Writer's Rush

In the past two months, too much happened. I got engaged, which coincided with both my birthday party and parents' visit, and performed in a ton of cabaret shows and poetry open mics. Now, I'm writing to you from a cottage in the Cotswolds, complete with a bucolic high street, fireplace, and shops full of homemade treasures. It's so twee I might implode.

But I can't, because I'm suffering from one of the best afflictions a writer can get: the Rush.

We talk so often about Writer's Block, how to combat it and revive your creative mojo . You embark on courses or retreats in search of the Muse, believing that they exist in a corner as far away from yourself as possible. You surrender some agency to a seasoned writer, who presents their method for how to cope with the fact that at the moment, you just aren't inspired. Or rather, you are, but when you try to write something glitches. The flame sputters, your words jumble awkwardly in place and nothing resonates when you share it with others.

So there's no shame in looking outwards and asking for help; writer's block is immensely frustrating, and if nothing within is working, surely something external will. Equally, there should be no contrition for taking a break. Your creativity is your own, as mercurial as the weather, and this belief that we should always be writing is unrealistic.

Anyway, there's a whole industry around a perceived lack of inspiration, yet I've noticed a dearth of celebration for those who can't stop writing. I've said it before as a little bit of hyperbole—in that post, "I can't stop writing" meant "I always return to writing" or "I'm always thinking of writing, even if I don't do it immediately." But since August, I've experienced an actual, compulsive need to write. I can't count the number of poems I've scribbled (and for that matter, how many of them are actually good enough to be shared or published); I've developed an idea for a long-form work of nonfiction; there are about two flash/short fiction pieces still nested in my head; and I've done a complete restructure of my first novel while churning away at my second. Whenever I've questioned what's going on, I've told myself to shut up and enjoy Writer's Rush.

I want to explore why, and how I've tried to manage it. I'll say right now, I have no answers, nothing to purchase or any expertise to offer; I don't think I've figured it out at all, evidenced by my raging burnout. But if you find anything of use in here, then it's an unintentional Christmas present from me.

Reason 1: More Time

This past April, I moved to a part-time role at work with the express intention to devote my non-working days to creativity. I spent my time writing and submitting pieces, perfecting drag routines and figure skating. Some days were just spent catching up on "life admin", or trying to take it easy after particularly stressful stints at the salaried job.

In this sense, of course I'd experience a rush. I had the time to see, to experience a full, empty day and remember how I existed within its hours. Those creative spurts I used to jam in between meetings felt like catching glimpses of the sky on a tube train before diving back underground. Not only did I have more time at my disposal; I knew what to use it for. Monday-Wednesday was for work and, if necessary, a bit of writing to restore my sanity or submit to a competition deadline. Thursdays and Fridays were for me. Weekends were for everyone else.

But this isn't the full story at all. Time means nothing if you continue to feel guilty for having it. And I do. The financial blow remains significant, and even flirting with a return to full-time work has proven much more difficult than I anticipated. Always the interviewee, never the new hire. As the financial pressure mounted in mid-autumn, my non-working days were no longer for creative bliss, but for job applications, networking, etc. I've realized that Writer's Rush is selective; I'm only motivated to write for myself. While I can tap into my creative energy with unprecedented confidence, cover letters and assessment tasks are almost impossible to do. I feel stuck. Useless. And that leads me to...

Reason 2: Community

I've mentioned on this blog how I used to be quite isolationist. While I still keep some ideas and drafts close to my chest, I finally understand the importance of a creative community.

In part, this discovery is nothing new; I truly benefit from my time in the Oxford Writing Circle, both in terms of feedback and friendships. Even though I'm much less of a regular attendee than I'd like to be, I know that whenever I show up, there will be a smile paired with a glass of wine and a first draft that is much further along than the author realizes. The feedback is kind but firm, constructive and sometimes contradictory, but that's what makes it exciting. They are the foundation of what I'd consider my creative community.

However, it was this past May, when I shared a confessional mess of a poem at the Oxford Poetry Library's monthly open mic, that something new happened. I was invited to drinks afterwards. I had long, intense chats with poets I had grown to idolize from the back row, who treated me like an equal. That one night has now repeated itself many, many times, and I learned to shed my skepticism around opening up to fellow writers. When one of them offered to edit my poems, I threw all the pieces about relationships into a Google Doc and sent it over. We met up at a pub a few days later and workshopped everything, down to basic word choice and structure. However, what struck me most about this meet-up was just how many decisions I had made on a whim because I didn't care about my writing. And I needed to care because, as he urged me, there was something good in a lot of the poems that just wasn't breaking through.

The result: a full-blown poetry collection. In three months, and with my friend's critiques buzzing in my skull, I polished all the poems and wrote several more. A theme took shape, and I even redrafted some old poems from college to give them a second life. While I'm still pitching it to publishers, just the act of creating this collection imbued me with hope. And this hope led me to compete in my first poetry slam, connect with poet pals in London and back home, perform a few pieces at the Oxford Di-Verse Poetry Festival, and win a competition just before the holidays. Already, I've done things 17-year-old me never thought possible. And this is thanks to the people I have found, who've found me.

I also learned just how much of the art world is about credibility and credulity (that might be its own blog article someday). In sum, maybe not everyone wants to steal from you. Maybe they just can't because your respective styles are disparate. Maybe, when someone says you're good, it's because you actually are.

And if they're blowing smoke up my ass, that's fine; I have received enough rejections to doubt their praise. But there's something to be said for having a bevy of people who believe in you, who are both your friends and your critics, and who want you to excel. They propel the Rush.

Reason 3: The External World

Nothing revolves around me; I am a single voice in a crowded subway tunnel fighting for air and waiting for a way home. I am a recipient of too much information and not enough time to process it before more pours in. 2024 was filled with so many events in my personal life and the wider geopolitical landscape that shook me up for good.

And what are writers known for? Responding. Reporting. Telling stories. This year, I noticed a long-overdue switch in my tone, which gave me just enough confidence to respond to how these events affected me. No, I don't have a poem or short story based on the US election (or the UK's for that matter). But I do have some pieces about reunion and redemption, guilt and powerlessness in the face of genocide, and (my favorite topics) isolation and memory. Writer's Rush has led to an outpouring of these responses because I felt like my words finally fit.

I'm not gleefully scribbling in a notebook, inspired by thousands of lives falling apart every day. But I'm pissed off, galvanized, and need to do something creative alongside real, material action. After all, as the world drastically shifts, what remains of these moments? Photos, letters, poems, speeches, murals, sketches; the cultural output that sings across time, that cannot be quashed or oppressed. And the dread I feel as everything falls apart spurs me to write. That's Writer's Rush.

So what are my top tips to catalyze Writer's Rush? I have none.

I can't say, "make time for writing" because not everyone has the luxury to take the financial and career risk I did by going part-time. I can't say, "make more friends" because not everyone is as socially insatiable as I am, and even then you have to make the right kind of friends for you; don't just seek transactional relationships that don't enrich you or them. And I can't say, "write a response to the next BBC article you read" because most of us are absolutely paralyzed by the news and feel pretty awful after reading it. Or, as a writer, you might just feel like everything has already been said.

What I will say is that my surge of motivation at the moment is my own. And one day it will fizzle and I'll be seeking ways to reclaim it. Yet, if you've made it to the end of this article, I want you to know that when your Rush comes, it's a wonderful opportunity to appreciate why you can't stop writing, why so many ideas are flooding your head. Whatever your reasons are, I hope they propel you for a long, long time.