I gave up on The Artist’s Way and still wrote 34,411 words this summer
How I made the program work for me, plus why perfectionists may struggle with it.
My entire approach to the writer’s life involves listening to internal rhythms, embracing seasonality, and discovering what works for you. While I no longer find strict guidelines especially motivating, I do enjoy a container because I’ve found that a bit of short-term structure can absolutely benefit my creativity.
Enter, The Artist’s Way.
On the brink of summer, I was casually looking at my notes feed and came across a post from
. Her takeaways were encouraging, so I pulled out the dusty copy from my closet, which was a bit like opening a time capsule.Flipping through the book, I found dog-eared pages and underlined passages through roughly Week 3, which revealed past attempts, though I didn’t make it very far. I likely gave up for the same reasons that left me skeptical now: It’s prescriptive. There are too many rules. And what can I possibly gain from brain-dumping into a notebook first thing in the morning?
A few things preventing me from participating:
I tend to shy away from rules. This is a pattern I’ve noticed in my own creative life over the years, and have grown comfortable making modifications. Still, there was a lot to do: morning pages, weekly artist dates, answering reflection questions, and reading for the upcoming week’s assignments. It felt like… homework?
Twelve weeks is significant. Can we really do anything for that long? Or do it well? What does it say about me if I start it and then quit?
My morning routine isn’t consistent. I won’t get into the specifics, but I don’t always sleep well. I was concerned that inconsistent mornings might make it difficult to stick to morning pages consistently.
Old beliefs about perfectionism. More on this in a bit, but it can be risky to put yourself in a situation with lots of rules, even if they’re meant to be suggestions.
Despite some reservations, I had nothing to lose and plenty of curiosity. Here’s what made it possible to experiment:
I changed the rules to fit my needs. Highly recommend!
A window of opportunity existed. I’d recently entered my summer of white space and also knew that come mid-August, I’d be taking on some additional freelance work since someone on my team would be on maternity leave. That left me 12 weeks to focus on my writing this summer before pulling back again.
I already had the book. I didn’t have to obtain a copy, so it was easy to read the introduction quickly and not talk myself out of it.
But as we transition into fall, I’m not sure how to categorize myself. An Artist’s Way dropout? I did read half of the chapters and followed through on some of the exercises, but I didn’t complete the program. This worked for me! And I’m going to tell you more about it, because I still found some value in the process and think you might too.
A Primer on What to Expect
The Artist’s Way was written by Julia Cameron and inspired by the 12-step program of Alcoholic’s Anonymous. Within these pages, artists are in “recovery” to unlock their true creative selves.
It often references God as the source of creativity, which doesn’t suit everyone. I’ve had conversations with people who have been so put off by this that they avoid the program entirely. That’s always an option, but it’s relatively easy to incorporate a word like “source” or “inspiration” or whatever feels more aligned.
While not entirely rigid in its approach, The Artist’s Way does suggest weekly tasks for deeper work including journaling, letter writing, art making, and the like. (Ultimately, I ignored most of the suggestions.)
There are two tenets of The Artist’s Way that are probably the most well-known: morning pages and artist dates.
Morning pages are just what they sound like—pages you write first thing in the morning. You’re not supposed to think, just write and write until you’ve filled several pages, and it’s akin to clearing the cobwebs from your mind to gain more clarity later in the day. One rule is that you’re not supposed to show them to anyone, and the second rule is to never read what you’ve written. (I broke both of these.)
An artist date is a weekly time commitment with yourself to cultivate your inner artist. It’s scheduled time to do anything that feels good—walking in nature, going to a museum, visiting a cafe—and meant, in part, to build trust with your inner artist and honor the time you need to create.
The role of perfectionism in The Artist’s Way
A quick primer on what perfectionism truly is: It’s not about achievement or being Type A, or wanting things done a specific way. At least, that’s not what it’s about on a deeper level.
Perfectionism is an attempt to seek control, and control equals safety to our nervous system.
Julia Cameron is clear that you do not need to do this perfectly, but if you’re someone with perfectionist tendencies, it can take a lot of work to believe this.
One of the hallmarks of a perfectionist mindset—and the fastest way for me to recognize it in myself—is all-or-nothing thinking.
If I don’t do morning pages every day, I won’t be able to write.
If I skip my weekly artist date, I’m doing it wrong.
I have to finish because I started.
These statements aren’t true, but try telling your brain that.
If you’re currently unraveling this type of thinking, a program with rules may be unwelcome. That’s why I intentionally modify programs with rigid structures, not only to overcome my own perfectionism, but to honor my energy and rhythms day-to-day.
(For another example of this, you can read about how I’ve participated in NaNoWriMo in the past by making my own rules, or listen to the podcast episode here.)
The truth is, you do not need to write morning pages in order to make progress on whatever else you’re working on. Might this practice be beneficial? Yes. But can you write effectively without it? Also yes.
Lessons from trying (and setting aside) The Artist’s Way
I wrote morning pages for three days straight during my first week, sometimes in near-darkness. I even shared my very first sentence in a Substack note, which the book told me not to do. (It was simply this: Morning pages are dumb.)
But! Over the course of the week, I wrote about 3,000 new words for my work-in-progress. On Friday, I had to head out early and skipped morning pages, opting to try “evening pages” instead. This was fine, too, but also made me feel like I had one more thing to do when winding down.
Also, my commitment to morning pages felt conditional on how rested I felt when my eyes opened. I chose not to muscle my way through, and over the next week or two, noticed my interest in morning pages dwindle.
After the first few weeks, I simply felt… bored? Done? Neutral? Suddenly, the energy drained and instead of feeling excited to read the week’s guidance on Sunday night, I simply didn’t want to. It now became more. More to do. More to follow. More on my plate. (Remember the all-or-nothing thinking?) I didn’t want any of that, so I stopped.
But I was building momentum with the artist date. I didn’t always keep a date that took place out of the house. But I DID add writing time to my calendar at least twice per week.
Some days I didn’t feel like writing, or my schedule needed to change, but most of the time, I kept this commitment, and took pleasure in seeing my word count increase. Scheduling my writing time like any other appointment probably made the biggest difference for me this summer, and it’s something we all can experiment with.
Ultimately, I learned it’s not the routine of writing morning pages that makes writing possible. (If we start to believe this is true, that we won’t write if we don’t do our morning pages first, it veers into perfectionist territory.) What moves the needle is our commitment. This can be physical (a standing appointment on our calendar to write, a morning pages practice, etc.) and mental (a desire to focus on a particular project for a specific number of weeks).
What makes writing possible is openness, intentionality, small shifts, and of course, curiosity. When we create conditions for these elements to move within and around us, that’s when the magic can happen.
I’m working on some memoir revisions at the moment, but I’ve also started a novel—surprise!—which is something I haven’t attempted since college. I’m doing what Miciah Bay Gault says in a Poets & Writers’s essay titled “Stay Fluid.”
“Your writing, just like that silvery water I love to gaze at from my favorite parking lot, can be fluid and flexible, pouring itself into a variety of forms without ever losing its elemental properties.”
The themes I’m exploring in this book are ones that have followed me throughout my life, and have threaded through my other work: nourishment, loss, finding yourself, defining home, trusting your instincts… it’s just an entirely new form.
It’s different. It’s fun. It’s a new challenge for my brain. But maybe this was the joy I needed all along.
Until next time,
Nicole
P.S. Have you ever attempted the Artist’s Way? I’d love to hear about your experience, as well as any strategies that work for you when you need a creative boost.
I’m also an Artist’s Way drop out. It was too rules-heavy and rigid for me. Before kids I️ took classes and joined writing groups. When my kids were young I️ wrote whenever I️ could, wherever I️ could. They are young adults now and I️ am reclaiming writing — 1 generative writing group every week, soon adding another. This keeps me accountable as I️ create a practice of my own.
Another dropout here. I tried it in 2019 and quit after week 3 or 4, I think. I love structures and containers that are flexible enough for me not to feel caged. I fell into the trap of wanting to do the whole program week by week. Probably, it would've gone differently if I had allowed myself to practice just the exercises that felt most inspiring. I loved the morning pages, though. I still write them sometimes, just not always in the morning.