What if I Run Out of Stuff To Write About?

The fear of my creative well drying up

Image credit Fireberrytech via Pexels

Ever since I started writing online, I’ve stuck faithfully to the realm of narrative nonfiction. I’ve lived a reasonably colourful life, gifting me plenty of stories from which to draw personal essays and memoir-style pieces.

I’ve had some success, with a number of my stories being selected for the Boost program over on Medium. I’ve been on cloud nine, feeling really good about my writing and where it might be heading.

But now I’m starting to panic.

I have an overwhelming feeling that the well from which I’m drawing these stories is going to run dry.

What if I run out of stuff to say?

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Having left my full-time, salaried job almost a year ago, I no longer have much of a social life. I don’t have many friends, and the handful I do have are miles away and communication is sporadic. I don’t mind it; I know in a moment of need they’ll be at the end of the phone (or at the very least, responsive on Whatsapp). But it means real-world social interaction is incredibly rare.

I have video calls on occasion with freelance friends, and I even host my own business community. It’s not that I lack social interaction, I just don’t get to that deep level of chat or experience you have when you work with the same people every day.

My husband goes off to work in an office most weekdays, and always comes home with anecdotes about colleagues at work or something that’s happened that day.

I never have my own anecdotes anymore. My life, even though I’m living a dream held since childhood, is boring. It’s a hamster wheel of self-care practices, writing, reading, watching television, cooking and eating. Not always in that order; I’m not completely dull.

And so the fear which penetrates my insomniac-fuelled night time worries is that I will eventually run out of stories. Because I’m not having enough new experiences, I’ll have nothing left to write about, and my writing life will be over.

In turn, this fear stops me from writing and publishing as much as I otherwise might, because I feel like I have to ration the stuff I do have in my brain.

It was serendipitous this week when I turned to The Artist’s Way, the famous book by Julia Cameron which introduced morning pages and artist dates. Beloved by celebrities like Alicia Keys, Elizabeth Gilbert and Pete Townsend, many successful creatives use this 30 year old book to help move them along in their creative endeavours.

I’ve been working through The Artist’s Way for seven weeks now, each week uncovering some long-forgotten skill or desire, moving through the 12-step program with excitement, joy and a sense of wonder at the writing life I’ve carved out for myself.

And what does Julia talk about in this week’s essays?

The well of creativity.

(If you’ve ever explored The Artist’s Way, you might remember that at each weekly check-in, you’re asked to note down any evidence of synchronicity that pops up in your life. This is one of mine).

Julie describes a creative’s artistic pursuits as being something which is pulled almost from the universe, rather than conjured up in the mind. There’s no way to ever get something wrong, because it already exists in the shadow world, the world beyond our conscious awareness. In the same vein, it can never run out, because it is the fabric of the universe.

The well is not a finite resource, but links to a stream through which all of creation flows.

What a fucking wonderful image this produced for my mind!

My well cannot dry up, because it’s connected to the fabric of the universe? Sign me up, I’m sold!

I feel the need to add a caveat here; I’m not religious, or even especially spiritual. I don’t believe in manifestation or astrology, not in any real sense anyway. I believe in opportunity and allowing life to unfold as it will. If I were to ascribe this belief to anything, it would be the way of the Dao, the Buddhist principle so beautifully explained in Benjamin Hoff’s The Tao of Pooh.

You could say my religious belief is “be more Winnie the Pooh”.

Maybe this is a bit woo-woo, and the only advice I’d have for you if you think this is to get yourself a copy of the book and Do The Work. Open yourself up to the possibilities, and just see what happens.

What have you got to lose?

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For my future writing life, I’m drawn to write fiction, even though I haven’t done so since I was a child writing with a special handwriting pen in English lessons.

I believe this desire comes from a vulnerability which is averse to sharing too much of my personal stories (I fear they’ll become stale, boring, or too negative), plus a desire to imbue my work with a hint of magic — whether that be through fantastical or supernatural elements, or just whimsy. In addition, I know I’ll never run out of ideas for other people’s stories. I’ve met so many incredible people throughout my life, and I read so many stories myself; I have unwavering faith that the fictional well would never dry up.

Stephen King, one of my personal heroes because of his ability to create such impressive, three-dimensional characters, famously said:

“When you are consumed with thoughts, write. When you are uninspired, read.”

So, I guess the moral of the story is that even if my life has become dull and boring (but full of love and happiness), the well never needs to run dry. As long as I continue to read and absorb the creative work, experiences and dreams of other people, both real and imagined, inspirational will be in abundance.

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This story was originally published on Medium and is cross-posted here for a wider audience. View the original post here.