The Value of Percolation
I’m a huge advocate of collaborating with other writers and artists. Working closely with fellow creative humans is not only a rich way to expand our limited perspectives, but it can fuel our inspiration and diversify our thinking.
My newest friend and collaborator, K, is a fierce writer. I reached out to her after reading a stunning essay she’d written about coping with rejection. Not much time passed before we were having virtual coffee dates and piling ideas into a shared google doc, as we began to hone in on the collaborative essay we planned to write. Soon after, we settled on a general topic, gently assigned some initial roles, and agreed that it was time to get to work.
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A few days ago I wrote to her, apologetic: Between holiday weirdness and seasonal illness, I had thought about our project every single day—I really had—but I hadn’t done any writing yet.
She was as kind as I knew she would be. I haven’t done any work on it either, she explained, full of understanding. But I’m percolating.
I wrote back immediately, instinctively: “Percolation is an underrated creative stage.”
What did I mean?
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Sometimes—quite often—I’m writing while I’m writing. Duh, you might think.
But sometimes I’m walking, and that’s a kind of writing, too. Or I’m untangling two ideas out loud with a dear friend, and that’s a kind of writing as well. Or I’m puttering, sorting, and organizing, which is yet another kind of writing. Or I’m not really doing much of anything at all (hence: writing).
There is so much creativity that takes place outside the physical act of making, and I mean this emotionally but literally, too. Because things are often happening in our brains and hearts and guts, in our imagination and our intuition, even when they aren’t being immediately translated onto the page. And it’s the work of those quiet, private moments that so often leads to the big, visible revelations and breakthroughs.
Don’t believe me? Watch a tulip bulb overwinter, and see what greets you in spring.
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We need the underground time. Creativity needs hibernation. It needs to marinate and percolate, and this isn’t some fancy excuse to not show up. What I’m telling you is that showing up looks many different ways. And a robust creative practice includes all of them.
Sure, there might be times when you catch yourself avoiding the page—and there’s no replacement for the tender, investigatory work of creative mentorship, where we can slow down enough to go deep and find out why.
But. What about all those times when you are working, and it simply isn’t visible? When the work doesn’t look like work, but rest? And what about the beautiful internal work your body and mind can only accomplish when you’re still?
What I want you to know today:
In all areas of your life, but especially when it comes to your creativity, there’s more good work taking place than you likely know. Day-dreaming, introspection, and percolating are key phases.
Don’t discount the work of spending quiet time there. It’s where the wildest creativity often sprouts.