Is this why van Gogh cut off his ear?

Losing my drive to write and how I’m finding it again

I’m not one to make light of mental illness, and anyone who knows me knows that.

And.

I’ve gotta admit my creative well runneth dry, and my mentyz has been a factor. So how do I battle back my long-time friends depression and anxiety? I laugh through it.

As happens every October through March, I’ve jumped head-first into a case of The Sads™, which I’ve tackled with increased weekly therapy—but also a bump in meds.

It’s hard (for me) to be a writer when the SSRIs are doing their job or getting extra support. (Which, to be clear, I’m very grateful for.)

And still, every time I sit at my laptop to write, I can’t ignore the overwhelming sense of, goddamn it, this is wrong.

My stories are missing their beating heart. The stakes aren’t as clear as I want them to be. And I’m having a helluva time accessing all the things.

Photo by sydney Rae on Unsplash

Luckily, this isn’t my first rodeo, so I have some things up my sleeve. I’ll share them here, so if you have a case of The Sads™ and/or are having a hard time accessing your muse, this may help.

Step one: Accept that the creative spark WILL return

I breezed through writing my dark romantic suspense, The Shadowplay Trilogy. I wrote and edited 300k+ words in under 9 months, which, to a vast majority of folks, is a mindboggling output. It took me about two weeks to write Firelight and Fractures, my dark holiday novella (and prequel to The Shadowplay Trilogy).

So there’s abundant evidence that I can write—both fast and with emotional depth.

However.

One of the biggest lies that Brad (what I’ve named my anxiety) tells is that I’m bust. A one-hit wonder who will never write another good book.

Issa lie.

(Also, this is when I remind myself that Brad is a liar, liar, pants on fire, and not to believe anything he says.)

I also know that this is easier said than done. So this is where I get a little woo-woo and start writing this statement/affirmation/promise to my soul down—on pen and paper.

The proof of my ability is all around me. Like all things in life, there are ups and downs, ebbs and flows. Just because things feel difficult now doesn’t mean they always will.

Lather, rinse, repeat.

Step two: Stop trying to make fetch happen

I couldn’t resist throwing in a little millennial moment. Mean Girls, anyone?

Anyhoo, this is when I channel my inner Gretchen Wieners and accept that “fetch” isn’t gonna happen. Meaning that opening and closing Butter Docs over and over, staring at my manuscript, and writing a kajillion character sketches aren’t gonna get me out of this rut.

Rest will.

So this is when I close down my laptop and leave it in my office. I head to the sofa and while the kids are at school and the baby is napping, I put on Discovery+ and watch a few episodes of Belle Collective. (Side note: How did I not see this show when it came out? I’m hooked!)

I take naps. A lot of naps.

I pull out my bootleg Stanley cup and focus on getting my gallon of water in, but only in ways that feel easy. (So if that means putting a bunch of Crystal Lite in it, so be it.)

I remind myself that my muse needs nourishment, water, and rest.

Step three: Talk it out with a (trusted) friend

In general, my first step is to call my dad whenever I have a problem. Usually, the calls go like this:

Me: “Daddy, I have a problem. You got a few minutes to talk this out with me?”

(Please note that my usually absent New Orleans accent returns as soon as he says “hello.”)

Him: “Sure, baby girl. But it’s not like your hard-headed behind is gonna listen to me anyway.”

…I mean…fair point well made.

However, my dad will be the first to say that he knows nothing about writing, books, or even what I do for a living. (Him: “So you write sexy books? You musta gotten that edge from me. You know I was a playa back in the day. Hey-o!”)

So when I’m having a writing problem, I go to my writer friends. I have a few who write dark romance and we co-write together every week, so when I have a hiccup, I usually can get it solved with a few (long) voice notes.

The other place I go is to my romance author mastermind, Author Ever After (hosted by my mentor, Danika Bloom). Our Circle community is the place I go to when I need to crowdsource ideas and workshop specific drafts or plot issues.

Without my homies there and IRL, I’d be adrift.

Step four: Find an adjacent, fun entry point

The good news is I have no lack of story ideas. In my Notion board, I have about 48 book ideas planned, all at varying stages of plotting and some even with words on the page (like the THREE books that have more than 50k words on them but aren’t finished).

But when I’m searching for my mojo, I have to lean into the fun.

When I was a kid, I remember watching something on The Disney Channel (maybe Smart Guy?), and the character was stuck on a big problem. Another character put on some wild music and started dancing around the room. When questioned, they said something like, “Shifting your actions when you’re too focused on something will help you unlock the solutions. Einstein said that!”

Well, I’m not at all sure that Einstein said this, but I’ve found it to be true. Or maybe it’s a placebo effect.

Either way, when I’m feeling particularly antsy, and Brad is whispering his version of sweet nothings in my ear, I have a single go-to entry point to creativity.

Whitney Houston’s I Wanna Dance With Somebody.

I’m not a dancer, and I’m rather uncoordinated. But when I put that music video on my living room TV and shout out with Whitney when she says, “Whoo!” at the beginning of the song, it’s like an instant shot of dopamine with a serotonin chaser.

And while I rarely have stopped mid-jump with a “Eureka!”, I have let the song wind down so I could approach my whiteboard and free-write until the block is gone.

And even when that doesn’t happen, dancing is good for the soul.

Step five: Start wherever you’re called

This article is evidence of that. Instead of diving back into my manuscript—which feels way less daunting now that I’ve sat to write this—I opened a document to pound this out during my virtual co-writing hour. Now, as I finish the last few sentences, I feel the tightness in my chest easing. The crackle of energy has returned to my fingertips.

It feels like the muse is maybe in the room with me.

I’m not sure how much I’ll write today, but I know one thing: Words will get down on the page. And I’m so grateful.

Take that, Brad.

Do you have any specific strategies for breaking out of a creative rut? Share them in the comments!