Writing Guilt and Other Creative Crimes I’ve Committed

There’s a new ailment going around the creative world, and it’s highly contagious. Symptoms include staring at your unfinished manuscript, sighing heavily, and mumbling something like, “I should be writing.” Yes, my friends, I’m talking about writing guilt—and though I hadn’t heard of it until recently, I seem to have earned an honorary PhD in the subject.

Here's what happened....

A little while ago, I had a solo art show. One entire gallery. My artwork. My setup. My everything. It sounds glamorous, right? Cue the applause, the soft lighting, the elegant hors d’oeuvres—except, behind the scenes, it’s less “artistic reverie” and more “running a small logistics company while trying to look charming in public.”

I was the planner, the promoter, the installer, the social butterfly. It was exhilarating… and exhausting.

And right in the middle of it all—between hanging canvases and smiling through small talk—this tiny voice piped up in my head:
“You haven’t written your 1,000 words today.”

Excuse me? I’m knee-deep in bubble wrap and self-doubt, and now I’m supposed to feel bad about not writing? Can we please take a collective moment for this level of unhinged insanity?

I mean, sure—planning is great. I love a plan. I make lists so detailed they could qualify as architectural blueprints. But sometimes, life swirls into a beautiful, messy chaos of creativity that doesn’t fit into a tidy writing schedule.

And when that happens, here’s what I’ve learned: you cannot guilt your way to creativity.

Oh, I’ve tried. I’ve sat myself down, wagged my metaphorical finger, and demanded: “You WILL write those 1,000 words, missy!” You know what happens next? My brain, like a stubborn teenager, crosses its arms and refuses to cooperate.

Because creativity doesn’t thrive on guilt—it thrives on grace.

Grace for the days when your art show or day job or life just is. Grace for the times when you need to fill your well instead of your word count. Grace for knowing that your creative self is always working, even when you’re not sitting at your desk.

We’d never treat our friends this way. We wouldn’t say, “You failed to bake cookies today, so clearly you’re not a real baker.” Or, “You didn’t go jogging, so I guess you’ve given up on fitness forever.”

Yet somehow, we do it to ourselves as writers and artists.

So here’s to taking a deep breath. Here’s to reminding ourselves that rest, joy, and other passions fuel the writing, not derail it.

And the next time you’re standing in your own whirlwind—whether that’s an art show, a work deadline, or just a day that doesn’t go to plan—remember: your creativity doesn’t need a stopwatch. It needs compassion.

Grace. Your creativity lives on it.

Now excuse me—I’m off to not feel guilty about watching a movie with Blueberry, my Papillon muse, who insists that downtime is just another form of inspiration.