The Creative Spark: My Rituals for Inviting Inspiration

I’ll admit it—when it comes to creativity, I’m a creature of ritual. Some people can plop themselves down anywhere—a crowded coffee shop, their car during lunch break—and churn out brilliance. Me? My creative flow is more like a shy raccoon: elusive, temperamental, and requiring a well-laid trail of snacks to coax it out of hiding. Over the years, I’ve honed a few unconventional practices that help me get into my groove, and let’s just say they’re less “writer holed up in a Parisian garret” and more “beach town eccentric channeling her inner chaos.” But hey, it works.

If you’re the kind of person who thrives on structure (or the exact opposite), these quirky habits might just inspire your own rituals—or at the very least, make you laugh.

1. The Pre-Writing Beach Walk: Because the Ocean is Free Therapy

If there’s one thing I’ve learned growing up along the Grand Strand, it’s that the beach fixes almost everything. Creative block? Walk it off. Doubt creeping in? Let the tide whisk it away. Life spiraling because you accidentally texted “your” instead of “you’re” to someone you’re flirting with? Okay, the ocean can’t fix that, but it sure puts things in perspective.

My ritual starts with slipping on my most loved (read: slightly embarrassing) flip-flops and heading to the shore. I’m not there to meditate—I don’t walk gracefully into the sea like a grounded mermaid or whisper mantras into the misty air. I’m more likely muttering plot holes under my breath or play-arguing with fictional characters in my head like a woman who’s just had one too many cups of coffee.

Whether intentional or coincidental, the rhythm of the waves mirrors something in my brain. By the time I’m back home, sand between my toes and ideas swirling, I feel like I’ve untangled some creative knots. Bonus tip: Bring an old pocket notebook because inspiration doesn’t care that your hands are sunscreen-sticky.

2. The Magical Power of Snacks (Specifically, Buttered Toast)

I don’t want to oversell buttered toast here, but… actually, yes, I do. Buttered toast is my muse. There’s something profoundly grounding about the act of crunching into a slice of sourdough slathered with a layer of golden, melty goodness. Maybe it’s the carbs. Maybe it’s the nostalgia for rainy mornings at my family’s café when my mom would hand me a plate before sending me off to school. Either way, buttered toast makes my creativity sing.

My rule while writing is simple: hit a milestone, get a reward. Finish outlining a chapter? Toast time. A full draft of an article? Hello, cinnamon sugar upgrade. It’s like treating myself to tiny celebratory moments for showing up to do the work. Plus, if I ever land myself in a creative rut, buttered toast always feels like an achievable goal. (Low stakes creativity, folks. That’s the secret.)

Pro tip: Have a small stash of comfort snacks you keep nearby—mini chocolates, salted almonds, or whatever feels indulgent without threatening your ability to fit into non-stretchy pants.

3. Soundtracks That Set the Mood (and Occasionally Break My Heart)

Every great creative session needs a soundtrack. For me, that means carefully curated playlists ranging from moody instrumentals to the kind of soulful singer-songwriter tunes that would make Nicholas Sparks blush. Growing up, I’d watch tourists stroll the Myrtle Beach boardwalk with music spilling out of tiny speakers, imagining their life stories simply from the songs they picked. Now, I harness that same energy, connecting music to whatever I’m crafting.

When I’m beginning something new, I’ll often play soft, atmospheric tracks—think endless guitar strums and piano melodies that feel like salt air on skin. Writing about heartbreak? Cue Brandi Carlile crooning something devastating yet hopeful. Drafting an article with a humorous twist? It’s all sunshiney indie bands here to keep my mood buoyant.

Here’s the weird part, though: before diving into a different type of project, I have to switch the soundtrack. Repeating a playlist feels, strangely enough, like bad juju—or like flaunting old emotional baggage in front of a new idea. It’s my way of clearing the slate and starting fresh every time. (Also, it’s an excuse to spend hours procrastinating on Spotify.)

4. Start with a Question—and Answer it Later

This may sound like word-nerd heresy, but I don’t always start my writing by… writing. Sometimes my best work begins with full-on daydreaming or scribbling down a question in the margins of my notebook. (Yes, a real notebook. Ditching the screen now and then feels like taking my brain on a leisurely stroll instead of forcing it onto a treadmill.)

Examples of my self-questioning include:
- “What does this beach actually smell like at sunset?” - “What’s the weirdest thing someone’s lost that washed ashore?” - “If I were a side character in a rom-com, what would my quirky hobby be, and how do I make it weirder?”

These questions let me off the hook because there’s no pressure to get it “right.” Often, by allowing my mind to wander—jotting random ideas instead of forming full sentences—I prime myself for breakthroughs later on. It’s creativity without judgment, and honestly, we could all use a little more of that.

5. Find Joy in Life’s Little Contradictions

One of my favorite creative exercises is finding joy in the little quirks and contradictions of life. It’s about paying attention to the strange but wildly endearing details that make things feel real. Growing up in Myrtle Beach taught me to love the absurd combinations: cotton candy skies meeting neon-lit Ferris wheels, vacationers dressed in sequins walking barefoot along the shore.

That storytelling sensibility leaks directly into my creative rituals. I try to notice things—really notice them. If I see a retired couple dancing on the boardwalk to an Elvis impersonator, I mentally tuck it away as a reminder of how delightful human connection can be. If the ocean suddenly looks stormy instead of peaceful, I wonder whether the sky’s reflecting some universal mood or simply being stubborn.

So my advice: Lean into observation. Notice how couples interact at brunch (including the ones who only talk to their pancakes). Watch how people hold hands or don’t, and make up their backstories in your head. Creativity lives in those tiny moments—especially if they make you laugh or sigh and then pull out your journal to write them down.

Conclusion: Your Rituals, Your Rules

Here’s the thing: Creative rituals don’t have to make sense to anyone else. Nobody’s asking you to light scented candles and practice interpretive dance to summon your inner genius (although if that’s your vibe, go get it, friend). Your rituals might look totally different—a morning run, doodling abstract shapes, rearranging succulents on your windowsill. The only rule is that they need to work for you.

For me, whether it’s holding hands with the ocean, unapologetically inhaling buttered toast, or turning life’s delightful mess into stories, I’ve learned that creativity blooms in the everyday details. The important part is showing up—for the process and for yourself. After all, inspiration tends to favor the prepared… or at least the well-fed.