I recently read an article in the New York Times, "Does Recovery Kill Great Writing?" (see link below) about the notion of the tortured artist and the fear that our creativity and talent will dry up once we dry out. As might be expected, the authors referenced in the article, for the most part, saw their creativity and productivity increase, not decrease, with sobriety.

That was certainly true with me. I was a quasi- poet in my teens and 20's, full of angst, anguish and Bali Hai. A few of those efforts are worthy of a re-read, but many are simply drunken ramblings. The same with my efforts at fiction or essays - I was great at beginnings and lousy at follow-through. Much of that was related to the generic lack of effort in active addiction, but a lot of it had to do with what I thought creativity consisted of - bursts of inspiration and perfection the first time through.

My mistaken ideas about the recovery process followed me into recovery. Since learning to read (& I remember the exact moment when I realized I could read to myself), I longed to write, but I kept waiting to be struck motivated. I had good intentions, and amassed a file box full of snippets and paragraphs and starts, and there they sat.

And then I came across a flyer for a four week writing class. With pounding heart, I signed up and showed up, trying to find my place in a room full of young, arty-types, with dark-rimmed glasses and serious notepads. But despite feeling different, I kept showing up, and for the first time ever, shared my writing aloud with a group of strangers. (I must say that being in 12 Step recovery was a great help - while not necessarily comfortably, talking in front of a group had become a familiar and not insurmountable fear).

What I mainly learned in that class is that inspiration doesn't float down like fairy dust on the perfect rainy day. Writing is a discipline as much as an art, (and I assume the same to be true for other mediums,) and involves a fair amount of crap on a page (see Annie Lamott's brilliant Bird by Bird for a description of "shitty first drafts.")

When I started sharing my desire to write with other recovering people, I got all sorts of advice and how-to's, the main thrust being that a real writer spends "X" amount of time at their desk/computer every single day. If that was true, I was screwed. I'm not an hours-at-at-time writer. To accept myself as a "real writer," I needed to gain awareness of my process, not some "should." I learned, through grad school, that I'm an intermittent writer. I write, I get up. I do the dishes, and come back to my desk, and then get up again. It works for me and my wee bit of hyperactivity. I'm not overly productive, but I'm also not fighting myself.

Exercising creativity, without labels, has been a nurturing aspect of my recovery, whether that is writing, making collage, decorating for the holidays, or throwing a dinner party (See Sober Play - Using Creativity for a More Joyful Recovery by Jill Kelly). 

It's about balance. At times, I write more than others, put in more hours at work, focus on my running or on Step work, but my overall goal is to be mindful of my need for spiritual, emotional, social, physical and creative equilibrium (and I might say that the spiritual is an umbrella for all the rest). To that end, I've learned to be protective of my Wednesday afternoons. I get off work early, heading home to the blog page, to putter in the kitchen, maybe watch a recorded show before my spouse gets home from work - the what isn't as important as having the unstructured hours. Creativity has a hard time squeezing in when every minute is scheduled.

Someday is now. When I was in a writer's accountability group as I worked on my novel, one of the participants asked that question - if not now, when? Indeed. I'm being very mindful of any sentence starting with "When I retire...."  Life is happening now. Creativity is available now. Letting go of self-judgment, I can relax into the process and know that if I want something bad enough (sobriety, to write that book, run a marathon), I'll do what is needed, eventually. It's like what old Leonard used to say - it's not will power, but want power, that will get me sober, and will  lead me to my dreams and goals.

How do you express your creative nature? If you've been putting off a desired project, what would it take to move a little closer to starting?

Links:

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/03/13/magazine/does-recovery-kill-great-writing.html

Jill Kelly's Sober Play -     http://amzn.to/1423hlT

(my novel)
www.strandbooks.com/fiction/shadows-and-veins-1462069088