which I managed to weave into as many assignments as I could). But real writers talked about serious topics. How could I possibly have anything to say? 

It took time to undo the conditioning I picked up throughout university. It took time for me to get comfortable writing in my own voice again without the pressures of academia telling me the “correct” way to write. 

Writing is a practice. It is also a habit. Recording my thoughts and feelings has been instinctual to me for a very long time. Writing has helped me process sadness and heartbreak. It has also allowed me to remember and capture the joyful moments of my life. Writing is a form of archiving memory; it’s the attempt to translate experiences into words. 

There have been many times I thought I was done with writing. I felt as if I would have nothing to say ever again, resenting it like a bad lover who comes and goes when they please. I have tried to force myself to sit down and create a routine around writing, an attempt to motivate myself to publish on a consistent schedule. It never works. If I feel like I have to write out of obligation to fulfill some kind of mental pressure — the praise of being “productive” —  then everything in my body will resist it. The words will not come.

But somehow, I always return eventually. No matter how long it’s been, there comes a moment where I unconsciously open a blank document and find myself being moved by the need to self-express. 

I was recently asked by someone what my writing process looks like. The truth is I don’t really have a fixed process. Every piece is unique. Sometimes an entire piece will come out of me in one sitting. Other times, it takes weeks to mould and shape the words into something coherent. Often my writing is sparked by conversations with friends or strangers who pull from my receptivity. I might be inspired by a particular subject or theme, and find myself jotting it down in my notes app to be fleshed out later (or abandoned). There are other times I get struck with a singular sentence, to which if I “catch” it, I’ll find myself in an existential flow writing about a topic or feeling I had no idea was brewing within me.

I am endlessly fascinated by other’s creative processes, no matter the medium, and so I wanted to share mine here, plus some other thoughts on creativity and on being “a writer”.

Creativity as a Receptive Process

If you have not read ‘Big Magic’ by Elizabeth Gilbert or ‘The Creative Act’ by Rick Rubin, then by all means, you are living under a rock. In both of these books, the authors talk about creativity as a spiritual process. They emphasize that creativity and ideas are not something which belong to us — they come from the collective unconscious, from spirit, from somewhere outside of ourselves. These creative ideas circle around us in the ethers and they choose a particular vessel for it to manifest through.

As an individual, we also have to choose to work with the creative idea like deciding to enter into in a relationship. Sometimes, ideas are just ideas and are not meant to be brought forth by you specifically. Gilbert shares her own experience in ‘Big Magic’, where a book she was working on for years and later decided to abandon came through someone else. The book had almost exactly the same plot line. Of course, there will always be a slightly different filter depending on the vessel (person) it is filtered through. But her example helps to illustrate how ideas and creativity are not entirely “human” — they’re forces of energy that want to be brought into form.

I never go searching for things to write about. I trust that what is meant to come through will find me. There is a lot waiting involved, which requires a lot of trust. Sometimes, I am waiting in the void and it’s a period of consumption over creation. Other times, I find myself in a creative surge where I am almost overwhelmed with all the ideas knocking on my door. It’s a cycle, and both are as important as the other.

Usually, I do not know where a piece is going but find out through the process of writing it. I do not have plan to share a point or message, but often it reveals itself regardless. I have learned to treat my writing like a separate entity — you are birthing a thing, and that thing does not entirely belong to you. It requires attention and care, and sometimes, ruthless objectivity.

The analogy that comes to mind when thinking about creativity is being a softball catcher — it is your job to remain open, present, and patient for when the ball comes your way. If ideas really do “choose” us, then you have to believe there’s a reason you feel inclined to write or create certain things. If they weren’t for you, they wouldn’t be floating in your consciousness.

The Importance of Practice

In Human Design, my Gemini sun falls in gate 16 — the gate of enthusiasm and skills. This logical gate is about the repetition and practice of a certain skill, which over time, leads to mastery.

How are enthusiasm and skills connected? You have to be enthusiastic about the skill you wish to practice — you have to like and enjoy the process of practicing. When you like something, you’re more inclined to practice. The more you practice, the better you get. The better you get, the more you enjoy it. The more you enjoy it, the more you practice. And so on.

There are people born with innate talents and certain skills, but for most of us, they have to be honed over time. It’s a cliche yet it’s true — there is no such thing as an overnight success. We do not see the years and years of preparation, practice, and repetition that someone undertakes before they are publicly recognized. This is not sexy or exciting. It’s logical and dry; yet, there’s joy to be found in the pursuit of perfecting a particular skill.

The central key is ENJOYMENT. If you do not enjoy practicing — if you do not have the enthusiasm to experiment — then it is not the creative endeavor for you. This is entirely okay. I am sure there is something you naturally feel drawn to and desire to practice. It is often intuitive and instinctual and does not require much thought.

Personally, I like writing. I like shaping words and crafting sentences and translating my thoughts and feelings onto the page. Essentially, I enjoy the process.

Enjoying the process, however, can also mean having moments of stuckness and frustration. There are times I feel frustrated when a piece of writing is coming out nothing like I intended. I can get annoyed when I can’t articulate something because the vocabulary escapes me. It is usually easy for me to begin writing — it’s the middle part that gets sticky.

But overall — there is satisfaction to be found in finishing the work. There is a distinct kind of pleasure that comes from publishing something which took time and effort to create. This effort is not the same as brute force. It’s a physical drive or pull towards continuing the process of making the thing. This is divine will and it is not orchestrated by the mind.

“Done is Good Enough”

Editing is where the magic happens when it comes to writing. If you like to write, you have to be comfortable with editing, ruthlessly. You will be forced to “kill your darlings”, to cut sentences and entire paragraphs you think are written well, but ultimately do not serve the work. You will have to put your ego aside when it comes to receiving feedback and be willing to ask if you need it. Generally, I operate by the philosophy that “less is more” — if a word or sentence doesn’t need to be there, cut it, even if you think it’s pretty or poetic.

There’s always more you can tweak, edit, and refine — you could literally go on forever. I almost always finish a piece thinking about where I could have expanded, what sentences were clumsy, or tiny word changes that might have made things clearer.

But there comes a point where you have to say “done is good enough”, even if you feel somewhat average about the work. When you can’t stand to look at it anymore, this is a good thing: this means you’re finished.

This mantra is something I repeat to myself often. It takes the pressure off as a perfectionist and reduces the importance of publishing the work. It might not have turned out exactly how I envisioned, but that’s the creative process — bringing the immaterial into the material world is always going to look slightly different to what you imagined (sometimes better). When you publish and let go of a piece, it creates space for the next thing to come through. Creative Constipation is when you are so backed up with unpublished pieces that you do not have room to bring forth anything new. Thus, regular flushing is essential (lol).

Honestly, you just have to get over yourself. You have to see publishing your work as no big deal, no matter the reception or engagement. You have to stop measuring your creativity against anyone else because there’s always going to be someone who is "better” than you.

Writing is an inherently vulnerable process, but the more you exercise the muscle of allowing yourself to be seen, the easier it gets. You stop overanalyzing and over-editing the work. You get better at learning when to let go.

Writing Routines and Rituals

As mentioned earlier, I don’t have a set writing routine. However, I have noticed certain patterns which work for me.

I am at my best writing early in the morning before the sun comes up. I never intentionally set an alarm, but when my body is naturally waking up during those hours, I take advantage. It sounds romantic to write at night — and sometimes I do — but generally, the morning is when I feel fresh and inspired.

I tend to not be able to write for more than three hours before my brain turns to mush. Even if I am getting really into a piece, there comes a point where my eyes start to go blurry and fatigue sets in, to which I have no choice but to step away from the work. Chances are, if I take a break after a few hours of writing, I am finished for the day. It takes conscious effort to turn my focus elsewhere and not keep opening up the document to make minor edits. Doing something physical or mindless afterwards — like washing dishes or house chores — is a good way for me to get out of that hyper-focused state.

I’ve experimented with writing at cafes and public spaces before. But it seems that the best place for me to focus on my writing is alone, at home. I am lucky that I currently have an office space I’ve been using to dedicate to writing (where I am writing from now, just before 7am). I think finding the right environment and setting for writing is important, and that’s going to be unique to each person. It might also change over time. Experimenting with different conditions helps you to find out what spaces are conducive for you to write versus what environments are distracting.

I’ve struggled to claim my identity “as a writer”. There is a part of me which cringes and feels as if I can’t use it, as technically I don’t earn money from this pursuit. But… I’ve come to accept that a writer is simply someone who writes. Instead of shying away from using that identity, I’ve been practicing saying “I am a writer” when someone asks me what I do outside of work. Because in all respects, it’s true. I do write. I am a writer. I may have broken the bond with many concepts, ideas, and practices over the years, but the one consistent thread is writing, and perhaps writing is merely the vehicle for me to explore my various interests.

Recently, I have felt a renewed and deepened commitment to the process of writing. I have been finding my flow again and it feels good. I have been viewing it more as a practice, not as something that has to be perfect or completely original. I am slowly getting over myself and my resistance to writing more consistently, because really, it is the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do. Whether it ends up being just a creative outlet or an actual profession down the line, who knows. If I enjoy the process and practice of writing, then by all means, I am going to keep following my joy. 🌀