Inviting Inspiration to Strike
Late summer can often be a low-inspiration time for writers (or at least this writer). Summer, heat, and humidity have worn out their welcome. Vacation is over. There’s a big back-to-school/back-to-work transition to hurdle ourselves through. It can be hard to find time and motivation to write—which in turn can make it harder to recognize inspiration when it comes knocking.
Part of the problem is that we tend to harbor two big myths about inspiration: (A) that it’s a random bolt from the blue over which the writer has no control so you are stuck waiting around for it and (B) that inspiration is fueled entirely by some internal mechanism of writerly gumption (and therefore it is “cheating” to seek guidance or borrow impulsion from any outside source). Writers don’t have total control over what ideas will arise or when they’ll show up (it would be boring if we did), but we do have the power to tune our attention toward new possibilities—and we often do this by actively seeking outside ourselves. In fact, I think talented writers are particularly good at metabolizing feedback, spotting prompts in the wild (and making use of them), and borrowing images/ideas/facts for their work.
Here are some practical strategies I recommend for tuning towards inspiration:
1. Give yourself the gift of just enough boredom. When my brain is overscheduled and overstimulated, it is too busy spinning like a hamster on a wheel to notice the kinds of subtle details that feed into a poem. But if I build pockets of not-trying-to-get-anything-done-with-my-mind into my day (taking the dog for a walk without listening to a news podcast, driving home without music, just sitting on the deck and doing nothing at all), I am much more likely to spot a poem in the periphery of my thoughts (and to have the mental bandwidth and patience to reel it in).
2. Learn something new. There’s something about the process of learning a new skill or integrating new information that pushes my brain to account for itself (or maybe to itself) in words. It really doesn’t matter what I’m learning (so long as it is interesting to me). I find that in-person and/or hands on learning is most effective for jumpstarting poems. Some “lessons” that have fed my poems: yoga handstand workshops, pottery and knitting classes, tours of historic homes, naturalist-led walks in my local parks, and learning how to cook wontons.
3. Crosspollinate. Watching artists make things (and solve creative problems) often helps me spot new possibilities for my own work. Some of my favorite ways to crosspollinate: go to a concert, visit the art museum, bake or cook a new recipe, watch a documentary about an artist and their process (I recently loved A Weaverly Path).
4. Seek publication. Sometimes I slow down (or pause) the creation of new work if there is a pile of work that I haven’t brought all the way through the creative cycle (to the publish/share/perform stage). It’s like my unconscious knows that there is a backlog and wants to finish the old poems and release them into the world before starting something new. Putting together packets of poems for journals can also push me to revise them further, which in turn can help me identify new things I want to try. (If you want a guide to help you explore the world of literary journals and magazines, I offer one-on-one coaching; I’ve also built a budget friendly Journal Submit Toolkit.)
5. Get Feedback. Thoughtful, nourishing feedback not only helps me revise my poems, but often also sparks new work. This is because it helps me gain a clearer understanding of what my work is doing (and what I want for it to do). Especially when I am putting together a manuscript, good feedback helps me write new poems in conversation with those I have already written. Poetry coaching is a great way to get feedback that inspires new output. Writing groups and critical response process classes can also be helpful.
6. Take a generative workshop. This sounds obvious, but when I’m in the uncreative doldrums I sometimes overlook the obvious. There’s just something magical that happens when a small group of people gathers (in person or virtually) to play with words and listen to one another read aloud. I recently joined a Speculative Poetry class at The Muse and wrote a few drafts that I am excited to keep experimenting with.
