Creative Inertia: How Moving a Little Changes Everything
One Small Thing
It sounds cliché.
It is cliché.
But doing one small thing really can lead to another.
A few weeks ago, I couldn’t do anything. Grief and overwhelm pinned me down. My over five-year practice of starting each day with morning pages (three pages of handwritten stream-of-consciousness) came to a dead stop. I’d stare at my notebook, my pen hovering over the page, completely blank.
This summer was supposed to be for writing my book. I have a writing coach. I have deadlines. I have the kind of motivation that, in theory, should get me out of bed in the morning. But for the first time, writing was painful. Nothing sounded like me. Every word felt like garbage. Actually, worse than garbage. It was as if some unfamiliar voice had taken over my pen, and I was left asking, Where did I go? Am I even a writer anymore? Who am I if I can’t do the one thing I’ve always done?
That spiral, of course, led to even bigger questions about my worth, my life, my future. (You know, casual morning thoughts.)
Then I remembered the advice I give other writers: Just show up.
So I did.
Not gracefully. Not willingly. Some days I barely scratched out a paragraph. Other days I just stared at my notebook until I wrote something like ‘If you are reading this, I’m sorry but it sucks’ if only to say I had written. I still submitted my assignments to my writing coach, even if they veered wildly off-track and made me cringe.
I did this for a month. A month of terrible writing. A month of frustration. A month of grieving my life as a writer, on top of grieving my dad. (Oh, the irony of writing a book about grief while being utterly drowned in it.)
And then one day (again cliche but true) something shifted. I filled three pages. My voice flickered back onto the page. When I read through my month of “junk,” I found a few lines (the ones my coach had gently highlighted) that weren’t so bad. I used them as compost for something new. Something real.
Some Practical (But Not Annoying) Tips For Creative Inertia
The usual advice says things like “set goals” or “make a list.” But when you’re creatively stuck, you don’t need a list, you need a spark. Here’s what worked for me:
Start Ugly (It Still Counts)
I wrote entire pages of words that felt like chewed-up paper. Sentences that made me cringe. But here’s the thing: ugly counts. Ugly is movement. Ugly is proof you showed up. Sometimes the best lines are buried inside the mess, waiting to be found.
Lower the Bar Until It’s Ridiculous
I stopped aiming for three full morning pages. One line, I told myself. Just write one line. Some mornings that was all I did. But that one line often became two, then a paragraph. Ridiculously low expectations can open the door when perfectionism has it locked.
Shift Your Medium
When words wouldn’t come, I grabbed Post-it notes and parking tickets and made “visual essays.” No one tells you that doodles, scribbles, and weird collages count as writing practice too. Creativity doesn’t care about the container, just the movement.
Show Up With Others
There’s something about writing terrible words in community that makes them feel a little less terrible. My writing groups weren’t expecting brilliance from me; they just wanted me to be there. Their presence kept me tethered, and their laughter reminded me that writing doesn’t have to be heavy to matter.
Borrow Energy From Outside Your Brain
When I was completely stuck, I went for a 10-minute bike ride. Then the next day I went further. Then I was on my paddleboard, watching baby ducks skitter across the water. Sometimes moving your body shakes something loose in your mind.
Rediscovering What I Already Knew
Yesterday, I recorded audio versions of my Pixie Series children’s books (yay!!!). As I read Pixie and the Bees, I reached the part where she starts to ride her bike, just a little, and one single bee flies out with her breath. She cries with relief, and the next day she bikes a little more, and more bees fly out.
I stopped mid-sentence because I realized that I already knew this.
I wrote this.
I just needed to remember it.
She kept biking.
They quieted even more.
She kept biking.
They barely made a sound.
Pixie let out a happy sigh and a bee flew out in her breath.
One Small Step at a Time
Speaking of bikes… When the words weren’t coming, I decided to get on my bike. I told myself I’d ride for just 10 minutes. I came home lighter, my chest a little looser. The next day, I went a bit further. The next day, I got on my paddle board and paddled around the lake near my house, watching baby ducks trail behind their mother, spotting geese, and what I think were otters.
One small step led to another.
Want to Start Small?
If you need an easy, slow way back to your creative self, join me for 5 Days, 5 Senses, 1 Slow Summer—a free challenge designed for days when even the idea of “starting” feels too big. You’ll get simple prompts to help you notice, feel, and show up gently.
It will run for July and August 2025.
Closing Thought
Keep moving, even if it’s just a shuffle. Even if what you make feels like trash. Even if you feel like you’ve forgotten how to do the thing you love. One small thing—one line, one doodle, one deep breath—can lead to another. And eventually, you’ll look back and realize you’ve built something real out of all those tiny, shaky steps.
Hi, I’m Erica!
I’m an author, public speaker, and writing mentor. I LOVE to talk about about writing, creativity, and the messiness of life that can make these things feel as unobtainable as they are critical to healing.
Reach out to find out how to bring me to your group as a keynote speaker or workshop facilitator.
