I’ve been in a creative rut for the past month
Let’s be honest, I’m still in it.
The irony is that I am an English teacher. And when I’m not asking students to analyze texts or identify narrative elements or discuss themes, I ask them to write. Sometimes I ask for an opinion, or sometimes I make up a prompt, or sometimes I ask them to respond to a quote. Whatever comes to mind, I say, no wrong answers.
And yet, here I am, struggling to come up with one idea for the month, or rather, struggling to follow through with an idea for the month.
Since I’ve opted to monetize these articles this past August, I’ve screenshot and posted my earnings on Twitter. It was ironic at first, publicizing my 5 cents, 34 cents, etc. But it’s become a twisted source of pride — someone read my words. Someone resonated with my ideas, my content. I am a creator now. Which, of course, is a problematic mindset to have. I don’t wish to create to earn or influence or gain recognition, but here we are. I check my stats, I read others’ stories, and I want to know: how can I get more people to read mine? Is it good enough? Are these words going anywhere?
And slowly, but surely, the words have stopped flowing. I’ve boxed myself in. I’ve no words left.
Last week, I shared an excerpt from Natalie Goldberg’s Writing Down the Bones with my students. I wanted to get them in the mood to write. Most of them dread writing, citing a lack of ideas or a lack of preparation as the sources of their disdain. But I make them write anyway because it’s good practice. Goldberg, in her chapter “Writing as a Practice,” says:
This is the practice school of writing. Like running, the more you do it, the better you get at it. Some days you don’t want to run and you resist every step of the three miles, but you do it anyway. You practice whether you want to or not. You don’t wait around for inspiration and a deep desire to run. It’ll never happen, especially if you are out of shape and have been avoiding it. But if you run regularly, you train your mind to cut through or ignore your resistance. You just do it. And in the middle of the run, you love it. When you come to an end, you never want to stop. And you stop, hungry for the next time.
That’s how writing is too. Once you’re deep in it, you wonder what took you so long to finally settle down at the desk.
I love writing. I always have. My earliest memories are me at a desk, writing my name over and over again, or copying song lyrics, or writing angsty poems in my journals. It didn’t matter what kind of writing it was, I just knew that pen to paper, fingertips to keyboard, always felt like home.
So, perhaps these articles will never feel cohesive. Maybe there will never be a developed thought wrapped tidily in a bow. And maybe I’ll never make more than $1 on Medium.
But, as Ms. Goldberg says, I will choose to:
Think of writing practice as loving arms you come to illogically and incoherently. It’s our wild forest where we gather energy before going to prune our garden, write our fine books and novels. It’s a continual practice.
I’m a pretty good teacher, don’t you think?
