I’ve been writing a novel for almost six years.

(What a cliche, right?)

It’s meant to be the first in a series of seven, so at this rate, I expect I’ll be dictating book seven from my death bed, while being interviewed by a local news crew for the secrets to my longevity.

So what can I possibly have to teach about maintaining a creative practice?

Well. In the past six years, in addition to writing (and editing…and editing…and editing…) just north of 50,000 words of that neverending novel, I’ve also:

• Had two kids
• Launched a business
• Worked full-time for nine months while also running my business full-time while also pregnant
• Taken over as Creative Director and owner of The Voice Bureau
• Served more clients than I’d care to count, on more projects than I think I can remember
• Been a full-time at-home mom while running my business (think 19-hour days, seven days a week, for nearly four years now)
• Maintained some level of sanity and a baseline non-hoarder level of home cleanliness
• Been a wife/daughter/mother/sister/friend, with varying levels of success

I mean, if I’m being gentle with myself, I have to admit that it’s been a busy six years. I might be able to fit a novel into there, but it’s kind of understandable that I haven’t finished it yet…right?

Whether you’re working on a novel of your own, journaling, writing poetry, painting, or doing some other form of creative self-expression, making time to regularly sit down and do it can be really hard. Even just writing blog posts for your business can be tough when you can’t get the head-space to be creative! But self-care (and yes, a creative practice is self-care, even if it’s also deeply personal work or even a career to which you aspire) is critical, especially to those of us who are self-employed. Self-employment is hard, yo. It’s lonely and all-consuming and exhausting, and if you let it, it will take over your life and leave you a shell of your former self, blearily pecking out emails on your phone as you lie in bed, watching the sun rise yet again.

But a creative practice? Oh, to regularly set aside a space in your life just to make something that brings you joy! To create something in this world that is for you, just because you want it to exist! It’s important. And it doesn’t really matter if it’s “good” (whatever that means) or if anyone else ever even sees it — a creative practice is saying to yourself, over and over, that your expression matters. That you matter, beyond what others need or ask or demand from you.

So what happens when life gets in the way and your creative practice becomes “that hour I get to sleep” or “my show on Netflix, because I don’t have the energy to think right now”?

Well, the usual advice applies.

Try spending 15-20 minutes creating at the beginning of your work time, because our work does tend to expand to fit the time we give it, and there’s a good chance you won’t even notice a few lost minutes. Or maybe you can get someone to take things off your plate — a VA to handle the admin work that sucks up way too much time, or a housekeeper to mop your floors, or a caregiver to watch your kids for an hour or two, or a delivery service to handle your grocery shopping. Ask for help. Let yourself be selfish. If you force yourself to schedule some time every single day that is just for you, and you prioritize it above everything else, you can make it fit. Maybe skip the occasional shower. Bail on a couple social gatherings.

But it’s not always that easy, is it? I often sit down to work at 5 or 6am after being up most of the night with my girls, and every minute I spend working after I put them to bed is a minute that I’m not sleeping — and for someone who averages 2-3 hours a night, telling me to schedule an hour to be creative is a cruel joke. I mean, I’m sure those sleep-deprivation-induced hallucinations would make for some excellent novel fuel, but I’m not writing the sequel to Naked Lunch.

I don’t think we can talk about making time for a creative practice — or, truly, any kind of self-care — without talking a bit about gendered expectations. Because they’re real, and they’re hard to overcome, though a bit less so when you acknowledge them.

(Down with the patriarchy! Smash the hegemonic systems of oppression! Other catchphrases from my Feminist Political Theory class!)

Many — though not all — of our clients are women, and I don’t think any of us would dispute that showing up as a woman in this world is different than showing up as a man. The expectations are different. In some cases, this means working even harder for the same level of recognition. In others, it means carrying the emotional work that’s so often discounted but is not only time-consuming but costly to your own health and sanity. In others, it might mean that expectations are lowered, but then so are the rewards. We’re passed over for promotions. Talked over in meetings. And, of course, there are the implications of having a family…

Whether or not you have children, there’s a good chance that somewhere out there, someone is wondering if they’re on your agenda. And once you’ve had one, it’s, “Well, you have to try for a boy/girl now, so you have one of each!” or, “When’s number three coming?” But here’s the thing: kids take it all out of you. Including (especially?) the time and energy you might have had for a fulfilling creative practice.

So. Not to go off on a huge tangent, but you know how famous male authors have these wild life stories of alcoholism and failed marriage after failed marriage and kids born when they’re in their 70s, while female authors have life stories of spinsterism and seclusion? Yeah, there’s a reason for that.

I know that, with what I have on my plate, I can’t commit to writing my novel every day, or even every week. I have kids and clients, and I really do need to sleep at least a couple hours a day. But that doesn’t mean my novel isn’t progressing, even as my Scrivener file gathers dust.

So here’s my creative practice, right now:

I’m a sponge.

I read those clickbait-y lifestyle articles on Facebook — you know, the ones with the headlines like: “She opens the fridge. But what happens next will amaze you.” I watch TV — good and bad. I read books while I’m up in the night with the kids (thank god for that backlit screen on the Kindle, amirite?). I learn about strange things out there in the world. I take notes.

And, in every spare quiet moment — few and far between though they may be — I’m spinning the stories that will eventually be tapped out on my keyboard and become the novel series I can’t wait to write. I extrapolate possibilities, spin off variations on characters and plot twists. I sketch out the ending of book seven in my head, knowing it’ll probably change 50 more times before I get there. Eventually, the ideas tend to boil over, and when I sit down to write, thousands of words just fall out of my head without me even stopping to take a breath. Because they’re already written — in the shower, in bed at night, spacing out in the car on the way home from Target. They just needed to finally have the space to be born into the world. And I do eventually find that space — late at night, early in the morning, when the kids at the store with my husband, or when client work slows down just a bit (which it does, in the same sort of cycles every year).

So what can you learn from my overbooked schedule?

Sometimes, we need to accept that our lives look a little different than we might like. You may have an idealized picture of how you’ll light some candles, pour a glass of wine, put on some ambient music, and sit down at your vintage keyboard to tap out the next best-seller. You’re probably wearing a cozy sweater and poring over a hand-written storyboard detailing all the key plot points. But it may be that your writing happens in the car as you’re waiting to pick the kids up from practice, or on your phone when you sneak off to use the bathroom for 15 minutes, or for a couple minutes every morning until you can’t put off those client emails any longer. It doesn’t make you less of a writer. It doesn’t make your work any less valid than those professional types who crank out a new novel every year or two. They aren’t better or more deserving just because their lives are more conducive to long stretches of creation.

Physically creating isn’t the only way to create. We can learn and grow and plan, even in our busiest times. There’s a lot of background and organizing and research that goes into writing a great novel — or, even, a great poem, or painting a great painting — and taking the time to really do that work is a completely valid form of creative practice, even if it doesn’t feel quite so intentional as sitting down with that typewriter and your scented candles. You aren’t behind schedule just because you’re working on the foundation.

There is no schedule. It’s hard to feel like you’re making progress when it takes you six years (er, or more) to write a novel. Believe me, I know. But I also know that the experiences I’m having are making my stories richer — even as they, ironically, keep me away from actually writing them down. But if we take the time to absorb and process and think through our creations, in those little moments we can sneak in, they’ll pour out of us. When they’re ready.

What if you’re not really interested in developing a creative practice? Well, kudos for getting this far, anyway. This general philosophy is something I apply to my work, too. I know I can’t write copy or blog posts or even social media all the time. It’s not just a matter of finding the time; if I tried to create on that scale, I’d burn out almost immediately. No, I need some time when I can just stare at the TV and handle my admin work. Or listen to some music and review analytics. Or have a snack and reply to emails. I know that my overall workload includes tasks that require all different mindsets from me, and I plan accordingly, knowing that every task has its place. And, even when it doesn’t feel like I’m getting any work done, I know I am.

Anyway, don’t hold your breath for my debut novel — it may be a bit before I finally wrap up those last 30,000 words or so. But do save a spot on your bookshelf, because it is coming. Eventually.

In the comments, I’d love to hear:

Do you have a regular creative practice? How do you make time in your schedule?