Is consistency overrated?

We hear it all the time, consistency is key. But when it comes to creative work, is this really true?

Consistency is regularly hailed as the key to success. And it’s true that incredible results can come from a daily habit or regular practice. It’s also true that many of us creative folks are, by nature, inconsistent. Our energy ebbs and flows, as does our motivation and interest.

Success can look very different for each of us. Take writing on Substack as an example. One person’s dream is an online publication that pays the bills, while another’s is an intimate space to explore their writing voice. But no matter what your aims and intentions, it can be easy to get caught up in what we have been conditioned to see as successful. To chase numbers and feel pressured to do things in a certain way. To be consistent.

Photo by Soheb Zaidi on Unsplash

I’m curious as to what your relationship with consistency is. Personally, mine is all over the place. I love free-writing but am not into morning pages. I don’t write every day. And yet, there’s rarely a day that goes by when I don’t think about writing. Or follow a curiosity thread that eventually leads to words.

Nothing seems to dampen my creativity quite like a daily routine. I spent years in online journalism, writing and publishing to deadline every single morning. It was consistent and productive. But not particularly creative.

Now I write on the train, in bed, on my phone. I hop out of the shower to scribble the words down before they are lost. I leave piles of notebooks and paper scattered in my wake. Some of them covered in paint or ripped up for collage. It’s chaotic. And inconsistent. But feels incredibly freeing. I’ve never felt more creative.

My favourite authors don’t consistently produce a book every year. They’re the ones who take ten years - or a lifetime - to write their debut, then disappear back to their attic for seven more. Except that it turns out their attic was a remote, windswept island where they worked in moth conservation and took up sculpture.

I was reminded of my struggle with consistency when I tried to do 30 days of yoga as part of my positive psychology studies. It should have been a breeze. My intrinsic motivation felt high and the activity was a good fit to my interests, available time and schedule. And from reading research papers, I knew it would be highly beneficial to my health and wellbeing. But could I make myself get past day seven? Absolutely not.

This daily activity, which began as energising and fun, quickly began to feel like a demand. Like something I had to do whether I felt like it or not. With a cold kicking in, and the breathing exercises now feeling deeply unpleasant, I longed to run a hot bath instead. Maybe switching to yoga nidra could have carried me through, but the parameters were too fixed. And with no alternative options to choose instead, I rebelled and quit. Had I been able to pick from a menu of wellbeing practices each day, to suit my mood and energy, I’d have stood a much higher chance of getting to day 30.

The same is true, for me, when it comes to writing. I don’t force myself to write every day. I’d soon grow sick of it if I did. But writing is weaved into my days. Whether it’s picking up a new book of poetry to dip into, signing up to a workshop or simply noticing the fuzzy bum of a bumble bee as it falls into the bell of a flower on a morning walk, it lives everywhere in and around me.

And as for writing here on Substack, I’d rather skip a week here and there, to ponder, rest or pursue another passion, than feel compelled to publish a post simply because the calendar says it is time. For me, right now, this is a place to experiment, connect and explore. And I personally find it more helpful to have a loose posting schedule – I aim for weekly-ish and have averaged three times a month since the beginning of the year – than a rigid approach.

I spent years writing to schedule for newspapers and magazines. I produced many, many words. And never missed a deadline. My consistency was rewarded via promotions and pay rises, while my creativity stagnated.

When I first went freelance, I continued to set myself rigid deadlines. I blogged six times a week for years, then launched a quarterly online magazine. It is only while typing this that I realise that I spent over 20 years writing and publishing to a set schedule. No wonder I’ve finally rebelled.

I can honestly say that my most creative work is happening now. It’s happening because I’m letting myself lean into the chaos of creativity. And trusting – or at the very least hoping – that I will emerge with something that makes the rollercoaster ride worthwhile. It’s happening because I am making my own rules, while continuing to draw inspiration and learn from others. And because I’m, finally, giving myself permission to be unashamedly inconsistent.

This post began in notes & chat. If you’d like to join the conversation, I’d love to hear how creativity flows best for you.