Look, let’s get into it.

You’re staring at the blank page, the empty canvas, the silent guitar, the cursor blinking like it’s mocking you. It’s not just a block—it’s a wall. A big, stupid, existential wall you built yourself, probably while thinking about your childhood or how you’re gonna pay taxes. And now you’re just… stuck. Paralyzed. The creative well is dry and, of course, you’re convinced it’s because you’re a fraud, a hack, a dried-up husk of a person who peaked that one time in 2014. I get it. I LIVE there.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned, after decades of talking to geniuses and maniacs and after my own personal tours through the deserts of creative hell: you don’t think your way out of a block. You ritual your way out. You trick yourself. You perform a weird, personal séance to summon the dumb, brave part of you that doesn’t know it’s supposed to be afraid.

So, here are my non-expert, highly suspect, but weirdly effective Creative Rituals for the Artistically Blocked and Spiritually Cramped.

1. The “Worst First Draft” Sacrifice.
This is the big one. The block isn’t about making something good. It’s about the tyranny of making something at all. So your job for the first 20 minutes is not to create art. Your job is to create the absolute worst version of the thing you’re trying to make. Write the most cliché, ham-fisted, embarrassing dialogue. Paint the ugliest, muddiest, most derivative blob. Compose the jingle for a fake hemorrhoid cream. You are making an offering to the gods of creative insecurity. You’re saying, “Look! See? I can make garbage! I’m not afraid of garbage! Now get off my back and let me work.” 90% of the time, buried in that intentional trash, is one semi-decent idea. The other 10%, you at least got your hands moving, which is a victory.

2. The “Ancestor Channeling” (Or Just Stealing).
Feeling empty? Pretend you’re someone else. Not in a creepy, identity-theft way. In a “What would Warren Zevon do here?” way. Or Patti Smith. Or Greta Gerwig. Or your weird, chain-smoking high school art teacher. Put on their album, look at their work, and literally try to make something they would make. It’s not about plagiarizing. It’s about using someone else’s voice as a jump-start cable for your own dead battery. The act of imitation breaks the paralyzing self-consciousness. Eventually, your own voice will elbow its way back in, complaining, “Hey, I wouldn’t do it that way.” And boom, you’re creating again.

3. The Physical Stupidity.
You’re blocked in your head. Your body is just sitting there, holding your stupid, blocked head. So move it. Do 10 jumping jacks like a maniac. Go for a walk with the sole purpose of finding three weird things. I’m not talking a “mindful nature walk.” I’m talking, “Find a discarded shoe, a strangely aggressive squirrel, and a piece of graffiti that says ‘EAT THE PAIN.’” Document it. Your brain is a problem-solving machine. Give it a dumb, physical problem (“find weird stuff”) and it’ll remember how to solve problems. Sometimes the artistic problem gets solved as a side effect.

4. The “Controlled Panic” of a Timer.
The infinite expanse of a day to create is a torture chamber. So shrink it. Set a timer for 12 minutes. 12! Not 10, not 15. A weird, specific, non-round number. Ooooh, maybe 13!? Your only mission is to work until it beeps. The short, weird timeframe creates a harmless panic. It’s not “write a novel,” it’s “just keep the pen moving for 13 minutes.” It’s not “paint a masterpiece,” it’s “cover this corner of the canvas with any color before the beep.” The block is too slow and grand to operate in a 13-minute sprint.

5. The Hate-Draft.
This is a close cousin to the Worst First Draft, but with more venom. Start writing or talking or singing about how much you hate the thing you’re trying to make. “This painting is a prissy, overthought piece of junk and I despise its potential.” “This character is a limp, boring loser and his dialogue is giving me a headache.” Direct your fury at the work itself. It externalizes the enemy. The enemy isn’t you, it’s this stupid thing. And now you’re in a fight with it. And fights have energy. Ugly, stupid, beautiful energy.

Look, the core of all this, and I’m working this out as I talk to you, is that artistic block is just performance anxiety of the soul. It’s you, watching yourself, and giving a running commentary of failure.

These rituals are just ways to pull the curtain on that performance. To distract the anxious, judgmental part of your mind with a dumb task, a stupid game, a fake role, so the quiet, weird, actual creative part can slip out the back and start messing around with the materials again.

It’s not about inspiration. It’s about deflection. It’s about outsmarting your own ego.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go stare at a wall and convince myself I’m not a failed species for 45 minutes before I try any of this.

Try it. Or don’t. What do I know? I’m just a guy with a Wordrpess account.

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Alright, look, let’s be honest. You’re already on the internet, right? You’re scrolling, doom-scrolling, looking for something that feels like a person talking to you and not an algorithm trying to sell you a bamboo toothbrush or radicalize you into a niche political faction.

Subscribe to my blog because it’s the equivalent of a guy in a dimly lit room, gesturing wildly with a cup of coffee, making connections between his own panic and the universal void that maybe, just maybe, will make you feel slightly less alone in your own weird head. Or it’ll just kill three minutes before you go back to staring at the ceiling. It’s a gamble. But it’s my gamble. Email address below. You know the score.