Creativity, Time, and the Art of Letting Things Flow

Another full week has passed. 

Work has consumed my days, and between the exhaustion of responsibilities and the need for rest, I haven’t managed to write as much as I wanted to. It’s frustrating in a way—knowing that I have so much inside me, so many stories, emotions, and ideas that are just waiting to be shaped into words, yet not having the time or energy to bring them to life as quickly as I would like. But even in the busiest days, even when I don’t sit down and actively write, creativity doesn’t leave me. It’s there, woven into everything I do, waiting for its moment.

I find inspiration in the smallest things: in a conversation, in a fleeting feeling, in the way the sky looks at dusk, in the music playing in the background of my day. It’s in the way I reflect on my past, in the way I observe the world around me, in the emotions that stir within me when I least expect them to. Even when I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing. I’m collecting fragments of ideas, storing them away like treasures, knowing that when the time is right, they will come together into something whole.

My main book—the fantasy one, the story I’ve poured so much into—is evolving. It’s getting better and better, growing beyond what I initially imagined. But as much as I love how it’s shaping up, I’ve come to an important realization: the deadline I set for myself won’t be met. And not just for this book—for all of them.

I had this idea in my mind, a timeline of how things were supposed to go, how I was supposed to finish my projects within a certain period. I thought that if I just focused hard enough, if I just dedicated enough time, I could do it all the way I planned. But creativity doesn’t follow deadlines. It can’t be forced, and no matter how much I push myself, I won’t be able to rush something that isn’t meant to be rushed.

Nothing in life is set in stone, and writing is no exception. Creativity is a long journey. Some stories come easily, others take time. Some emotions are ready to be put into words immediately, while others need to settle, to be felt more deeply before they can be expressed in the way they deserve. I’m learning to accept that. To let go of the pressure I put on myself and remind myself that there is enough time for everything I want to do. Everything I will do.

It’s better to create something slowly, with care, than to rush and end up with something that doesn’t feel right. I want my words to hold meaning. I want my stories to feel real. And that means allowing them the space to unfold at their own pace. I am adjusting. I am reminding myself that there is no race, no finish line I need to cross at a certain time. There is only the process, and I have to trust it.

And then there’s the book for my father. This one… this one is different. It’s not just a book. It’s memories, pieces of my heart, fragments of a life that once was. Writing it isn’t easy. It’s not just about putting words on a page—it’s about remembering, about holding onto moments that feel like they’re slipping further and further away with time.

I’m not someone with the best memory. Some things have faded. Some are harder to recall in the exact way they happened. And that makes this book difficult. I don’t want to get it wrong. I don’t want to write something that doesn’t feel true to what those moments were. But I also know that memories aren’t perfect. That sometimes, we fill in the gaps with emotions, with the way things felt rather than the exact way they happened. And maybe that’s okay, too.

This book is moving slowly. Some days, I can write about him without breaking down. Other days, I can’t even open the document. But I know that as long as I keep trying, as long as I don’t give up on it, it will take shape. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day. One day, it will be what I need it to be.

And then there’s my Wattpad book. The dark fantasy romance that has been lingering in my mind, waiting to be written. I was so excited about it. I am excited about it. But I’ve started to question whether I should be juggling three major writing projects at the same time. It’s overwhelming. It’s a lot.

I’ve always been someone who wants to do everything—who wants to bring every idea to life, who wants to push herself to accomplish as much as possible. But right now, I’m realizing that three projects, all at such a big scale, might be too much for me at once. It doesn’t mean I’m giving up on any of them. It just means I need to find a way to balance everything without feeling like I’m drowning in expectations—especially the ones I place on myself.

Some days, I feel strong. Some days, I feel like I can do it all. And then there are the days where I don’t have the will, the energy, or the motivation to do anything at all. Days where even thinking about writing feels exhausting, where my own expectations feel suffocating.

And that’s hard.

It’s hard to have so much inside you, so much that you want to create, and not always have the strength to bring it to life. It’s hard to feel the pressure, even when it comes from yourself. It’s hard to remind yourself that you don’t have to do everything at once, that you don’t have to meet every deadline you set for yourself. But I’m trying.

I’m trying to remember why I started. Why these stories matter to me. Why I want to write them—not because of deadlines, not because of expectations, but because I love them. Because they are pieces of me, and they deserve to be written with care, with patience, with love.

I can do this. I will do this. But I also need to remind myself that it’s okay to take my time. That it’s okay to step back, to breathe, to move at a pace that feels right for me.

Because in the end, there’s no point in rushing. I am only human.

And this is my journey.

With love, 

Me