I’ve gone through periods where my writing pours out, rich and lively, and other times when my writing seems wooden. But even in the dry periods, I show up. While my material is composting, I keep my writing muscles toned, so I'm “in shape” when the material is ready to be written. Sometimes my writing commitment to myself is ten minutes a day; sometimes it is a half hour or an hour three times a week. That means I sit with pen and paper or in front of my computer for the designated time and wait to see what happens.
I remember the day I walked past the fields at Green Gulch Farm, a retreat center in Marin County. Just a few weeks earlier, the fields had been lush with rainbow chard and dinosaur kale, and now I saw nothing more than neatly plowed rows of earth. What a perfect metaphor for writing, I thought. Writing, too, has fallow times. I cannot force creativity to come; I can only show up and be willing.
An artist friend writes similarly about the days she spent sitting in front of a blank canvas, waiting for inspiration. Nothing came, and still she sat. And then, one day, she picked up her brush and created a work of art.
Another friend, an American gardener who has moved to Italy, reflected on her fallow times. “I am a firm believer that if I don’t pull within, way, way in, in the winter, it will be harder to be expansive in the spring.”