How to Cultivate Creative Ideas That Keep Growing

"We're trying to create a snowball," I told client Sam on a Zoom call this week.

We were discussing the same children's story idea he has had for months. It wasn't much of a story as much as it was these two Puffin characters that have been in his head torturing the guy to come up with a story for them. It was the same nod from the "creative gods" that many of us get…where a random idea seems to drop into our minds and live there rent-free until we finally crack the code on what we should do with it.

He was creatively stuck. He knew it was something he had to pursue, but he didn’t know why.

Recently, I've had this same creative "foggy-knowing." I've had an idea for a brand in my head and even a name for it, and yet, something has stopped me from knowing what it truly is meant to be. I've tossed around ideas of women's retreats, in-person community meetups, and virtual writing sessions, but it all seems too much. It doesn't seem right. At least not yet.

Every time I think I know what it is meant to be, something stops me. It's bigger than just one idea, so it should encompass many, but then many feels cluttered, convoluted, and then I toss my notebook to the side and say, "Forget it." But like a weed, eventually, it comes back, and the cycle begins again.

It is easy when creativity and business ideas are driven by ego and on a one-way highway to I-Am-A-Productive-And-Worthy-Human-Being Land. What does that mean? People sometimes create things out of their need to feel deserving and prove their worth to the world. I see this with artists, writers, and creatives alike: this need to be something more than themselves. Their art suffers for it because they cannot be honest. They are unwilling to bleed, to be imperfect, and in their pursuit for perfection, something other shows up than what is truly meant to be—on the page, on the canvas…you get it.

Projects fueled by creativity alone and led by an untouchable creative force have no timeline. They have nowhere to be. They do not care about what we, the creators, need to be or do with them. They come in their own time with lots of hard work and tinkering, and sometimes without much tinkering at all.

Real art knows when it’s done—even before we feel ready to declare it complete—because good art doesn’t need to be 'ready' in the way we often think. Art doesn’t exist within the rigid framework of time like we do; it doesn’t wait for perfection, nor does it follow a linear path to completion. Instead, it reaches a point where it has said what it needs to say, whether or not we feel prepared to let it go. The readiness of our art isn’t dictated by some external standard—it’s up to us, shaped by our own instincts, intentions, and willingness to release it into the world.

Now, don’t get me wrong – I am human. I've struggled with timing and my own ego in creative work. At times, I've wanted my book to be more than perhaps it wanted to be. My book wanted to heal me. I wanted it to be a book. I hope that some day it heals others or finds itself in the right hands, but then again, maybe it just simply won’t. In time, its seat in the world will reveal itself.

My editor has often reminded me in the writing process to stop thinking about the reader and to go further inward into the truth of what is trying to be shared. When I have become too aware of my reader, I have retracted from the truth. I inevitably freezed myself from writing, overthinking and overanalyzing a fake reader’s response. This is gasoline to the creative process that invites us to embrace our unknowing of what something is meant to be before it has had the time to mature and grow.

This brings me to my word of the year, "Trust." It's my word for surrendering to everything, the way that it wants to unfold, on the timeline that it wants to unfold. Me forcing it will not help it be anything more than it was ever going to be. But don't mistake me when I say that every creative still must apply effort. There is a delicate dance between trusting in process, surrendering and applying energy. They are not necessarily opposing one another but they certainly do have the potential to counter one another’s efforts.

As creatives, we shouldn’t be passive or rely solely on divine inspiration, waiting for the muse to strike. Although it is delightful when it happens, it is just the beginning. There are ways to "earn the knowing,” to obtain the green light from whatever creative channel brings us our ideas. An innovative idea will forever remain stagnant unless energy is applied to it. A green light will never appear unless you are actively looking for it, eyes wide open.

We must keep our eyes open for green lights as much as give ourselves permission to be the green light.

In Sam's case, he had specific creatures in mind for his characters, but he did not know anything about them. Are they funny? Serious? What does their daily routine look like? Who are their friends? What is their home life like? What do they love? What do they despise? What makes them tick?

Any good editor or writing coach will inevitably tell an author to do a character interview to get to know their characters. In conversation, I gave him his homework in addition to researching the nature of the species that came to his mind. I found in my own work that if I didn't know what to write about for a specific creature, getting to know how that creature moves and thinks in a real-life setting can help me produce more ideas.

Putting energy into our creative ideas or creative sparks is the first step toward the snowball effect.

When I told Sam, "We're trying to create a snowball," he shook his head like an ah-ha moment. Ironically, he had just gone skiing down a mogul a few days before and recollected, "When I was skiing, I got to this point on the mountain and watched this snowball tumble and bounce down the mountain. It never stopped. It kept going and going, and I watched it go and go."

“And that is what we are trying to do with your two puffins!” I shared. An idea jolted through my brain.

I blurted, "Could two puffins have pushed it down the mountain?" I asked him. He smiled and wrote it down.

We were finally creating a snowball. The momentum had begun. Big or small, every action matters—because without movement, ideas remain frozen in place. The creative gods may give us the snow, but only we can scoop, pack, and shape it into something real.

As creatives, it’s important to embrace the process, even with its unknowns and dead ends. Though frustrating at times, we eventually piece the puzzle together. Rolling the first snowball is the first step in that exploration, and when the puzzle is finally complete—as any true creative will tell you—we won’t just be satisfied. We’ll be eager for the next one.