My creative rituals aren’t glamorous or Instagram-worthy. You won’t find me meditating on a mountaintop at sunrise or arranging crystals in a sunlit loft. Instead, my process usually involves a lot of coffee, mismatched socks, and singing loudly (and off-key) at embarrassing volumes. Creativity, for me, is messy, spontaneous, and rooted in the rhythms of my life—which feels appropriate since I grew up in Nashville, where storytelling and improvisation are in the water supply.

Whether you’re looking to infuse artistry into your daily routine or simply exploring ways to get unstuck, I’ve put together the habits and quirks that help me transform my chaotic ideas into something worth sharing. Consider this your backstage pass to my creative process.

Coffee First, Doubts Later

I start every creative session with an oversized mug of coffee, which I treat less like a beverage and more like a creative compass. Whether it’s dark roast from the little café down the street or that vanilla-flavored monstrosity lingering in my pantry, coffee is non-negotiable. It's my mental jumpstart—the liquid courage I need before staring down a blank page.

Without it? Forget it. Trying to write without coffee is like trying to flirt without good lighting. Sure, you can do it, but will it end well? Unlikely. There’s just something magical about sipping from that warm cup that wakes up my brain and quiets my inner critic—a very loud, very cranky roommate in my head who always shows up uninvited.

Pro Tip: Turn coffee into a ritual. Use a French press, savor the grind of beans, or go full hipster and buy single-origin blends with tasting notes like “citrus” and “regret.”

The “Worst Case Scenario” Playlist

Here’s where things get interesting: I write best to a somewhat tortured playlist called "Worst Case Scenario.” It’s packed with heartache ballads, old-school country crooning, and haunting acoustic tracks. From Tammy Wynette to Phoebe Bridgers, it’s like the emotional equivalent of diving into a sad movie marathon.

Ironically, heartbreak fuels joy in my writing—it’s a strange alchemy. I think it’s because vulnerability, even when borrowed from a song, pushes me to tell the truth. It’s the same reason cheesy romcoms pull out montages to sappy music: vulnerability makes a story stick.

Music primes my imagination by loosening up those awkward, guarded parts of myself, the ones too afraid to admit their own stories matter. Plus, when your writing soundtrack hinges on someone singing their soul out about lost love, it’s hard not to feel fired up about putting words on paper.

Pro Tip: Make a curated playlist tailored to your creative mood. Need something upbeat? Add Lizzo. Want brooding intensity? Try Fleetwood Mac. Experiment until you find the “soundtrack” that ignites your imagination. (Bonus points if it makes you ugly cry—seriously.)

Walk It Out: The Sidewalk Soliloquy

I have had more creative epiphanies while walking around my neighborhood than I have sitting at my desk. East Nashville, with its charming old bungalows and murals, gives my mind permission to wander. There’s something about the rhythm of footsteps—predictable and steady—that frees me from overthinking. I like to imagine my creative block melting with every step.

For added effect, I mutter dialogue aloud or work through plot twists that have been tying me in knots. Yes, I look like the weirdo talking to herself while passing joggers, but let’s be real: I grew up surrounded by songwriters muttering lyrics into their phones. In my corner of the world, creative weirdness is basically a currency.

Real Example: The opening line for one short story of mine came when I tripped over a crack in the sidewalk, glanced at the offending cement, and muttered aloud, “Isn’t that just my luck?” Voilà—a piece about self-awareness and serendipity was born.

Pro Tip: Creativity thrives on movement. Go for a walk, dance in your living room, or even pace while brushing your teeth. Sometimes, your best ideas aren’t waiting at your desk—they’re hiding three blocks away.

The “Anything Ugly Goes” Draft Rule

Here’s the part of my process where I embrace chaos unapologetically. In Nashville, I learned early that no first performance (or draft) is perfect. Remember that viral concert clip where Dolly Parton forgot her lyrics mid-song and just laughed it off? That energy is something I bottle and channel every time I sit down to write: fewer apologies, more show must go on.

So, my rule is simple: Make it ugly, but make it exist. I’ll open a document and throw word vomit at the screen, snarky asides and all. Sentences that barely make sense? Great. Dialogue that sounds like it belongs in a soap opera? Even better. Perfection is for the second draft. The first one is about making a glorious, glorious mess.

It’s freeing, really—sort of like cooking without measuring anything. If it flops, who cares? Creativity, like relationships, thrives when you give it some grace to be imperfect. (Besides, no one remembers the burnt pancakes when the next batch turns out golden and perfect.)

Pro Tip: Write your creative ideas like no one’s watching. You can edit, refine, and polish later. But step one? Turn off the perfectionism and let yourself create without judgment.

Dancing at the Finish Line (Literally)

Once I’ve created something I’m proud of—okay, or something that’s at least “less bad” than when I started—I celebrate with at-home dance breaks. No elaborate choreography here—I’m talking awkward moves, hairbrush-microphone moments, and a lot of Beyoncé.

Why? Because finishing anything—whether it’s a story, painting, or emotional email you almost didn’t send—is a win worth celebrating. We spend so much time picking ourselves apart that we forget how important it is to hype ourselves up.

So, I celebrate because I owe it to myself and the effort I’ve put in—and because nothing screams “you earned this” quite like moonwalking past your couch.

Pro Tip: Celebrate small creative wins. It doesn’t have to be a dance party (though I recommend it). Treat yourself to a cupcake, light a victory candle, or share your work with a trusted friend who gets it.

Final Thoughts: Creativity as a Love Language

Here’s what I know for sure: Creativity isn’t just about producing something. It’s about showing yourself the kind of love you’d show a friend—being compassionate, forgiving, and openhearted in the process. My rituals, though scattered and imperfect, remind me to nurture that relationship with myself.

So, find your groove. Maybe it’s through journaling, long baths, or singing in the car. Whatever rituals fuel you, embrace them with your whole heart. Creativity isn’t a race, and building a process that fits your life is an art form in itself.

From me to you: Here's your permission to start messy and celebrate loud. After all, the best ideas are the ones that come from the most unapologetic version of you.