darren r hill

the creative minimalist

The incense fell straight and created these columns as it burned. Little creative accidents are nice when they occur. But creativity can also involve hard work and effort. In a bid to both motivate and make myself accountable, I thought it was time for some creative field notes. What exactly am I creating? Website(s) This
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A Fiction Writing Prompt to stretch the literary muscles. No rules. No word counts. Simply write and explore. The detective walked up to the store worker. “So you saw the man running away? Can you describe him?” Writing Prompt Expanded A key skill in writing is the ability to describe someone. All of the characters
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A quick flip-through of my current journal and junk journal set-up, and a brief look at some of my art bits and pieces.
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A Fiction Writing Prompt to stretch the literary muscles. No rules. No word counts. Simply write and explore. The song played through the headphones. I was transported when the music came on; a different place, a different time… Writing Prompt Expanded Music is powerful. Like the rest of our senses, sound can trigger memories. This
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Changing the layout of the blog, so things might look a little weirder than usual. Hopefully it will all look fine and dandy soon.
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My latest journal and planner set-up. Finally, a new video to explain what is going on.
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Is Your Creative Idea Worth Finishing? Here’s How to Decide
Alt: “How to Tell If a Creative Idea Is Worth Finishing (And When to Let It Go)”

Not every song I’ve started has needed to be finished. Some of them I was glad I didn’t. A few I wish I’d abandoned earlier and got some of that creative time back.

There’s a version of creative advice that says: always finish what you start. Push through. Finish the draft, finish the song, finish the painting. And yes, there is a good reason for that. Finishing things builds discipline and skill in a way that giving up repeatedly does not.

But I don’t think it’s the full picture.

Because some ideas aren’t worth finishing. Some are experiments that served their purpose. Some are warm-ups that taught you something and don’t need to go any further. And some, if you’re honest with yourself, were never quite right from the start.

The question is: how do you tell the difference?

Not Finishing Isn’t Always Giving Up

We tend to treat unfinished work as some sort of moral failure. Like if you abandon a project, you’ve let yourself down, your family, your country, your very human reason to be!

But abandonment and quitting aren’t the same thing when it comes to creativity and our art. Seth Godin, in The Dip, draws a useful distinction between the Dip and the Cul-de-Sac. The Dip is the hard stretch that separates people who push through from people who stop short of something genuinely worthwhile. You want to push through the Dip.

The Cul-de-Sac is different. It’s the road that leads nowhere. It looks like progress, it feels like effort, but no amount of pushing is going to get you where you want to go. The smart move is to recognise it early and stop.

Some creative ideas are Dips. They’re hard because they’re worth doing. Some are Cul-de-Sacs. They’re hard because they’re not going anywhere. Art should not be an impasse.

The problem is, when we’re in the middle of creating something, we often can’t tell which is which.

What to Look For Early

The earlier you evaluate, the less time and effort you lose. And there are a few things worth paying attention to before you’re too deep in.

Energy. Does the idea still pull at you? Not in a comfortable, familiar way… in the way where you find yourself thinking about it when you’re not working on it, ideas continue to flow even when you’re not at the desk, easel, or holding the guitar. A song that’s worth finishing tends to nag at you. An idea that’s run its course tends to just sit there.

Momentum. Are you making progress, even slow progress? Or are you stuck in the same place every time you come back to it? Genuine difficulty often feels like resistance with direction. A bad fit tends to feel like circular effort: lots of motion, same spot.

Honest resonance. If you played this for, or shared your art with, someone right now, how would you feel? Not “would it be good enough” but: does it say something true? Does it feel like yours?

Austin Kleon wrote about “relocating your darlings” rather than killing them. The idea that if a line or an element feels precious but doesn’t fit, you don’t have to scrap it. You move it somewhere it can breathe. That’s a useful reframe for half-finished ideas too: a piece that’s stalling might not be a dead end; it might just be in the wrong project. A melody may fit in another harmony, a character in a different plot or an image in a different composition.

Making the Call

There’s research that suggests we’re wired to stay in things longer than we should. Psychologists call it the sunk cost fallacy: the more we’ve already invested, the harder it is to stop, even when stopping is the right move. Time spent, effort made, the version of the piece we’ve imagined, all of these things make walking away feel like loss.

But time you put into a Cul-de-Sac is time you’re not putting into something that has genuine pull. And unfinished projects that have lost their energy don’t just sit quietly. They take up mental space. They create guilt. They crowd out the ideas that might actually want to go somewhere. They are the mountain pile obscuring your creative vision.

A few questions I’ve found useful:
- If I started this from scratch today, would I?
- Am I still curious about where this is going, or am I just trying to resolve it?
- Is the difficulty coming from the work being hard, or from the idea not quite working?
None of these questions will give you a definitive answer. But they’ll often give you a feeling. And that feeling is usually worth listening to.

Some ideas are finished when they’re done. Others are finished when they’ve taught you what they had to teach. Both are valid outcomes. The goal isn’t to finish everything. It’s to finish the things that deserve it.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

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9 May 2026
What Years of Creating Taught Me About Discipline
Introduction

For a long time I thought creative discipline was something you did or didn’t have. The people who showed up every day and consistently created, they must have something I lacked. More willpower. More commitment. A stronger sense of purpose.

So I’d try to force it. Push harder. Tell myself this time would be different. And for a while it would be. Then it wouldn’t.

What I’ve learned, slowly and not without a fair amount of failed attempts, is that discipline isn’t about force at all. The people who seem most disciplined aren’t necessarily trying harder than everyone else. They’ve just built better structures around themselves. And those structures, those creative practices, do the heavy lifting that willpower, or certainly my willpower, can’t sustain on its own.

Willpower fades. Systems don’t.

The research on willpower is pretty humbling. The American Psychological Association summarises it well: self-control draws on a limited mental resource that depletes through use. Every decision you make, every temptation you resist, every moment you push through resistance costs something. And the tank runs dry.

What’s more interesting is what the research says about people who seem highly disciplined. They don’t have stronger willpower. They’ve structured their lives to need it less. They’ve removed friction, built routines, and designed environments that make the right behaviour easier and the wrong behaviour harder. They’ve taken the decision out of it. (Source: What You Need to Know About Willpower, American Psychological Association)

This was a significant shift for me. Discipline stopped being about trying harder and started being about designing better.

Small commitments, consistently kept, build more than grand intentions

One of the most useful things I’ve picked up over years of creative work is that small consistent commitments beat big ambitious ones almost every time.

A daily creative session of twenty minutes that actually happens is worth infinitely more than an hour-long session you keep intending to have. The small commitment is achievable. You keep it. You build evidence that you’re someone who shows up. That evidence compounds.

BJ Fogg’s research at Stanford backs this up. His Behavior Design work shows that motivation is the least reliable factor in building lasting behaviour. Instead, he advocates for making habits so small and easy that they don’t require motivation at all. The habit gains its own momentum once it exists. The size of the commitment is less important than the consistency of it. (Source: Tiny Habits, BJ Fogg, Stanford Behavior Design Lab)

Environment matters more than intention

Here’s something that took me longer to really absorb: your environment shapes your behaviour more than your intentions do.

If your creative tools are put away, you’ll procrastinate more. If your notebook is on your desk, you’ll pick it up. If your guitar is in its case in the corner, it’ll stay there. If it’s on a stand in the room, you’ll play it. My guitar is within touching distance of my desk as I am typing this!

James Clear puts this plainly: “You do not rise to the level of your goals, you fall to the level of your systems.” And the environment is a core part of that system. Making the thing you want to do obvious and easy, and making the distractions less visible and less convenient, is one of the most effective forms of discipline there is. Not because you’re forcing yourself. Because you’ve designed your space to support the habit rather than compete with it. (Source: Atomic Habits, James Clear)

Discipline feels lighter over time

The other thing worth saying is this: it does get easier.

Not because you develop an iron will. But because the habits become automatic. The decision to sit down and work stops being a decision you have to make each time. It’s just what you do at that time in that place. The friction disappears.

What felt like discipline at the start, showing up, starting, keeping going, starts to feel less like effort and more like rhythm. And rhythm, once you have it, tends to sustain itself.

Practical takeaway

If you’re trying to build more discipline in your creative practice:
- Look at your structure before you look at your effort. Where are the friction points? Where do you reliably stop?
- Make one small commitment you can keep consistently. Smaller than you think you need.
- Change something in your environment that makes the habit easier to start.
Discipline isn’t a character trait. It’s something you build, one small decision at a time, in a structure that supports you rather than fights you.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

Sign up for my (ir)regular newsletter to keep up to date with my creative adventures, including special offers, and join me on Instagram | YouTube | Twitter | Pinterest
3 May 2026
Why Creative Constraints Make You More Productive (and More Creative)

Constraints simplify decisions, speed up creation and explore unique solutions

Introduction

Most of us assume that more freedom equals more creativity. Remove the limits, open up the options, give yourself room to explore. It sounds right.

But spend any time actually making things and you start to notice something strange. The projects with the most open briefs are often the hardest to finish, or even start. The ones with tight constraints, a fixed tempo, a word count, a single instrument, a limited palette, tend to move faster and sometimes come out better.

This isn’t a coincidence. There’s a lot of evidence, both from research and from centuries of creative practice – and no I’m not that old, I’m talking about other creatives – that constraints don’t hinder creativity. They focus it.

Fewer choices, less overwhelm

There’s a well-documented psychological phenomenon sometimes called decision fatigue. The more choices you have to make, the more mentally draining each one becomes. Given too many options, people either freeze up or make worse decisions than they would with fewer.

Barry Schwartz laid this out clearly in his book The Paradox of Choice, and it applies directly to creative work. When you sit down with no constraints at all, every decision is open. What tempo? What key? What length? What tone? What structure? Each choice requires mental energy. Multiply that across a whole project and you’ve spent most of your creative energy just navigating options before you’ve made anything.

A constraint removes a category of decisions entirely. Pick a tempo and stick to it. Write in a fixed structure. Limit yourself to three colours. Suddenly you’re making the work, not managing the options. (Source: The Paradox of Choice, Barry Schwartz, TED Talk)

Constraints force focus and push you toward new solutions

There’s a deeper creative benefit too. When you remove the easy paths, you have to find different ones.

A peer-reviewed meta-analysis of 145 studies on creativity found that moderate constraints consistently boost creative output, both in individuals and teams. The reason: a limit is perceived as a challenge rather than a barrier, which increases basic motivation and pushes people toward more original solutions. Total freedom, by contrast, tends toward the familiar. When anything is possible, we tend to reach for what we already know. (Source: Creativity and Innovation Under Constraints, Journal of Management, 2019)

You can see this in creative history. Monet’s decision to paint light rather than line pushed art toward impressionism. Stravinsky famously wrote: “The more constraints one imposes, the more one frees oneself.” These weren’t people working around limits. They were using limits as a creative engine.

Temporary constraints work best

The good news is you don’t have to impose permanent rules on your creative work. A constraint is most useful as a temporary tool, something you pick up for a session or a project and put down when it’s done its job.

Try giving yourself one rule for your next creative session. Write only in the second person. Record using only one microphone. Finish a piece in under an hour. Use only three chords.

The constraint doesn’t have to be logical or even particularly meaningful. Its job isn’t to make the work better by being a good rule. Its job is to reduce the decision space and get you moving.

And, once you’re moving, the constraint has done its work. You can keep it or drop it.

Practical takeaway

Next time you’re stuck or overwhelmed at the start of a project, don’t try to solve it by opening up more options. Try closing some down.

Pick one constraint. It doesn’t matter much what it is. Apply it for the session and see what happens.

You might be surprised how quickly a limit turns into momentum.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

Sign up for my (ir)regular newsletter to keep up to date with my creative adventures, including special offers, and join me on Instagram | YouTube | Twitter | Pinterest

28 April 2026
Why Imperfect Creative Work Builds Confidence Faster

Introduction

There’s a version of confidence we imagine before we share our work. It’s calm, assured, ready. It knows the work is good. It doesn’t flinch when someone looks.

Most of us spend a lot of time waiting for that version to arrive before we share anything. And often, we wait… and wait… and wait…

The problem is, it doesn’t work that way. Confidence isn’t something you develop in private, in theory, while you wait for the work to be ready. It’s something that comes from doing the work, sharing it, hearing back, and doing it again. It’s built from experience, not from preparation.

And that means imperfect work, shared, is more useful than perfect work withheld.

Confidence comes from action, not readiness

The research on self-efficacy, our belief in our own ability to do things, is pretty consistent on this point. Confidence grows through experience of doing, not through thinking about doing. Each time you complete something and put it out, even something rough, you add to a body of evidence that you can make things and survive the exposure.

Waiting until the work is ready doesn’t build that evidence. It just increases the pressure on the thing you’re waiting to release, because now it has to justify all the waiting.

Brené Brown’s research on perfectionism makes a related point: perfectionism is a self-protective strategy built around shame avoidance. We hold back because we’re afraid of being judged. But the holding back is itself the problem. It prevents the very experience that would actually build resilience and confidence over time. (Source: The Gifts of Imperfection , Brené Brown)

Feedback beats speculation

Here’s something I’ve learnt, and I suspect you have too. The version of criticism you imagine before sharing your art is almost always worse than the response you actually get (trolling not included!).

Waiting gives your brain a lot of time to speculate about what people will think, as the saying almost goes… the devil will find thoughts for idle brains to have. And speculation, left unchecked, tends toward the worst case. The actual feedback, even when it’s critical, gives you something real to work with. It tells you what’s landing, what isn’t, what to keep, and what to change.

Imperfect work that gets shared generates real feedback. Perfect work that never gets seen generates nothing except anxiety.

Seth Godin puts it simply: ship the work. Not when it’s perfect. Not when you’re ready. Now. The act of shipping is itself what builds the creative muscle, and the feedback from shipping is what tells you where to improve. (Source: Seth Godin on Creative Courage, The Marginalian)

Done work teaches more than planned work

Every finished thing, even an imperfect one, teaches you something that planning never could.

You learn what decisions you made under pressure and whether they worked. You learn what you’d do differently. You learn process. You learn that you can finish something. You learn what your work actually sounds or looks or reads like when it’s real, not imagined.

Planned, unfinished work teaches you almost nothing. It lives in a protected space where it never has to face reality, and so it never gives you any useful information about what you’re actually capable of.

Psychology research on perfectionism consistently shows that those who take action, even imperfect action, develop confidence more quickly than those who strive for perfection before acting. The mechanism is simple: doing creates small wins. Small wins build self-belief. Self-belief enables more doing. Waiting creates nothing but more pressure and more doubt. (Source: Perfectionism as a Confidence Killer, ThinkYourself)

Practical takeaway

If you’re waiting until your work is ready before you share it, ask yourself honestly: what would “ready” actually look like? And how long have you been waiting?

Pick something you’ve been sitting on. Share it, in whatever state it’s in. Notice what actually happens. Social media is a great place for creative work in progress.

The confidence you’re waiting to feel before you share? It comes after. Not before.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

Sign up for my (ir)regular newsletter to keep up to date with my creative adventures, including special offers, and join me on Instagram | YouTube | Twitter | Pinterest

19 April 2026
How Lowering Your Standards Can Improve Your Creative Work
Introduction

This one sounds wrong. Possibly even offensive if you care deeply about what you crate, which I’m guessing you do. “It’s my art and I care about it!”

Lowering your standards? Seriously?

Bear with me. What I’ve found, both in my own creative work and in talking to other creatives, is that high standards applied at the wrong moment don’t give life to your art. They kill it. The thing never gets made, or it gets abandoned halfway through, and the standard you were protecting becomes irrelevant because there’s nothing to apply it to.

There’s a time for high standards. But it isn’t at the beginning.

High standards at the wrong moment block momentum

The first pass at anything is almost never good. That’s not a failure of craft, it’s just how creativity works. The first chord progression is rough. The first paragraph is probably the wrong one. The first sketch looks little like what you had in mind.

If your standard is “this needs to be good before I continue”, you’ll stop at the first pass every time. And stopping at the first pass means you never get to the second, third, or fourth pass, which is where the actual work lives.

High standards are useful for finishing and refining. Applied too early, they become a wall between you and the thing you’re trying to make.

Anne Lamott, one of the most honest writers on the creative process, has a now-famous idea she calls the “shitty first draft”. The point isn’t to celebrate bad work. It’s that giving yourself permission to write badly early on is what unlocks the freedom to actually finish. Perfectionism, she argues, is “the voice of the oppressor”. It doesn’t raise your work. It just keeps you cramped and stuck. (Source: Bird by Bird, via The Marginalian)

Editing needs something to work with

Just think practically about it. You can’t edit a blank page. You can’t refine something that doesn’t exist yet. The raw, imperfect, unfinished thing you’re reluctant to make is the very thing that gives you something to improve.

A rough first draft of a blog post is infinitely more useful than a perfect opening line with nothing after it. A demo recording of a song, even a rough one, is more useful than a melody that only exists in your head.

Getting something out, however imperfect, gives you material. And material is what the editing process needs to do its job.

This is the bit that took me a while to really absorb: the first pass isn’t the work. It’s the raw material for the work. Once I started thinking of it that way, starting became much less frightening.

Quality improves through completion, not avoidance

Ira Glass, the producer behind This American Life, put this better than almost anyone. He talks about the gap that every creative person experiences early on: the gap between your taste (which is probably pretty good, well mine is 😉 ) and your output (which isn’t there yet, well mine is 😳). His prescription isn’t to slow down and be more careful. It’s to do a huge volume of work and put yourself on deadlines.

The only way to close the gap is to keep completing things. Not to keep starting things carefully, or planning better, or waiting until you feel ready. Completing them, even when they’re imperfect, even when they fall short of what you had in mind.

Research backs this up too. A Harvard Business Review piece on perfectionism found that it often blocks productivity and creativity, making people less likely to take creative risks. The fix isn’t to stop caring about quality. It’s to shift your focus during the early creative phase away from fear of getting it wrong, and toward the process of making and finishing. (Source: The Pros and Cons of Perfectionism According to Research, Harvard Business Review)

Our standards can absolutely rise later. But only if there’s something there for them to rise on.

Practical takeaway

Next time you feel your standards stopping you before you’ve really started:
- Give yourself a first pass with no judgement. Just make the thing.
- Remind yourself that editing needs raw material. The rough version isn’t the end product, it’s the beginning of it.
- Finish something imperfect. Then finish another thing. The quality follows the volume, not the other way around.
Lowering your standards early isn’t giving up on quality. It’s giving yourself permission to reach it.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

Sign up for my (ir)regular newsletter to keep up to date with my creative adventures, including special offers, and join me on Instagram | YouTube | Twitter | Pinterest
12 April 2026
The Difference Between Inspiration and Momentum
Introduction

A lot of creative people, myself included at times, talk about inspiration like it’s a tap you can turn on. As if the right mood, the right setting, or the right moment will suddenly unlock everything. I used to think the same, and sometimes still do unfortunately.

The problem is that inspiration is wildly unreliable. It shows up uninvited when you’re in the shower, and it vanishes entirely when you sit down to actually create something. If build your creative process around waiting for it, you’ll spend more time waiting than making.

There’s a better way to think about this. It’s not about inspiration vs. no inspiration. It’s about understanding what inspiration actually is, and replacing the waiting with something that works.

Inspiration is unpredictable. Momentum isn’t.

Inspiration is a feeling. It’s real. It’s useful. It absolutely makes creative work feel easier. But like any feeling, you can’t schedule it, summon it reliably, or make it last.

Momentum, on the other hand, is mechanical. It doesn’t care how you feel. It just requires motion… small, consistent actions that keep the work alive even when the feeling isn’t there.

Think of a car engine. You don’t need to feel enthusiastic to start it. You just turn the key. The car doesn’t know you’re tired or distracted. It just runs.

Your creative practice works the same way. When you show up and do something, even something small, the machine keeps turning over. When you stop, it gets cold and harder to start again.

James Clear captures this well: he notes that professionals don’t wait for inspiration to strike, they follow a schedule and show up regardless. The schedule is what produces the work; inspiration is what occasionally makes it feel wonderful. (Source: The Myth of Creative Inspiration, JamesClear.com)

Waiting doesn’t preserve creative energy: it kills rhythm.

There’s a quiet lie we tell ourselves when we skip a creative session: “I’ll do it when I’m more inspired.” It sounds reasonable. Protective, even. But what it actually does is break rhythm.

Rhythm, the habit of returning to your work regularly, is one of the most underrated creative assets you can build. Once it’s broken, restarting is harder than it sounds. The longer the gap, the more the work starts to feel unfamiliar, and the higher the mental barrier to getting back in.

Research from Scott Barry Kaufman and colleagues (published in Harvard Business Review) found that inspiration is more self-sustaining than most people realise but only once you’re already actively engaged with your work. In other words, inspiration doesn’t arrive to start the process. It tends to show up inside the process, once you’ve already begun. (Source: Why Inspiration Matters, Harvard Business Review)

Waiting doesn’t protect your creativity. It drains it slowly while you’re not looking.

Action creates inspiration, not the other way around.

This is the part that most people get backwards.

We assume inspiration has to come first, that we need to feel sparked, interested, or motivated before we can do anything useful. But in practice, it usually works in reverse. You start doing something, and the doing generates the feeling, et voila inspiration.

Start writing a song and you’ll often find the melody somewhere in the third or fourth attempt at a chord progression. Start writing a blog post and the real point of the post surfaces during the second or third paragraph. The action doesn’t require inspiration. It produces it.

This is why even a minimum viable session, just 15 or 20 minutes of turning up, is worth more than waiting for the perfect mood. You’re not just making progress. You’re creating the conditions for inspiration to arrive.

“Motivation comes after starting, not before.” Is a principle well-supported by creativity researchers and summed up simply: the emotional state you’re waiting for is often a byproduct of the work, not a prerequisite for it.

Practical takeaway

If you find yourself waiting to feel inspired before you start:
- Set a minimum: five minutes, one idea, one sentence. Just something.
- Treat showing up as the creative act, regardless of output quality.
- Notice what happens when you start anyway. Nine times out of ten, the inspiration follows.
The goal isn’t to stop wanting inspiration. It’s to stop depending on it.

Momentum is what keeps your creative practice alive between the inspired moments. And the good news is, you build it the same way every time, by starting.

Thank you for reading this post. Please share your thoughts in the comment section below.
namaste
d
xox

If you enjoyed this post please support my writing by making a donation of any amount.

Sign up for my (ir)regular newsletter to keep up to date with my creative adventures, including special offers, and join me on Instagram | YouTube | Twitter | Pinterest
5 April 2026