About a month ago I wrote about figuring out names for my new series, something I always struggle with. But these aren’t the only names I need to work on. Stories use names all the time‌—‌for characters, for places, for companies and businesses, and (especially in tales that don’t take place in our contemporary world) for different objects. These names need to work in the story-setting, too. They can’t be so outlandish that they’re hard to read (unless that’s the point of them, in which case the reader will most likely skim over them). But make them too ordinary, too familiar, and there’s the risk of having thIn my day job it’s easy to tell if I’m working‌—‌I’m doing stuff. Most jobs are like this. If you’re sitting around staring into space, you’re not working. If you’re wandering around aimlessly, you’re not working. If you’re not at your desk or work-station, if you’re not in the building, guess what?

I used to think writing was like this. If I wasn’t at my laptop, fingers tapping away, then I wasn’t writing. If I was reading through a draft, I’d have my phone with me, and I’d be making notes‌—‌still working. But if I caught myself staring into space, I was procrastinating.

I’ve changed my mind on this. Things aren’t that clear-cut now.

Writing is a creative activity, and as such it involves perspiration and inspiration. There’s an active component‌—‌typing words, be that in planning, drafting or editing. There are all the admin and marketing tasks, which again involve me tapping away at my laptop. But there’s also a less physical component. To type those words, I have to come up with the words. The external presentation of the story has to follow the internal preparation.

When I look up from my laptop, gazing vacantly through the window, it’s because I’m thinking. Staring into space is what my body does while my mind is planning the next sentence, or trying to solve a plot issue, or working out how a particular character would react to a specific situation.

But it goes deeper than this.

Ideas‌—‌especially big ideas, the kind that solve taxing problems‌—‌always seem to come at the strangest moments. In the shower, as you’re about to drop off to sleep, when you’re out for a walk or washing up. The solutions come not when you’re actively thinking of the problem, but when your mind isn’t doing anything in particular. It’s almost as if all that conscious struggle was getting in the way. It’s almost as if the way to solve a problem is to stop thinking about it.

To a degree, this is true. We can’t sit back and expect great ideas to emerge on their own. We have to ponder problems. We have to actively seek solutions. We should investigate and research. But if the answer doesn’t come easily, then it is very likely we need to step back, to take a break and switch off.

The way I understand it, our subconscious mind is always working, deep in the background. Most of the time we’re unaware of it‌—‌it’s drowned out by our conscious thoughts. It’s only when we switch off that we become aware of our subconscious. Or it’s only when we stop thinking that our subconscious has the opportunity to be heard.

I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.

Writing and storytelling are creative activities. Yes, there are mechanical skills involved. Yes, story can be analysed, and we can use that analysis to structure better stories. Yes, there are concrete craft skills we can learn and develop. But ultimately it’s creativity that drives writing. Creativity has to be nurtured as much as it can be taught. It comes from deep inside. We take in content‌—‌examples of story through books and films, videos on the craft of writing, books on story structure‌—‌and the creative side of us uses this to do its magic. Which it does very effectively in our subconscious, working away while we’re otherwise occupied. Or while we’re doing ‘nothing’.

This means that the ‘work’ of writing is far more than sitting at the laptop, or reading previously written drafts. It’s more than sitting and thinking. The ‘work’ of writing is going on all the time, and it’s important to ‘switch off’ so we can listen to that deeper, creative side.

It’s also important to let the subconscious do its stuff. If we’re constantly consciously working, that’s taking resources away from our subconscious. It’s why so many writers extol the benefits of taking regular walks. This goes beyond the benefits to our minds of having a healthy body. Heading outside for a walk detaches our conscious mind from the writing, and gives us an opportunity to listen to our subconscious mind.

I’m currently editing the first draft of the first Unity book, I’m treating it as three separate stories at the moment, dealing with each in turn. But my subconscious mind is bouncing all kinds of ideas around. So as I read through one section, making notes on things needing changing, I ‘suddenly’ had an idea about a different section‌—‌my subconscious mind throwing its idea at me. I saw how a simple change in motivation could make this different section more relevant to the rest of the book.

It was a problem I’d noticed some time ago, and had been putting off actively working on it because I didn’t feel up to it yet (or maybe I was trying to avoid the hard work). But I knew about the problem, so my subconscious mind worked on it. And something‌—‌probably a turn of phrase in the section I was editing‌—‌triggered a potential solution. That input was exactly what my subconscious mind needed.

Another example of the subconscious mind in action‌—‌I’ve been revisiting loads of old short stories recently, from when I posted a story every two weeks on my website, and I was struck by how many of these stories had been drafted either on holidays or after coming home from holidays.

Why should this be?

Part of it is surely down to stimuli. When away from home we’re exposed to new locations, maybe different cultures and languages, different food and smells, an unfamiliar climate. These new stimuli can spark creativity. This could explain the origins of a story on virtual holidays, or a post-apocalyptic take on a seaside resort.

Then there’s the travel involved in holidays. New stimuli can become old very fast. Being stuck in a plane for a few hours, there’s only so much to do. So it’s not too surprising that the mind wanders. It starts to ask questions‌—‌what’s the deal with that lone passenger two rows in front? What if that family across the aisle are spies? What would an alien race think if they saw rows of people sitting in a tin can hurtling through the air? People-watching becomes a game of ‘what if…?’

But there’s another aspect to consider. Holidays are when we switch off. While I’ll still do something writing-related on holiday, I usually try to arrange things so that I’m not in the middle of drafting or a big editing phase when I’m on holiday. It means I don’t have to think about those big projects. It means I’m not under pressure to finish the draft or the edit.

And in switching off, I give my subconscious mind the opportunity to let me know what it’s been working on. I can consider all those ideas that have been bubbling away in the depths of my mind. I’m relaxed sufficiently to allow solutions to ‘appear’.

As I continue writing, as I continue working on new projects, new books, new series, I need to bear this in mind. I need to remember that the work of writing continues even when I’m not tapping away at a keyboard. I need to remember that the creative side of story-telling pulls from both my conscious and subconscious mind. So I should give it time. I should force myself to step back, maybe take more walks, alone with my thoughts.

Sometimes, the most important work we do happens when we’re doing nothing.

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This post is the latest in a series I’m running on Substack, chronicling my work on this new project. If you’d like to read these posts as they appear, please consider subscribing for free.