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When the Well Runs Dry

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When the Well Runs Dry

By Patricia Monaghan

Years ago in Minnesota, I had a poet friend who stopped writing. Just stopped, one day, after decades of regular connection with her muse. It frightened her. Would she never write again? Had the muse retreated from her, leaving her to face life alone?

Not long after, my friend moved to the Rockies, after which I lost track of her. I think of her every now and again, wondering whether she ever broke through that terrifying silence to find her poet’s voice again, there in her mountain retreat. Her image comes to mind at predictable times: whenever I face a dry spell in my own writing. In any creative life, such spells inevitably occur. Creativity has its seasons. We cannot be forever flooding forth poems and paintings and songs and stories. But fallow periods can be painful. Oh, sure, there are consoling images of gardens sleeping under winter blankets, ready to stir again when the season changes. But as it did to my Minnesota friend, winter can feel like death. What does the artist do, when dry, frozen, immobilized, paralyzed?

Call me a pollyanna, but I am convinced that creativity is as natural a part of human life as breathing. Many languages use the same or similar words for breathing as for creating: just consider “inspire.” In-spire, to breathe in. To breathe in the energies of the universe, then to put them forth again in song, dance, poetry, art, craft—that, it seems to me, is humanity’s work on this planet.

Like anyone who practices a creative art, I’ve had periods when my poetic powers seemed to fail. But because of that pollyanna streak, I cling to my belief that dryness is a season, that it will pass. And during the dry spells, I don’t stop practicing for the time when I will feel flooded and fertile again. I believe that practice during dry spells leads to finer work when the spell passes. A dry spell is not the time to give up, but a time to keep working—but with lessened expectations.

Here are some practices that I have used to sustain my hopes and to keep my craft in practice during creative dry spells.

1. Select a theme and create around that. Take something simple (a clock, a glass of milk) and write something every day about it. Most of your scribblings will be dreadful, but don’t criticize; put these efforts away until your creativity is flowing, then see what if anything is useable amid the litter.
2. Try a different art form. If you’re a writer, paint. If a painter, write. If a musician, dance. Moving past our comfort zone allows us to be simply bad. The demand for perfection can freeze art; when you don’t know what you’re doing anyway, it’s much harder to demand perfection.
3. Imitate. A great way to study other artists is to imitate them. I like to read through a poet’s entire work in chronological order, writing poems inspired by her poems. Sometimes it’s a theme, sometimes a style, sometimes an image. There is always something to learn through imitation. In addition, by employing this technique, I expand my knowledge of my artistic foremothers.
4. Turn to dreams. Nowhere does more effortless creativity take place than in our nightly creation of stories. Pay attention to your dreams; write them down, then create from them. Paint their images, write in the voices of their characters, act them out. Don’t try to analyze; just create.
5. Talk to the wall. If there seems to be a block keeping you from being creative, address the block directly. Paint its portrait. Write in its voice. Sing its strange blocked song. Our blocks can be our greatest teachers.

And finally, have faith. The muse will return like the sun after a summer storm.

Patricia Monaghan’s book of autobiographical anti-war poetry, “Homefront,” will be published by Word Tech Publishers in November. She cannot count the number of times she has encountered dry spells in her 40 years as a working writer.