Remember the last time you felt invincible as a writer? Words flowing, ideas sparking, everything clicking into place? That heady rush when your characters whisper their secrets, plot twists reveal themselves, and your fingers can barely keep up with the story pouring out of you.

Now remember the moment that high evaporated.

We've all been there – staring at a blank page that once welcomed us like an old friend but now feels like an interrogation room mirror reflecting our worst fears back at us. The cursor blinks with accusation. The words that flowed like water yesterday have dried up, leaving behind nothing but doubt and anxiety.

Here's the thing: both experiences are not just normal – they're necessary.

The Two Faces of Creativity

Let me tell you about my own dance with these creative cycles. In the fall of 2021, I was riding one of those magnificent highs. Despite the chaos of a cross-country move and a global pandemic, I managed to write and publish a book. The words were my escape, my solace, my way of processing all the grief and change. I poured everything onto the page, and the page gave back, offering that sublime state where time dissolves and story takes over.

Then came the crash.

The sequel that should have flowed naturally from all that momentum? It turned into a trickle, then a drip, then... nothing. No matter how long I sat at my desk, no matter how firmly I planted my butt in the chair (you know, like all the writing advice tells us to do), the words refused to come. My mind wandered. Brain fog crept in. The joy vanished, replaced by anger, disconnection, and a crushing sense of abandonment by my creative spirit.

Sound familiar?

Here's what nobody tells you when you start writing: creativity isn't a steady stream – it's more like the tide.

Creativity isn't a steady stream – it's more like the tide. It flows in, rich with possibilities, lifting all your creative vessels to new heights. Then, just as naturally, it ebbs away.

It flows in, rich with possibilities, lifting all your creative vessels to new heights. Then, just as naturally, it ebbs away, leaving you feeling stranded and wondering if you'll ever float again.

Why We Fear the Cycle

In theory, understanding that creativity ebbs and flows should bring comfort. After all, if it's natural, we can trust it will return, right? But in practice, every creative drought feels like it might be permanent – and there's a reason for that.

We live in a culture obsessed with constant productivity. Hustle culture glorifies the grind, social media celebrates daily word counts, and the publishing industry's appetite for rapid-fire releases can make you feel like you're falling behind if you're not producing constantly. There's always someone announcing their third book this year while you're still staring at your empty document, trying to remember how words work.

The pressure isn't just external. For many of us, writing isn't just something we do – it's who we are. When the words stop coming, it can feel like losing a piece of our identity. We start questioning everything: Are we really writers if we're not writing? Will our readers forget us? Will we ever get back to that magical flow state where everything clicked?

I felt this acutely during my own creative drought. While trying to write my sequel, each day of minimal progress felt like a personal failure. The more I pushed, the more my creativity retreated. It was like trying to force a flower to bloom by pulling on its petals – not only ineffective but potentially damaging to the whole plant.

Understanding Creative Cycles

Here's what's actually happening in your brain during these cycles: Just like your body needs periods of rest and recovery after physical exertion, your creative mind requires fallow periods to replenish itself. Think of creativity less like a tap you can turn on at will, and more like a well that needs time to refill.

These fallow periods aren't creative deaths – they're creative composting, breaking down experiences into rich soil for future growth.

 

The science backs this up. According to the American Psychological Association, stress – including the stress we put on ourselves to create – can actually inhibit our ability to think creatively. When we're anxious about our lack of productivity, our brains shift into survival mode, focusing on the immediate threat (real or perceived) rather than the open, exploratory state needed for creative work.

This survival mode forces our brains to rely on well-worn patterns and familiar solutions – exactly the opposite of what we need for fresh, creative thinking. It's like our minds switch from exploring an open meadow of possibilities to running the same defensive patterns through a familiar maze. Safe, perhaps, but not particularly inspiring.

Working With Your Creative Rhythm

Once I learned about my ADHD, I understood something crucial: fighting against your brain's natural patterns is like trying to swim upstream in a tsunami – exhausting and ultimately futile. The same applies to creative cycles. The trick isn't forcing creativity to bend to your will; it's learning to dance with the rhythm you've got.

So what does that dance look like?

First, let's talk about recognizing your patterns. Just like some people are morning larks and others are night owls, your creativity likely has its own unique tempo. Maybe you tend to have creative bursts that last a few weeks, followed by quieter periods. Or perhaps your creative energy rises and falls with the seasons. The key is paying attention without judgment.

Think of yourself as a creativity scientist, observing and documenting your own patterns:

When do ideas flow most easily? What conditions tend to precede your most productive periods? What usually happens right before things start to slow down? This isn't about fixing anything – it's about understanding your personal creative ecosystem.

During high-energy phases, your job is to ride the wave:

• Capture every wild idea that comes to you
• Let yourself experiment and play
• Don't worry about perfection – that's what revision is for
• Stock up your creative pantry with notes, scenes, and snippets for later

But here's where most writing advice falls short: what about the low phases? Instead of seeing these as creative failures, what if we viewed them as essential parts of the process?

During these quieter times, refill your creative well. You're gathering experiences, processing emotions, and letting your subconscious mind work on story problems in the background. These fallow periods aren't creative deaths (even though they might feel like it sometimes) – they're creative composting, breaking down experiences into rich soil for future growth.

Some ways to nurture yourself during low phases:

• Read widely and without pressure to analyze
• Engage in different forms of creativity (drawing, baking, gardening)
• Get outside, explore, go somewhere new
• Collect images, music, or objects that spark joy
• Connect with other writers who understand the cycle
• Connect with your loved ones, your community outside the writing world
• Try playful writing tools (like tarot cards) that take the pressure off

When to Seek Support

Let's be real for a moment. While creative cycles are natural, sometimes we need more than just patience and understanding to get through them. It's like the difference between a normal cloudy day and a storm that won't let up – knowing when to seek shelter is part of taking care of yourself.

How do you know when a creative low might need extra support? Watch for these signs:

• When creative blocks are accompanied by persistent depression or anxiety
• When your relationship with writing shifts from frustration to dread
• When negative self-talk becomes your dominant internal narrative
• When isolation starts feeling less like a preference and more like a prison

There's no shame in reaching out. In fact, it's one of the bravest things a writer can do. Writing may be a solitary act, but surviving the creative life? That takes a village. Building your creative support system might include:

• Working with a therapist or creativity coach
• Finding a writing buddy who gets your struggles
• Joining a writing group (online or in-person)
• If you're neurodivergent, connecting with other neurodivergent writers who understand your specific challenges
• Learning about the intersection of mental health and creativity

Remember my story about discovering tarot as a writing tool through my local Sisters in Crime chapter? That wouldn't have happened if I hadn't dragged myself out of isolation and back into the writing community. Sometimes the solution to our creative challenges comes from the most unexpected connections.

Coming Back to the Page

Let's return to that moment we started with – you, staring at the blank page, wondering if the magic will ever come back. Now you understand that this moment isn't the end of your story; it's just part of your creative rhythm.

Your creativity hasn't abandoned you. It's not broken or used up. Like the moon, it may seem to disappear sometimes, but it's always there, moving through its natural cycles. Your job isn't to force it into constant brightness, but to learn its rhythms and work with them.

The next time you feel your creative energy ebbing, try to resist the urge to panic. Instead, remind yourself: This is just part of the process. The words will return. They always do.

In the meantime, be gentle with yourself. Fill your creative well. Play with new tools and techniques. Connect with other writers who understand. And remember – even when creativity feels far away, you're still a writer. Sometimes the most important writing happens in the quiet spaces between the words.

Even when creativity feels far away, you're still a writer. Sometimes the most important writing happens in the quiet spaces between the words.