Introduction: Fueling Creativity—The Romantic Comedy Version
Creativity, like most great romances, isn’t always convenient. Picture it: You're standing in your kitchen, staring at yesterday’s cold ramen leftovers, and suddenly—bam!—a brilliant idea hits. It’s like that scene in every romantic comedy where the protagonist realizes their true love was right in front of them all along. But inspiration doesn’t always arrive unannounced. Sometimes, you have to coax it out like you're trying to get a shy crush to text you back.
For me, that’s where creative rituals come in. Over the years, I’ve relied on deliberate, almost sacred habits to fuel my writing and storytelling. Some are practical, others are quirky, and a few are downright bizarre. But hey, when you’re chasing muses, who’s judging?
Section 1: The Coffee and Chaos Morning Combo
Every great story—whether a Murakami novel or a message you overanalyze at 2 a.m.—begins somewhere solid. For me, that foundation isn’t love; it’s caffeine. Call me a walking cliché, but coffee isn’t just a morning beverage—it’s a creative trigger.
I’ll admit, my process is unnecessarily complex. I start with freshly ground beans and my trusty pour-over. The precision of the ritual, from weighing the grounds to pouring water that just kissed the boiling point, quiets my brain’s noise (and also makes me feel like a barista in a moody indie film). For seven glorious minutes, the world slows down, and I’m not Rina the writer, Rina the daughter, or even Rina the person who definitely should have gotten more sleep. I’m just… present.
Coffee in hand, I sit by my desk, which looks like two aesthetics collided midway—part tranquil Japanese zen, part chaotic book club explosion. That first sip connects me with every writer who’s ever stared at a blank page, hoping a warm cup would hold the answers.
Here’s my morning mantra: “Make today’s chaos meaningful.” And truly, isn’t that what dating—or life—is about too? Taking the wild unknown and finding a rhythm.
Section 2: Walks that Border on Procrastination (But Aren’t)
For most people, walking is a straightforward activity: one foot, then the next, repeat. For us writers, it’s essentially therapy that we get for free. Back when I lived in Tokyo, my post-lunch walks wound through neighborhoods filled with shrines and vending machines glowing with their infinite beverage choices. Vancouver took me to streets lined with cherry blossoms in spring and endless rain in fall.
A good walk is essentially the meet-cute for imagination meeting clarity. It’s where I untangle storylines, solve plot holes, or just figure out how to text without using fifty exclamation points. Sometimes I’ll invite my imaginary mentors to join me—Murakami with his airy surrealism or Yoshimoto with her quiet depth. (Yes, it’s weird, but if Taylor Swift can name her cats after characters from TV shows, I can have make-believe creative consultants.)
Walking reminds me of dating in its early phases—there’s movement, discovery, and occasionally, unexpected detours. The best relationships—and ideas—aren’t born in stillness.
Section 3: The Magic Hour of Analog Escapism
Here’s the thing no one tells you about screens: They can be creativity’s biggest frenemy. The unlimited potential of the internet also means unlimited distractions. One moment, you're researching the history of love letters for a project. The next, you’re deep-diving into why everyone you know is obsessed with a certain celebrity breakup.
So, every evening while the sun softens into its golden hour, I force a break from screens. Instead, I work with my hands: journaling or sketching tiny vases inspired by Japanese ceramics. These activities serve absolutely no productive purpose, which is why I love them.
Doing something analog is like a second date with my imagination. No pressure, no expectations—just quiet joy. I often reflect on memories during this hour. It’s a habit I picked up as a child when my mom and I would make floral arrangements together. She’d tell me stories about the symbolism of each bloom, and while I’m no ikebana expert, I like to think of these moments as planting creative seeds for the ideas that bloom later.
Section 4: My “Soundtrack Romance” Obsession
Confession: I curate playlists the way some people curate their Instagram grids. There’s a soundtrack for every project, idea, or even passing mood. My personal favorite? Instrumentals that feel like they belong in the movie they haven’t shot yet. I’m talking about Ryuichi Sakamoto’s “Merry Christmas, Mr. Lawrence” or random Spotify discoveries that make my heart swell as though I’m the main character of an impossibly romantic story.
The beauty of soundtracks is that they create atmosphere. Ever notice how listening to music while writing feels like adding seasoning to otherwise bland soup? It’s transformative. I once compared building a playlist to dating—it’s trial and error with skips and replays until you find that perfect mix that just clicks.
Pro tip: Find a song that makes you feel invincible and keep it on standby for when your brain refuses to cooperate.
Section 5: Flirting with Failure
Ah, failure. The mood killer of all romantic (and creative) escapades. You think you’re on to something brilliant, only to reread it and realize it’s as awkward as your middle school love letters. The secret is reframing failure not as something to fear but to flirt with.
When an idea or draft doesn’t work, I tweak a line, adjust a word, or—dramatic gasp—delete half of it. To me, creative failure feels a lot like those dating moments where you try charming someone with a joke that completely bombs. The key? Laugh it off, learn, and try again. Because whether it’s writing or love, giving up means missing out on that breakthrough, that spark.
And hey, at worst, I save my “failed” drafts in a folder so that future me can laugh, cringe, and occasionally recycle an idea. It’s the equivalent of staying friends with your ex… err, hypothetically.
Conclusion: Making Space for Inspiration
Creativity isn’t always a fireworks display. Sometimes, it’s a slow burn. My rituals—coffee meditations, idea-generating walks, analog hobbies, soundtracks, and a healthy dose of failure—are less about guaranteeing results and more about setting the stage. Think of it like preparing for a date: you can’t control chemistry, but you can show up your best self.
At the end of the day, creativity thrives when you nurture it like any meaningful connection. Don’t wait for the perfect “idea lightning bolt.” Take yourself on walks. Run your hands through the analog. Be willing to look silly, mess up, and try again.
Because the real magic? It happens when you embrace the ritual of showing up. Every day, every spark, every not-quite-perfect draft is a step closer to something extraordinary.
