Reader,
While drafting this email—and just as I slid a chicken into the oven to roast—the power went out. Again.
Annoying? Absolutely, especially when it happens mid-cooking or when it interrupts a powerful online coaching call with a writer. But this time, I decided to lean into the moment and follow what felt like a fun possibility. I opened a folder of old, handwritten notes from a process-of-writing course I took with back in 2013.
As I scanned the notes, my eyes were drawn to one word that kept appearing over and over: energy.
- "Writing takes a lot of energy."
- "You need to generate energy to write."
- "Writing requires a deep level of concentration and energy. You are really there; you're in an altered state."
I smiled at how true these words still felt and paused over a section titled “Listening to Your Creative Voice” that described how many writers are auditory, visual, or sensory in their approach.
So where am I going with this?
It’s wild how much energy writing demands and yet, ironically, it’s the one thing writers often don’t prioritize or protect. Why? Because everything else—family, friends, work, community—comes first.
But what if protecting your creative energy isn’t selfish? What if an energized, renewed writer could actually show up better for everything and everyone else?
We tend to think of writing as separate from ourselves (I have an article coming out about this in the spring), and so we compartmentalize energy reserves too. But they’re deeply intertwined. As Maya Angelou once said, “You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have.”
Flipping through my notes, I came across a diagram I’d scribbled in my messy cursive that broke writing into three general phases and the energy we spend in each:
- Invention (what I call unstructured play): 33%
- Drafting: 17%
- Revision: 50%
It’s interesting how small the drafting phase is, and yet, when we aren’t drafting, we tell ourselves we aren’t “really writing.” We forget about the other 83%.
Here’s the truth: We are always writing. And I am saying no to thinking I am not writing when I’m doing other things.
Every interaction, every observation, every struggle, every argument, every weird dream, every moment of grief, every bit of unstructured play is funneling energy toward that 17%.
Life informs the page. For far too long—literally decades—I believed that drafting was where all the value of writing lived. But I’m done with that. Protecting our creative energy means honouring the entire writing process—not just the act of typing words, but the richness of the life experiences that make those words worth writing.
So as we step into 2025, I’m challenging myself (and inviting you!) to think differently about energy. What if we approached it as both finite and replenishable, something to be used wisely and cultivated intentionally? And be kind to yourself. If you’ve struggled with this kind of thinking in the past, don’t expect the newness of a New Year to magically change things, 'cause it won't. Instead, think about what why you want to shift your thinking and …
Reflective Question: What could that look like for you?
Let’s make this the year we protect our energy for the creative work that matters most—and trust it will ripple into everything else we do.
with love,
Chelene
As always, if you know of a friend who could benefit from reading this weekly share, please forward share. I want these personal shares within the Say No With Love Newsletter to reach the right people : )
