Why Creativity is a Lot Like Dating (and How I Keep the Spark Alive)

Have you ever been on a string of first dates that felt like eating plain oatmeal every day for a week? Nutritious, maybe, but utterly uninspiring. That’s how creativity can feel sometimes—a dry, flavorless grind. But just like a good relationship, the key to keeping creativity alive is to prioritize it, nurture it, and maybe even woo it back when things cool off.

If you’ve ever felt stuck staring at a blinking cursor or thought, “Was I always this boring?” you’re not alone. Creativity doesn’t always come naturally, not even for people like me, whose job is to spin stories out of everyday moments. The good news is, I’ve found some rituals that reliably bring my creative spark back to life. Whether you’re working on a passion project, journaling your way through heartbreak, or just trying not to send another “WYD?” text at 1 a.m., these habits might be just the wingman your inspiration needs.

Step One: Flirt with Inspiration (Literally)

You know that stage of dating where everything feels new and shiny? You’re texting all day, sending them obscure Spotify playlists, and looking up pancake recipes because, “Maybe we’ll make these together someday.” (Then you realize you have zero groceries and settle for eating Goldfish instead. Just me? Cool.) That’s the vibe I aim for when trying to drum up some fresh ideas.

My first ritual for sparking creativity is courting inspiration like it’s my fictional dream partner—a mix of Timothée Chalamet soulful mystery and Chris Evans's wholesome charm. For me, this often looks like:
- Setting the Scene: I light a candle that smells faintly of books and bergamot, cue up some acoustic folk music (Brandi Carlile is a personal favorite), and tell myself, “Carrie, you’re about to have an intimate moment with your laptop. Be kind to her.”
- Asking Questions: I keep a small notebook of random curiosities. Why do people kiss under mistletoe? When did ‘ghosting’ become part of the vernacular? Did Aunt Emily ever have a secret love story I don’t know about? - Giving Myself Permission to Be Messy: Flirting with inspiration doesn’t require perfection. It thrives on half-baked doodles, brainstorms that go nowhere, and writing sentences like, “What if jelly beans were metaphors for feelings?” (Yes, I wrote that once. No, I don’t know what it means.)

Just like flirting, the goal here isn’t nailing it right away; it’s about feeling excited again. And if my ideas don’t return the favor? That’s cool—I’ll try again tomorrow.

Step Two: Establish a Second-Date Vibe

Once I’ve pinpointed an idea worth exploring, it’s time to up the commitment level. Second dates are all about pacing yourself—you're past the “What’s your favorite color?” phase but not yet asking whether they’d uproot their life for a year-long yurt experiment. Likewise, I ease myself into deeper creative work with rituals that balance structure and playfulness.

  • Time-Boxing My Productive Hours: I work best in the mornings, after a cup of black coffee and approximately 20 minutes spent staring outside like a Southern Gothic heroine waiting for something dramatic to happen. So, I block out a couple of hours, turn off notifications, and give my ideas undivided attention.
  • Switching Locations: As someone who grew up wandering Montgomery’s historical landmarks and later spent time in quirky Auburn coffee shops, I’ve learned that creativity loves a change of scenery. When my brain feels stuffy, I head to a café (bonus points if it serves great pie) or a park bench by the river.
  • Using Real-Life Dialogue: I have a habit of eavesdropping—don’t judge. Southern accents, in particular, are like poetry, and snippets like “Well, bless her heart, but she’s built herself a mess she can't clean up” have inspired plenty of characters in my stories.

Second dates are full of possibility, and this phase of creativity feels the same: playful, promising, and just structured enough to keep me focused without feeling stifled.

Step Three: Commit, with a Dash of Spontaneity

At some point, the light-hearted fun of dating transitions into defining the relationship. Similarly, creativity demands commitment if you want more than fleeting moments of brilliance. But like any long-term relationship, you’ve got to keep it interesting.

  • Practicing My “Sunday Best” Routine: At least once a week, I dress up my creative process. Instead of another morning spent typing at my slightly wobbly kitchen table, I’ll go somewhere fancy (okay, “fancy” is relative—it’s usually a bookstore with a good coffee bar). Treating myself this way makes the work feel intentional, not obligatory.
  • Studying Stories, Not Just Telling Them: My mom, a history teacher, taught me to respect storytelling as a craft. When my own ideas fall flat, I’ll spend an afternoon reading Harper Lee or watching speeches by Fannie Lou Hamer to remind myself how powerful words can be. It’s humbling, which somehow makes the blank page a little less intimidating.
  • Finding Strength in Ritual: My Southern roots come with a fierce respect for tradition. The act of journaling has become almost sacred to me—part confessional, part brainstorming space. When I’m stuck, I re-read old entries to remind myself that creativity, like life, runs in cycles.

Step Four: Reflect, Reframe, Repeat

When it comes to creativity (or love), the best thing you can do during a slump is to reflect on what’s working, what isn’t, and what you can try differently. This might mean taking a break, letting an idea simmer, or learning to laugh at your own bad writing. (Last week, I accidentally described a sunrise as “citrusy” and spent 10 minutes researching whether anyone’s ever called an orange sky “vitamin C-rich.” Spoiler: They haven’t.)

Reflection can feel vulnerable, sure, but it’s the key to growth. One of the best lessons I’ve learned is that letting go of perfection doesn’t mean letting go of standards—it just means giving yourself the grace to experiment.

The Wrap-Up: Woo Your Creative Self

Staying creative is a lot like staying in love—it takes effort, spontaneity, and no small amount of humor. Whether I’m gathering inspiration from Montgomery’s breezy front porches or scribbling notes in a pie-stained notebook, being intentional restores my sense of wonder.

Here’s the thing: Relationships (even the one you have with your own creativity) aren’t one-size-fits-all. Maybe your rituals involve morning yoga, or maybe they involve watching reruns of Parks and Recreation until your brain offers up the next big idea. Either way, it’s worth finding a system that works for you.

Because when you treat creativity like a beloved partner—when you listen, adapt, and laugh through the awkward moments—it has a way of loving you back when you least expect it. So light that candle, grab a notebook, and get ready to fall a little bit in love with the stories only you can tell.