Sometimes the tide is out

I mentioned in July that I hadn’t been working on my own writing while I worked on my husband’s book. I found that I needed to focus on Glyn’s book until it was finished. It is now finished. We are eagerly awaiting the return of a recommended editor from their overseas trip.
Since finishing the last read through of Glyn’s book I have been giving myself a rest from producing any kind of writing. I felt like I needed a break to recalibrate.
I tend to think in metaphors and my metaphor of choice is usually about rivers or the ocean. Writing the book with Glyn was a series of metaphors. We started paddling in the shallows and slowly worked our way to deep water, then we rode the wave to shore as we finished the last edit.
Now?

The tide is out.

Remember when you were in primary school looking out the window wishing you could still be playing outside. The room was hot and stuffy in summer. No air con or even any fans. Everyone drooping at their desk, the teacher’s voice droning in the background. You knew there’d be a beach trip with the family at the weekend and you couldn’t wait for Friday to end. The white clock with the big black hands ticked so slowly you wondered if it had stopped. Finally you get to skip all the way home and start digging out your bathers and your beach towel mum got you last Christmas.

The next morning everyone helped to pack the trusty holden station wagon with buckets, spades and kick boards along with the striped beach umbrella that made your dad swear and everyone giggle whenever he put it up. Usually in the wind. Mum would make a stack of tomato sandwiches that where bound to be soggy by the time you ate them all gritty with sand. Let’s not forget the inevitable giant polystyrene cordial bottle clinking with ice.

Then we’d set off for the beach singing Cliff Richard’s song ‘Summer Holiday.’ That would last five minutes and then the three of us older kids would start pushing and shoving and playing corners.
We would finally arrive at the beach, unpack the car and lug all the gear to find a spot on the beach. We couldn’t wait to dive into the sparkling water after the hour long stuffy drive. We’d take the steps two at a time and finally there we were…

Photo by Kikki Starr on Unsplash

Remember the sinking feeling when you looked out and saw the sea was miles away. The sinking feeling only lasted a little while because we discovered there are other things to do at the beach when the tide is out. Rock pools appear and suddenly become fascinating. Discoveries that couldn’t be made while the water is deep.
There are some places that can only be accessed when the tide is out.
I remember as a child visiting Ynys Llanddwyn, LLanddwyn Island, not far from where we lived in North Wales. You can walk across to the island when the tide is out but you have to be careful not to get stranded when the tide comes back in.

Photo by Marco Bianchetti on Unsplash

For me, creativity is a lot like the ocean. Sometimes the tide is high and I ride the crest of a wave as the ideas flood my mind and it’s simple to slip into the flow.
Then the project ends and I find myself in the shallows again.
I went to a workshop a long time ago run by Jeff and Julie Crabtree. Authors of ‘Living with a Creative Mind.’ In the workshop they talked about the creative life and the reality of the highs and lows that are part and parcel of the creative process.
The workshop was aimed at helping creatives, especially young ones, to normalise or recognise the highs and lows of the creative process. Some young people crash hard and turn to drugs to numb themselves. I think it’s especially true for actors and musicians. The euphoria of the audience is addictive and the let down, once the show is over, is a stark contrast to the bright lights and the applause. Sometimes the lows are so low they lead some creatives to give up on everything, even life itself.

During the workshop they showed a film clip of a place in the world with the highest and lowest tides. The Bay of Fundy. I have never forgotten the impact of that film clip on my heart. It somehow made sense of the highs and lows of living a creative life.

You can watch a similar clip if you look up: “World’s Highest Tides – Time lapse – Bay of Fundy” on YouTube. I tried to embed it here and it didn’t work.

My key takeaway from the workshop was: ‘There are some things you can only do at low tide.’

The trick is to recognise it. During those down times, when we recognise them, we can take advantage of the time. If we remember there are some things that can only be done at low tide, we can pre-empt the way we spend the time. Resting for sure, but also, spending time filling up our creative tanks. Looking at beautiful art, reading a good book, playing in a different discipline or spending time in nature. Whatever feeds your inner artist. Most important of all is to use the time to daydream and wonder.

Allow boredom to be boring. Boredom is often where new ideas live.

After my dad died, my mother would often say, especially in the lead up to Christmas, she didn’t have the hwyl for Christmas. Hwyl is a Welsh word that is a little lost in translation. It means something like a deep state of joy or enthusiasm. The feeling we have when we watch a baby sleep or the warmth we feel from spending time with people we love. For me that’s hwyl.
The original meaning of hwyl was ‘a ship’s sail.’ I like that.

Photo by Thom Milkovic on Unsplash

Lately, for me, the clock seems to be ticking more slowly. The days stretch out with very little to fill them. I have a million things I could be doing but I don’t feel like doing any of them. I have stories I could be writing, poems waiting to be born and scenes that need to be finished and yet, I don’t have the hwyl.

The tide is out. It’s supposed to be. I have to keep reminding myself that I’m having a break after finishing Glyn’s book.

The thing is, when the project is finished or the audience is gone, it can leave us feeling flat and empty. There’s no waves to play in and it’s not fun anymore. It feels uncomfortable and we don’t like discomfort. Those are the times we need to remember the tide has gone out and it’ll be back.
It can feel like we will never create anything new during low tide. We ride the high of the latest project then enter the afterglow of accomplishing something, only to be left with the feeling that we may never make anything new again.

How long should our tide go out for? I think it’s different for everyone. I trust my instincts now after all these years. I used to panic and think I would never have a new idea if I wasn’t constantly brainstorming and planning my next project. The opposite is true. When we allow ourselves to have a break and let our mind drift, the ideas naturally float to the surface. In fact it’s essential for finding new ideas.
Ever wonder why ideas come to you in the shower? You relax, your mind drifts and bing! An idea pops into being.
Don’t be afraid of the quiet and the discomfort of not being ‘productive.’ It’s in the quiet and the not thinking of ideas when they begin to arise.
Unfortunately our inner critic has a tendency to arc up when we allow ourselves to have a rest after a creative project. It says things like:
You’re not being productive today.
Why are you slacking off? You’re lazy.
You’ll lose your edge.
You’ll forget how to write, paint, sing, ________ fill in the blank.
You’ll never have any new ideas just sitting here.
You’re stranded and the tide will never come back.
It gets worse the more we listen.

One thing I do to quieten that often nasty little voice in my head is to tell myself, it’s ok, we’re just having a break. Sometimes it helps me to make things with my hands. Knitting, sewing, drawing whatever helps me to get out of my head and into my hands. Being outside in the garden is a wonderful way to shut it up. Pull a few weeds, water some plants, go for a walk, sit in the garden, look out a window, watch the birds splashing in the bird bath…

Rest your mind. The ideas will come.

‘You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.’ ~ Maya Angelou

Even though I may not be busy writing the next Miles Franklin award winning novel at the moment, I know I am filling up my creative tank. This rest time is precious. Allow the tide to be out. It will come back in, I promise.
I wonder what do you do to fill your creative tank? How do you navigate the creative tides? I’d love to hear from you in the comments. It’s always good to know it’s not just me.