Creative Savasana

How to Get Your Groove Back by Doing Nothing

I’ve been pretty open about how hard the last couple of years have been writing-wise for me. I burned out in 2018. Literally my mind rebelled and refused to make new stories, and I ended up going to therapy and getting on meds for anxiety. Luckily, that same year, I got a gig teaching writing with Writing Workshops Dallas so I could still bring in money while I took a break from writing my own books.

In 2019, I’d done a ton of personal work and sought coaching to help me get back in the game. I’d read every self-help book on creativity I could find. I was ready to go again. Then everything fell apart. A huge event in my family created a lot of chaos and changed the trajectory of all of our lives. While everything will be fine in the long run, this upheaval made writing fall way far down on my priority list as I struggled to keep my family and myself healthy.

So here we are in 2020. Two years after I burned out. Two years on meds (who knew a brain could be quiet some of time?). Two years of therapy later. And I can tell you that I’m ready to work again.

I’m nervous, though. Of course, I am. I know how to do this thing, but I also know the pitfalls. I know that I’ve grown and want to write different things than I used to. Will my audience follow me? Will anyone want to hear how my voice has changed?

Which brings us to the real topic of today’s post. I recently had this epiphany.

But first, a detour. Several years ago, I started taking yoga. I went three-to-four times a week religiously. I’m convinced this is what got me through the pressures of being in graduate school and holding down a full-time writing career.

Anyway, my favorite part of yoga is a pose called “Savasana”, otherwise known as “corpse pose”. This is the final posture of yoga practice, where you literally lay on your mat and breath quietly. The goal here is to allow your body to process and integrate everything you’ve done during your practice.

Sometimes, I’d spend savasana thinking about going to grab fried chicken on my way home. Sometimes, I’d listen to the new age music my teacher played and imagine whales flying through space. But sometimes, if I was able to quiet my mind, I could feel my heart open. The muscles in my chest would relax and suddenly tears would flow as years of stress escaped me. This happens when I meditate, as well. My chest hurts and then it doesn’t and then I cry. It’s nice.

So here’s what this has to do with writing:

A lot of writers will tell you that writer’s block is myth. Either these people have never had real writer’s block or they are so terrified that they will have it that they cannot acknowledge the possibility of its existence.

I get it. When your career is writing, the thought of not being able to do that is terrifying. And filled with the promise of shame.

But I have been blocked. I have burned out. I’ve been ashamed that I teach other people to write but I can’t force myself to finish even a short story.

And on the other side of all of that, I can tell you that there is a purpose to it.

In my experience, blocks and burn outs happen when your creative output is no longer in alignment with your growth.

I couldn’t write anymore in 2018 because I wanted to write gothics and horror, but no one wanted to read the gothic I’d published. Everyone wanted more urban fantasy—except publishers who didn’t seem to want anything from me anymore. At the same time, I also should have realized that breaking into a new genre took time. But I had a CAREER to consider. I also felt like if the next thing I didn’t wasn’t big enough, I was a failure, full stop. Talk about a recipe for disaster.

So, my brain and my body decided to dig in their heels and make me take a break.

The reason it’s taken so long for me to rise up out of this suspended state is that I didn’t realize its true purpose.

I fought myself to keep working. I paid for coaching, I paid a therapist to try to fix me, I read every craft book I could, I took classes in other types of writing—poetry, narrative nonfiction, etc. I told everyone I was taking a sabbatical from writing. Meanwhile I spent every free moment frantically trying to get my mojo back.

What I didn’t do was rest.

You see, sometimes, burnout is just your body’s way of begging for creative savasana.

It’s a time to let the lessons of your writing practice become integrated and for your brain to process the lessons of your life.

One of my coaches told me that I needed to focus on consuming high-quality input. What I heard was that I needed to force-feed myself craft books. What she really meant was that I needed to read books for fun again.

My therapist told me that I needed to think about what I wanted and stop trying to please everyone else. I didn’t know what I wanted because I felt ashamed and scared that if I wrote about the things I really wanted to write everyone would reject me.

See, I didn’t use my break to relax. I pushed and pushed. Who was I without new books coming out? Who was I, period?

Once life got super crazy, I no longer had the luxury of trying to force my creative muscles to do unnatural poses anymore. I had to take my focus completely off trying to force myself to write. And guess what happened?

I have more ideas for books than I’ve had in years. I also had time to let the lessons I learned through coaching and therapy marinate and process so that I could understand them better.

So what’s the lesson?

It’s okay to take a rest. It’s okay to sit down by the road and let everyone else zoom past you on the way to bestsellers lists and movie deals. Sometimes you need to relax and catch up with yourself, and then set off in a new direction informed by your instincts and not your ego or your need to prove yourself or to make your agent or your readers happy.

Taking a break isn’t a failure. It’s a natural part of the creative life cycle. Constantly outputting creative products without giving yourself a refractory period is a recipe for total imagination meltdown.

So, my friends, if you’re feeling stuck. If you’re terrified you’ll never write again. Give yourself some space. Lay down and breathe. Go sit by a creek and let your heart open. Go to therapy and cry, and then take yourself out for ice cream.

Creativity is a gift. Living a creative life is a privilege.

When it starts to feel like duty or punishment, it’s time to step back and allow yourself some creative savasana. Gain some perspective, and then come back to the page refreshed and excited about the new stories you have to tell. You might amaze yourself, but you’ll definitely have more fun.

The writing life you save may be your own.

Namaste, friends.

Next Friday, I’ll cover some of the things that worked in overcoming burnout and some books and resources you can use if you’re there now.

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