creating without conditions

instinct, doubt, and staying in the process

I’ve written before about how writers and creatives do not speak enough about instinct. I also think it’s important to acknowledge that we rarely talk about the moments when we find ourselves at a loss for words or stuck somewhere in the creative process, and how daunting and self-scrutinizing those moments can be.

After writing nearly every day for most of my life, I know that showing up to the page is less about certainty and more about steadfastness. Some days the act of writing is simply about processing—gathering the fragments of the day and distilling them into meaning. Other days, it becomes an invitation to stay curious about where the threads of inspiration might lead.

Merely showing up does not guarantee brilliance. Sometimes the page receives a rant about the state of the world. Sometimes it holds the absurd contradictions of being human. And sometimes, if we are patient, a small fleck of gold appears simply because we made the commitment to sit down and write.

The creative process asks that we pay attention. To notice subtle details and remain open to inspiration that appears in places both novel and familiar.

This morning I did not know what I wanted to write. I only knew that I wanted to send out this week’s Substack. When that happens, I often turn to a longtime companion on my writing journey, The Right to Write by Julia Cameron.

Many years ago I attended a workshop where Julia Cameron was speaking. Afterward, feeling buoyed and newly committed to pursuing writing, I walked up to the signing table with my copy of the book. Not wanting to take up too much space, I simply told her that the book had felt like an invitation to embark on a creative life—what I now refer to as living artfully. She smiled, asked my name, and wrote something inside the front page.

When I stepped out of the conference room, I opened the book to see what she had written.

“To Alana, May our words be friends.”

For reasons I could not fully articulate at the time, those words felt like a literal initiation into the world of writing. As if she were inviting me deeper into the crucible of the creative process. Not simply to produce work, but to build a relationship with language itself. To trust the instinct that keeps drawing me back to the page.

This morning I picked up that same worn and signed copy and turned to page 48. The chapter is called Valuing Our Experience.

The first line reads:

“We do not see our size. We do not view ourselves with accuracy. We are far larger, far more marvelous, far more deeply and consistently creative than we recognize or know.”

It struck me again how difficult it is for creatives to accurately assess their own work, and how fear can convince us to abandon the very gifts we were meant to offer.

When we are inside the process of making something, we are standing too close to the canvas to see the completed work. Doubt does not usually appear in the middle of creating. It arrives later, when we step back and allow outside voices and imagined critics to enter the room.

Our job is not to censor, shame, judge, or devalue the work while it is being born.

Our job is to stay in the process and be a steward of what wants to be created.

A Few Reminders for Creatives Who Are Questioning Their Worth

1. Stay close to the practice.
   Showing up regularly keeps the channel open, even on the days when nothing remarkable happens.

2. Trust instinct more than opinion.
   The impulse to create usually arrives before the explanation.

3. Do not judge the work too early.
   Doubt is loudest when a piece is still forming.

4. Pay attention to the threads.
   Small curiosities often lead to the most meaningful work.

5. Remember that proximity distorts perception.
   You are standing too close to your own work to measure its value accurately. Keep going.

6. Create first. Evaluate later.
   Protect the sacred space where ideas are allowed to emerge without criticism.

Here’s the brass tacks:

Most of us are not struggling with a lack of creativity.

We are struggling with the courage to trust it.

If you are questioning whether your voice matters, whether your ideas are worth sharing, whether the work is good enough to continue, that is your guidepost.

Keep creating.

You may not yet see the full scale or shape of what you are making.

We rarely see our own size clearly while we are still inside the work.

Hugs.

xx Alana

© Alana Foy 2026