Musing on Fallowness

Creatively, I’ve been in a fallow period for a while now. The muse isn’t waking me up in the early hours with urgent paragraphs—diligently captured in my phone’s notes app and squinted over upon rising. I go about my life showering, practicing yoga, walking through parks, gazing into my computer camera on a zoom call (all those neutral spaces where I used to find original thoughts) without that marvelous flash of a story idea or a character trait. 

It’s an empty time. 

And it's easy to feel discouraged. 

Of course, the discouragement only prolongs the absence of creativity. 

It’s hard to know what came first, the emptiness or the discouragement. But whether a chicken or an egg, they build on each other like a child’s stacking cups. 

It seems nearly unbelievable that I used to be bursting with ideas. I’ll go back to those unfinished starts, hoping they can jolt me awake. But these, more often than not, are unfinished for a reason. Not every idea is a winner. 

I’d almost sell my soul for a good idea.

Here’s the plan:

1. Wait it out

   Fallowness is letting the ground heal between plantings. If I recognize that this is a season and not a permanent state, the creative juices are bound to come back eventually. The danger here is that I’m losing time, losing opportunities to grow as a writer. 

2. Force myself to write even when I don’t feel inspired.

   There is much said about writing a certain amount every day. Three hundred words. A thousand words. Many writers journal in the same way that painters cover a white canvas with a base color—to clear away the intimidation of a blank white page/canvas. Timed free writes sometimes spark something. But if I keep turning on the taps and only brown, sputtering water comes out, I’ll be even more discouraged. 

It doesn’t help that I am soft querying right now. Tentatively shopping my novel to see if anyone thinks it’s a good idea. The lack of interest so far has been disheartening. Writing a book is no simple exercise. Going from the wild heights of writing with hope and abandon down to the muddy mire of marketing can be an unwelcome jolt. 

This is a tough season for any artist.

Hang in there, kitten.