Through these recent posts I’ve been trying to capture my creative journey, but the metaphor I found to describe this part of the process surprised even me.

Sometimes writing feels a bit like dancing on a bouncy castle.

You start with an idea. You think you know where you’re going. You put one foot down and bounce. Then the work moves. You land somewhere slightly different, so you adjust and then something else appears.

Another connection. Another question. A piece that suddenly belongs somewhere else. Something you thought was important turns out not to be. Something you almost ignored becomes the thing that holds everything together. And before you know it, you’re not really writing the thing you thought you were writing at all.

You’re dancing on a bouncy castle.

For my writing projects, I used to think that when I was moving around a lot, changing things, questioning the structure and finding new connections, I wasn’t making progress. Now I’m not so sure.

I’m doing it with the research paper I’m writing at the moment. For weeks, it felt like I was bouncing around inside it. New ideas appeared. Sections moved. Connections emerged. Things I thought were peripheral suddenly became important. I kept finding things I hadn’t expected to find. At times, I wondered whether I was making progress at all, but I stayed with it.

And then I found the thread.

That moment was exciting, but it also felt a little bit strange. Because once you find the thread, you can’t quite go back to happily bouncing around. Now you have to follow it. And I think this is something I’m beginning to understand about how I create.

There is a point in the process where I need to not know.

I need to explore. I need to follow the interesting thing, even when I don’t know where it’s going. I need to let the work move beneath me, rather than constantly trying to pin it down. Perhaps the apparent chaos isn’t a problem to solve. Perhaps it is part of how the thinking happens. Staying with the work gives it time to reveal itself.

But then something changes once you find the thread, the work asks something different of you and the bouncy castle starts to deflate. 😂

You’re trying to keep bouncing, but there’s less lift. The wild movement settles down. The surprising connections aren’t arriving at quite the same speed. And weirdly, I felt a little sad about it, because I loved the bouncing. There was something exhilarating about not knowing where I was going. Every bounce could land somewhere unexpected. Now I know. I’ve found the thread and suddenly there is work to do. The party is over and someone has to clean up! 😂

The ideas need sorting. The structure needs tightening. The unnecessary bits need taking out, the gaps need filling and the thing needs finishing.

It’s tempting to think that something has gone wrong, but I don’t think it has. I’ve simply moved into another part of the creative process. This is the bit I’m learning. The creative process isn’t one feeling. It isn’t constant inspiration or even constant excitement.

It moves.

There is the beginning, when an idea has energy because it is new. There is the messy middle, when the work moves beneath you and you don’t quite know what you’re doing. There is the moment when something clicks and you find the thread. And then there is the quieter work of following it.

The energy changes. The work changes. And I change with it.

Perhaps staying with a piece of work isn’t about forcing myself to finish something because I started it. It’s about staying long enough to experience the whole process. Long enough to discover what the work is actually trying to become. Long enough to learn how I work.

And perhaps that’s the most interesting thing I’m finding.

I’m not just learning how to finish this paper.

I’m learning how I create.

The bouncing helped me get here. Now I get to follow the work and see where it leads me. To make something from what I found.

The work moves beneath you, and staying with it allows you to discover what it is becoming.