I just counted, and I have 37 houseplants. I only bought about 10–the rest came from propagating, cuttings, and lately, now that my compost is the ripe old age of six months, from the soil itself.

In fact, so many seedlings have sprouted that I just scooped some compost into a tin can and am now waiting for whatever will arrive. Tomatoes? Tea? Who can say?

*

This is a true story, and it’s also a metaphor for writing. (What isn’t?!)

In June, I decided to start posting weekly on LinkedIn. I’m committed to this schedule, even after it stops being novel. (Why? Because I want to explore ideas more intentionally, to practice putting myself out there publicly, and to network in a way that feels authentic as I build my writing business.)

But of course, a regular output schedule means writing even when you don’t want to.

And that can result in flat, shallow writing, and/or in giving up.

But I’m finding that something always shows up in time. I suspect it’s because I’m not looking for it too hard. Instead, I’m remaining open.

Maybe this is the key: To be in a perpetual state of receptivity and curiosity–like compost. Never in a state of grabby, desperate neediness.

There’s no need for that. Healthy compost, and a healthy mind, is full of latent seeds.

It’s working so far. Ideas and first lines often arrive unbidden. Often I’m surprised to find that a random anecdote I never paid much attention to makes great food for thought. And it all comes from the conscious choice to be more passive recipient than General Manager.

I’m letting compost do its job. I.e., to facilitate growth. To allow for the natural process of life and creativity to run its course. All I do is create the conditions. I put soil in a pot; I remain curious.

Martha Graham wrote, “It is not your business to determine how good it is…It is your business to keep it yours…to keep the channel open.”

Tom Waits talks about how songs sometimes come to him while he’s driving on the LA freeway. But he doesn’t pull over to catch them. Instead he tells them, “Come back when I’m at the piano!”

A dear friend who is a lifelong organic farmer once told me, “Plants want to grow. You just have to let them.”

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron talks about “getting something down, rather than making something up (direction matters).”

Writing isn’t meant to be a white-knuckle, nail-biting chore. Neither is gardening. Both things happen naturally, as long as you create the conditions, which mostly means removing barriers.

It makes sense that the best writing comes from a place of ease and openness. That’s how many of us started writing, isn’t it? We did it simply for the love of it, with no expectations. I suspect this is true about other creative acts, too, from playing the piano to dancing. I’m beginning to believe that the way to stay inspired may lie in going back to our roots: being a channel. A gatherer, not a hunter.

If you’re interested in seeing how a writing coach or ghostwriter can help bring your book to life, schedule a free call with me.