What’s the secret to creativity? If you’d asked me that question ten years ago, I probably would’ve squinted off at Montana’s open horizon, tossed my hair like a budding cowboy poet, and said something cryptic like, “It’s in the wind, if you know how to listen.” That answer would’ve been poetic, sure, but also about as useful as a three-legged horse. Now, years later—with one novel, several dozen unfinished poems, and a stint as a wildlife bureaucrat under my belt—I realize that creativity isn’t just about waiting for inspiration to come galloping toward you at full speed. It’s about harnessing what fuels you and training it into a manageable rhythm. For me, that rhythm lives in my creative rituals.
Let me take you through some of the small, consistent habits that help me spin unassuming threads of daily life into something (hopefully) compelling. Whether you’re trying to write the next great romance, untangle your thoughts on commitment, or just get out of your own head after a bad date, there might be something here for you. Saddle up, because creativity is a lot less mysterious—and a lot more practical—than Hollywood montages would lead you to believe.
Morning Coffee and the Art of Setting the Stage
Rituals don’t have to be monumental; the smallest actions can lead to the biggest breakthroughs. For me, it starts with coffee. Not just drinking coffee—summoning it into existence like I’m casting a highly caffeinated spell. I grind my beans, tap the side of the grinder methodically (because somehow that feels essential), and pour hot water steadily into my ceramic pour-over. I know what you’re thinking: Yes, Willow, we’ve all heard of coffee. But there’s something about this process—the quiet precision of it—that tells my brain it’s time to shift gears. Creating something doesn’t have to start with fireworks; it can start with the drip of coffee hitting a mug.
Practically speaking? Find a ritual that acts as your “on” switch. Maybe you light a candle, put on a specific playlist, or sharpen exactly six pencils. It doesn’t have to make sense; it just has to make you feel grounded. You’re not procrastinating; you’re priming yourself. And if that one terrible date left you with more questions than answers? Pouring that energy into the ritual helps, too. There's something cleansing about grounding yourself in a routine before you try to articulate complicated feelings—your own or someone else’s.
Long Walks and the (Occasional) Dramatic Stare Into the Distance
Where I grew up in Montana, walking through our pastures wasn’t just about getting exercise; it was about listening to the land. (Okay, now that cowboy poet energy is warranted.) There’s something about moving through wide-open spaces that unravels my thoughts so I can lay them out one by one. When I’m stuck, I lace up my boots, leave my phone behind, and step into the kind of quiet that lets your brain stop spinning at warp speed. I’ve realized this is where my best ideas hide—in the in-between moments, when I’m focused on moving my feet instead of forcing creativity.
You don’t need a Montana pasture to do this, though. A walk down your block or through your local park can have the same effect. If I’m in a funk, I ask myself something like, “If this story—or this relationship dilemma—were a movie, what song would be playing right now?” Try it. Next thing you know, you’ll be imagining your own slow-motion montage, solving problems subconsciously like the main character in a Nicholas Sparks novel (minus the melodramatic rain scenes).
Let the Mundane Be Your Muse
Whoever said inspiration only comes in grand gestures has obviously never cleaned a horse stall—or, for that matter, folded laundry during an existential crisis. Some of my most unexpected (and useful) ideas have come while doing the messiest, most unglamorous tasks. There’s something freeing about occupying your hands while your thoughts roam wildly. That half-baked plot idea or unresolved tension from last night’s conversation? It suddenly starts to form into something coherent while you’re scrubbing mud off your boots or scrubbing lipstick off your favorite coffee mug. (Look, I don’t know how it got there either. I was writing.)
My suggestion: the next time you’re wrestling with writer’s block or an emotional knot, step away from your desk—or your texting app—and clean something. Rearrange your bookshelf. Or, as I once did during an exceptionally bad breakup, rearrange your entire living room. Whether you’re dealing with creative frustration or relationship uncertainty, sometimes stepping into the mundane gives you just enough distance to see things clearly.
Write Like No One’s Watching (Because Literally, No One Is)
You’d think, after publishing a novel, I’d approach writing with swagger. Nope. Starting a blank page is still about as comfortable as going on a first date with someone who immediately brings out a PowerPoint outlining their 10-year plan. That’s why one of my most important rituals is reminding myself: No one has to see this yet. My first draft can be messy—half-thought-out sentences, cowboy metaphors, and all.
If writing—or any kind of creativity—feels daunting, remind yourself that your first attempt doesn’t have to be perfect, or even presentable. You’re just letting yourself show up. And if you’re stuck on something too big or emotional, start small. Write one sentence instead of three paragraphs. Draft a shaky “maybe this will help” email to yourself about a relationship question with no pressure to hit send. Give yourself permission to be imperfect.
The Campfire Test: Refining Through Connection
In Craig Johnson’s The Cold Dish (a book set not far from the landscapes I grew up in), one character says, “The great thing about a campfire is that you can talk about anything without looking anyone in the eye.” While I don’t gather around an actual fire much these days, I love going through my ideas—or personal roadblocks—with a trusted friend. For me, this often happens after a long day, when the sun dips behind the Bridger Mountains, and I chat with a close friend as we sip wine like we’re characters from a Reese Witherspoon movie.
If you’re stuck creatively or emotionally, try talking your thoughts out with someone you trust—not for validation, but for perspective. Just like Montana skies look wider after sunset, clarity often expands with the right conversation, free of judgment or pressure. Reflection doesn’t always have to be a solo ride.
The Final Word: Carve Out Space for Your Voice
One thing I’ve learned about creativity is that it’s not always convenient, but it’s always worth the effort. Just like relationships. There’s no secret magic—only a commitment to show up, day after day, and try. You don’t have to live on a scenic ranch to tap into inspiration (though it doesn’t hurt). All you need is consistency: rituals that ground you, habits that sharpen you, and people who remind you of what matters.
After all, creativity, like love, isn’t about looking perfect; it’s about showing up honestly. So carve out your space—whether it’s in brainstorming by the campfire, journaling over your morning brew, or imagining better endings to awkward dinner dates. Find what sparks you and keep tending that fire. Something good will take shape—it always does.
