24/7 Prophets

Refusing consistency to protect creativity

Hang me out to dry! Stone the crows! Sweet Jesus and The Algorithmic Gods pls forgive me.

For I am not consistent.

There. I said it.

For it seems that these days, being inconsistent, not showing up enough, not spewing enough work out, is among the most shameful of all the sins.

Photo credit: Elliot Wilkinson on Unsplash

The body as a mine

Now, I try to be consistent.

Across work (my strategic comms and copywriting business), across content for said business, on Substack (creative output and audience building) and in my flash fiction (creative joy).

I try to write morning pages, to submit flash fiction stories to lit mags each quarter, to dutifully attend the poetry workshop I paid a lot of money for, to plan content a month ahead.

But it never sticks.

And when I force myself to show up in a regimented, pre-ordained way, I turn up to the page completely bloody empty.

And I keep coming back to the image of our bodies as mines. Of us quite literally plundering ourselves for ideas to feed the demand for consistent output. Hacking away for precious gold and diamond ideas. Shiny nuggets that can be polished up and presented to the world for a smile and a pat on the back or the arse for how just of OFTEN we can produce.

And I think we’ve maybe completely missed the point (or re-angled it to point somewhere entirely different).

Creativity and consistency were never meant to be inextricably linked.

Off the hook

I used to beat myself up about this lack of consistency, particularly when it came to my creative writing. I go through these super intense periods where I’m locked in, ideas dropping in on the regular, inspiration in every conversation I hear.

Then there’s time when I feel like my creativity is way over there, and I am way way way over here, looking at it from afar, feeling this low level guilt that I’m somehow not tending to it enough.

I’m watching it go to rack and ruin!

Now, I view it a bit differently. I’m giving myself more grace.

And yes yes yes yes yes yes yes I KNOW some writers get a kick out of consistency, thrive off it, need it as the scaffolding that underpins their creativity. Yes yes yes a quick google search tells me just how many epic writers have some mad-ass regimented practice.

And cool! I can objectively understand this, for them. Hey perfect, I can’t legit argue with the likes of Marukami and Dickens now, can I, over here with my 90 odd followers.

But it ain’t me guv. And I reject the fact that creativity and consistency are seen as life-long bedfellows. Life-long shaggers who can’t have a night out on their own, meet someone else, see where it goes… I reject that it is a failing to have fallow periods.

When we treat our ideas and our creativity this way, with relentless demand, the mine is simply not replenished. It collapses under the demand. The pit, deep in our guts, is barren mate.

The Algo-gods demand consistency

Which makes me want to do it even less. Or to work out how to matrix style side step it. Beat the system. You know the bit when Neo like fully just leans backwards in the Matrix on that rooftop to avoid the bullets?

That.

I hate this idea of being thrashed over the back if we don’t show up every day, like a good girl with a massive floppy bow on our damn heads on this and other platforms, SMILING. It is a sure fire way for me to get creative limp dick.

We are expected to be 24/7 prophets.
Expected to churn out profundities at least twice a day.
Expected to drop notes like literary bombs that sound wise enough to share. To feed the machine. To draw more people into it.

Expected to entertain and inspire in lil munchable snacks. Lil munchable snacks that people can swallow whole then regurgitate in a restack.

We speak in platitudes.

Everything sounds inspirational but only ‘cause we’re not dwelling on it long enough to see that it’s see-through.

Read, restack, move on.

Less but deeper

I’m currently trying to work out how I can support my business, sustainability grow, and treat my marketing a little more like art - by which I mean not churn it out, not have a 90 day content plan - but write slower, longer and deeper.

Without sucking all the energy out from my art itself.

How I can write fiction, poetry and continue to learn clowning too!

It’s a lot.

But even if I am placing more demand on myself creatively, I can’t bring myself to bash out 100 viral hooks. I want my business and my marketing to have the slowness of the life I want.

Less but deeper.

IDGAF about scaling
I want intimacy in community
I believe we need to build against this maniacal demand to show up online all the time
Together
So my emails will be long
And my content will not be batched
My work will be restful
And my creativity will be replenished

My inspiration is not an eternal spring well. For me, it’s probably going to look like creating a LOT when I am in flow. Having days dedicated to creating across work and art - when I can. Aligning more closely with my cycle. And resisting the urge to create for the sake of it when I have nothing to give.

And I think there’s lots of us out there.

Who need time to just be.

Thinking time | STARING TIME | Quiet time

Animals not robots

I am not a robot I am not a robot I am not a robot fuck you I am not a robot. Robots suck have you seen how, well… robotic they are? I wouldn’t wanna go for a drink with one. Imagine. The monotony! So why this expectation that we damn well morph into one?

Why, yet again, do we insist on separating ourselves from nature, from animals, from the entire animal kingdom which has periods of doing and periods of rest? Why do we insist on becoming more mechanised, crave being quicker, more available, more online - when we’ll simply never be as quick as the machines anyway (and why the FUCK would we want to be?)

Flow over consistency: water over metal

I’m writing in our spare room upstairs, and suddenly see an arc of water appearing out of the corner of my eye, as the neighbour waters his freshly planted garden.

It’s quite beautiful.

And I can’t help thinking that’s what our creative process should feel like.

Nurture. Care. Watering an idea and letting it be, letting it breathe, giving it time to germinate, to grow. Original thought needs space to bloom, right?

Maybe the process should be less like mining and more like watering? Or maybe it’s more like dipping our feet in a babbling brook. Feeling the foaming waters rush over us.

Maybe it’s more like, sitting, receiving and being.

Thrash is a rebellion against fast-paced digital culture that leaves no space for idle moments, daydreaming and creating.

It’s for creatives with an edge trying to find each other across the digital abyss. If you’re GAGGING to get back to your creative centre, come join us.