Everyone’s always looking for that one secret sauce to creativity—as if it’s tucked away in Beyoncé’s rider or hidden in the last unread Toni Morrison novel. But let me be real with you: creativity isn’t some elusive fairy godmother who shows up with a glitter wand and fresh ideas when you’ve been good. For me, creativity arrives with a lot less glam and a lot more work. I meet it halfway by relying on my rituals. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch that spark before my neighbor’s dog starts barking again (because of course creative flow strikes at 2 p.m. on a Tuesday).

Let’s talk about the rituals that keep my ideas alive—whether I’m writing about love, family, or a nail-biting “define the relationship” conversation.

Clear Mornings, Clear Mind

Picture this: me in a fuzzy robe so old it could probably vote, sipping coffee out of my favorite mug (the one with a fading quote from Maya Angelou—you know the one). My mornings are sacred. No emails, no Instagram blackhole, no existential dread over why my coffee table legs are still wobbly. It’s me, a quiet room, and a journal.

This is where I brain-dump. No judgments, no punctuation policing—just the raw thoughts. Sometimes it’s deep: What am I afraid of feeling today? And sometimes... it’s nonsense: Why didn’t Destiny’s Child get a reunion at Coachella? Whatever lands on the page is part of the process.

Actionable Tip: Start with Julia Cameron’s “Morning Pages” approach. Write freely for 10-15 minutes, no edits, no judgment. This isn’t a novel—it’s your mental declutter. Whatever’s clogging your creative pipes, flush it out here.

Music as My Mood Board

My Spotify Wrapped is a battlefield: Luther Vandross crooning over heartbreaks one minute, Megan Thee Stallion hyping me up the next. Music isn’t just background noise; it’s the atmosphere I choose for the story or idea I’m working on. If I’m writing something tender, it’s Maxwell or Anita Baker setting the tone. If I’m digging deep into personal stories, you better believe Nina Simone is on repeat. For the sassier topics? Lizzo. All day.

Music doesn’t just get me in the mood—it reminds me of rhythm. Keeping my sentences short and punchy or lingering on a thought mirrors the beats I hear. Call me extra, but every piece I create has a theme song.

Actionable Tip: Build a playlist that matches the vibe of the project you’re working on. Don’t just pick random songs—make it intentional. Trying to amp up your energy? Go dance-pop. Writing something nostalgic? Tap into those R&B classics your mom cleaned the house to.

Walking Meetings With Myself

Some people get their big ideas in the shower; I get mine while side-eyeing overgrown lawns in my neighborhood. Something about moving my body helps churn my thoughts—solving plot holes, clarifying ideas, or finding just the right metaphor to explain complicated feelings.

I started this habit in Chicago, where walking in the cold gave me an excuse to finish thoughts briskly (so my fingers didn’t freeze). Now, back in Texas, I’ve turned my strolls into personal brainstorming sessions. I mutter ideas to myself, pretending I’m leaving an urgent voicemail (pro tip: AirPods make you look less unhinged).

Walking feels meditative. There's no pressure to create something "good" on the spot—it’s about letting ideas breathe. And believe me, they need airtime.

Actionable Tip: Take a walk when you’re stuck. And I mean actually stuck—not, “I should reorganize my bookshelves to procrastinate” stuck. Use a voice-memo app to catch anything worth revisiting so you’re not scrambling to remember later.

The Candle Experiment

Call me a cliché, but lighting a candle before diving into work flips some magical switch in my brain. There’s this lavender one I swear unlocks my best ideas. Or maybe I’ve just Pavlov’d myself into associating its smell with productivity. Either way, it works.

There’s something grounding about lighting a candle. It’s a moment of symbolism—reminding myself I’m transitioning from the chaos of day-to-day life into my sacred creative space. It also doesn’t hurt that the flickering flame makes me feel like I’m auditioning to be a 19th-century poet in a dimly lit room (maybe I am extra).

Actionable Tip: Pair your writing space with a sensory anchor. Maybe it’s lighting a specific candle or sipping the same tea every time you sit down to work. Build habits that cue your brain to focus.

Owning My Mess

Let me tell on myself for a second: My desk is a crime scene. Pens with missing caps, snack crumbs, sticky notes everywhere. I want to say it’s controlled chaos—but we’re hovering right on the edge of “chaos remains undefeated.” And yet, this is where my best ideas thrive.

Sometimes, creativity doesn’t play nice with order. I’ve learned to surrender to the mess without spiraling into shame. Sure, maybe I’ll clean up enough to avoid a full-blown Hoarders audition, but giving myself permission to exist in a lived-in, imperfect space feels freeing.

Actionable Tip: Don’t wait until your workspace looks Instagram-worthy to get started. Whether it’s a pristine desk or the corner of your bed covered in laundry, creativity doesn’t care where you are. Just begin.

A Community of Voices

When people say, “Writing is lonely,” I nod politely—and then introduce them to my group chat. I’m part of a circle of brilliant friends who offer truth, humor, and perspective (including the occasional roast when I swear I’ve invented the perfect metaphor).

This is the thing: creativity isn’t just about me. It’s about the stories I tell, sure, but it’s also about the people who help sharpen them. Every writer needs a sounding board or, at the very least, an audience who cares enough to say, “Eh, this part needs fixing.”

Actionable Tip: Build your creative ecosystem. It could be a writing group, one brutally honest friend, or even someone who doesn’t create but knows how to listen. Solitude is great; feedback is better.

Love, But Make It Creative

This is the part where I get real. Love—and I mean real-life, unpredictable, sometimes-messy love—is my eternal inspiration. I pull from the awkward first dates, the inside jokes, the lessons carved out by heartbreaks. How can you not feel moved by the quiet intimacy of someone reaching for your hand on a bad day or the electricity of a glance that lingers just a second too long?

If I’m ever stuck creatively, I turn to connection. Whether it’s texting my mom, catching up with an old friend, or simply recounting those moments when life felt too big to process all at once—these sparks remind me of why I tell stories in the first place. Creativity, for me, is rooted in love: of people, of moments, of what could be.

Actionable Tip: When your work feels flat, tap into the personal. Revisit a memory or interaction that moved you. Ask yourself: What was the feeling I couldn’t quite name back then?

Creativity is less about waiting for the perfect storm of inspiration and more about designing rituals that welcome it—even on the dullest of days. You don’t have to be a morning person, a classical music enthusiast, or even a candle hoarder to access your creative flow. All you need is a willingness to show up, messy and human, day after day.

Because that’s the truth: Creativity doesn’t need grandeur. It needs you. Showing up. As you are.