Creativity is like a faucet—you have to turn it on before the water starts to flow.

When a faucet hasn’t been used in a while, the water sputters. At first, it’s murky, rusty—sometimes even black.

That stagnant water has been sitting there too long—clogging the flow.

But after letting the water run for a bit, it clears. It's no longer dark and murky. You can use this water.

This metaphor has been a guide for my creative philosophy. It has two important lessons:

1. If you're out of practice, expect that your first creations will likely be unusable.
2. Whatever you're doing, just get started and keep going. It’s the movement of water that clears it—not thinking about how water might move.

Many days, I sit down to write with nothing in mind. Sometimes, a stray thought bubbles up—undeveloped, vague—but I follow it anyway to see where it goes.

Sometimes nothing comes to mind, and I simply start typing whatever is in my head—until an idea emerges that I can latch onto.

Remember that it's the process of moving the creative waters that clears them. We have to turn the faucet on and trust that the water will clear.

The metaphor is also a lesson in patience and impermanence. Knowing that not everything we create will be usable or marketable is a gift. It allows us to keep the faucet running rather than turn it off as soon as we see the murky water.

Flow will always beat overthinking and premature editing.

Let the mess come first—then shape it.

Turn the faucet on. Let it run. The clear water will come—if you let it.