Reader,
The other day, I cracked open the latest issue of my favourite magazine, and as soon as I did, a bit of guilt crept in. I had every intention of working on my novel draft that I've been talking about, but to be honest, I just wasn’t feeling it.
Here I am, tucked away in a lovely cabin for a two-month residency, surrounded by new people, other writers, new routines, new energy. The kind of shift that should be inspiring (there’s that good ol' should again!), and it has been, but it’s also been asking me to pay closer attention to my boundaries and my energy.
Sigh. I wasn’t stuck, and I wasn’t avoiding the work. I just felt a quiet indifference, the kind that arrives unannounced and sits beside you whether you like it or not.
So, I let myself drift. I flipped through the magazine, no destination in mind, simply craving something that wasn’t a screen. Then my eyes landed on a headline that sparked a small tingle in my gut:
“Eerie in the Everyday.”
The subheading read: “From scarecrows in the field to robots with all-too-human faces, there’s both terror and fascination in our experience of the uncanny.”
And let me tell you … over the past two months, I’ve had my fair share of the uncanny. Random insects appearing out of nowhere. Shadows shifting in the corner of my eye. The strange clicks of the baseboard heaters at night. Once, I found bear footprints circling the cabin. Each moment felt like a reminder that I was part of a living pattern, something wild and cyclical, not separate from it.
At first, I told myself the bears were coming for me.
And just an aside I want to thank all my friends who had to deal with all my texts over the last few weeks about bears trying to kick down my door haha
But the more I learned about them, the more I got curious and actually studied their habits, the more I understood, they were just foraging, following instinct, completing their nightly loop. Their rhythm had nothing to do with me. I was simply the lucky observer.
Fear shifted into curiosity.
And just like that, a new potential layer of my novel appeared at. the back of my brain. I realized I wanted to weave this same eeriness into my work, the subtle hum of the unknown. The way we not only second guess ourselves at every turn, but also how we convince ourselves of something else entirely. Instead of shrinking from it, I could learn from it. I could write with it.
I tore the article out and scrawled a note to myself at the top: “I want to add elements of eerie into my novel.” The curiosity. The pulse of mystery. The reminder that when we stop creating for a moment, we make space for wonder to enter.
I hadn’t realized how accustomed I’d become to constant production. Doing the opposite, pausing, drifting, letting go, allowed the unexpected to seep back in. That tiny spark of discovery was brief, but it was enough.
Lately, I’ve been talking with writers about the value of process, the invisible layers of what it takes to bring words to the surface. The experiments that fail. The boundaries we hold. The trust that builds quietly underneath it all. These aren’t things you can Google; they’re lived, felt, and noticed. They are oh so valuable, especially today.
Whatever we create begins somewhere deep within us, and sometimes the path back to that place starts by doing something else entirely. What we make can also transform or alchemize into something unexpected. From that one eerie article, I ended up shaping a new resource for writers, one that now lives quietly inside my creative apothecary where I build my custom offerings for creatives.
Saying no with love to the idea that if we’re not drafting, we’re not writing … that’s where the real work begins.
That’s it for now—see you next month! But please reply to this letter. Share your thoughts and stories of "no" with me.
Reflect + Rewrite
This Week's Reflection Question: Where in your life are you ready to let rhythm replace control?
After answering the reflection question, revisit what you wrote.
Is there a single line—just one—that surprised you?
Maybe it stirred something. Maybe it made you pause.
Copy that line out. Sit with it.
As always, if you feel called, I’d love to see it. Hit reply and share it with me.
See you next week! If this letter moved you in some way, please forward it to a friend.
with love, Chelene
Founder, Breathing Space Creative
Want to explore more of my work? I offer bespoke writing mentorships, creative support calls, and free creative resources through my studio. But for now, just take what you need. I’ll be here.
