Rachel: The biggest lie we're told about creativity is that it's born from chaos and wild inspiration. The truth? The most brilliant artists, writers, and creators often thrive inside a self-imposed prison. A daily, repetitive, almost boring routine. And today, we’re unlocking why. Justine: A self-imposed prison? That sounds... awful. But you've got my attention. What are we talking about today? Rachel: We're diving into Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative in Good Times and Bad by Austin Kleon. And what’s fascinating is that Kleon is a self-described 'writer who draws,' and this book came about as a personal pep talk to himself during a really divisive and distracting time. It’s his guide to surviving as a creator. Justine: Okay, so how does this 'pep talk' start with locking yourself in a creative prison? Let's start there. Because that sounds more like a recipe for burnout than a breakthrough.

Rachel: It’s a totally counterintuitive idea, right? But Kleon’s central metaphor for the creative life is the movie Groundhog Day. He argues that creativity isn't this grand, linear journey from point A to point B. It's a loop. You wake up every day, and the page is blank again. The studio is empty again. You have to start over. Justine: I can definitely relate to that feeling. Some mornings, looking at a blank screen feels exactly like Bill Murray hearing that Sonny and Cher song for the thousandth time. It’s dreadful. Rachel: Exactly. And Phil Connors, Bill Murray's character, goes through stages. First, hedonism, then despair. But eventually, he realizes the loop is a gift. With no tomorrow, all he has is today. He starts using the day to learn, to improve, to help people. He masters the piano, he learns to ice sculpt. He finds meaning in the repetition. Justine: I get the theory, but in practice, routine feels like the enemy of spontaneity. Doesn't it just kill the magic? I picture an artist's life as messy and unpredictable, not a scheduled-out day. Rachel: That’s the romantic myth Kleon wants to bust. He quotes the writer Annie Dillard, who said, “A schedule defends from chaos and whim. It is a net for catching days.” The routine isn't there to stifle you; it's there to catch you when you don't feel inspired. It removes the exhausting work of deciding if you're going to work, or when you're going to work. Justine: Okay, so it’s about reducing decision fatigue. That makes sense. Rachel: Precisely. And he tells this great, and kind of hilarious, story about reading an article on rapper Lil Wayne’s daily routine in prison. It was incredibly structured: wake up at 11, coffee, phone calls, read fan mail, lunch, more calls, read, write, dinner, push-ups, radio, sleep. And Kleon found himself joking with his wife, "I could get so much writing done in prison!" Justine: Wow, the Lil Wayne example is definitely not what I expected! So the freedom comes from not having to think about the logistics of the day, just the work itself? Rachel: Yes. The structure becomes the container that allows the creative work to happen. And it’s not about finding the one perfect routine. Kleon points to Mason Currey's book Daily Rituals, which documents the habits of 161 creators. They are all over the place. You have Kafka writing at night, Plath writing before her kids woke up. You have Balzac slugging fifty cups of coffee a day, and Goethe sniffing rotten apples for inspiration. Justine: Sniffing rotten apples? Okay, now I feel much better about my own weird habits. So the message is less about 'do this specific thing' and more about 'find your own weird thing and do it consistently.' Rachel: That's it exactly. The content of the routine is less important than its existence. It’s your personal, idiosyncratic collection of compromises and superstitions that gets you to the desk and keeps you there.

Rachel: And once you have that routine, the next challenge, especially today, is protecting it. This brings us to Kleon's second big idea: the art of disconnection. He has this fantastic line: “It’s hard to find anything to say about life without immersing yourself in the world, but it’s also just about impossible to figure out what it might be, or how to best say it, without getting the hell out of it again.” Justine: This feels so relevant. We're drowning in news, notifications, other people's work. How do you actually 'get out of it' without becoming a total hermit and losing touch with what's happening? Rachel: Kleon introduces a concept from the mythologist Joseph Campbell: the "bliss station." Campbell said you must have a room, or a certain hour of the day, where you don't know what's in the newspapers, you don't know who your friends are, you don't know what you owe anybody. It's a sacred space for you to simply be. Justine: I love the term 'bliss station.' It sounds so much better than 'home office.' But it's one thing to find the space, it's another to fight the urge to check your phone. The FOMO—the Fear Of Missing Out—is real. I'll sit down to write and my brain will immediately scream, 'I wonder what's happening on Twitter!' Rachel: Of course. And Kleon has the perfect antidote for FOMO: JOMO, the Joy Of Missing Out. He argues that we need to reframe missing out not as a loss, but as a victory. You are actively choosing to miss out on the noise so you can tune into your own signal. Justine: The Joy of Missing Out. I like that. It feels empowering. It's not that I can't go to the party; it's that I'm choosing to stay home and work on my thing. Rachel: Exactly. And artists have been doing this for centuries. He tells these great stories of creators who mastered the art of saying 'no.' The architect Le Corbusier was also a painter. He painted in the mornings under his birth name, and did architecture in the afternoons as Le Corbusier. If a journalist knocked on his door in the morning asking for Le Corbusier, he'd say, "He's not here." He literally said no to his own identity to protect his time. Justine: That's next-level boundary setting! What about for us mere mortals who can't just deny our own existence? Rachel: He offers simpler tricks. The artist Jasper Johns had a custom rubber stamp made that just said "REGRETS" to decline invitations. It's about finding creative ways to build a wall around your sacred time. It could be as simple as putting your phone in airplane mode for an hour. The artist Lynda Barry says the phone takes away three key elements of discovery: loneliness, uncertainty, and boredom. And those have always been where creative ideas come from. Justine: That is so true. The second I feel bored, my hand reaches for my phone. It's an automatic reflex. But all my best ideas have come when I was stuck in traffic or waiting in line, just being bored. Rachel: Kleon's point is that we have to consciously choose that boredom now. We have to schedule our disconnection. Find your bliss station, whether it's a physical place or a sacred time, and embrace the joy of missing out.

Justine: Okay, so we've built a routine and defended our time. But what do we actually do in that time? Especially when the pressure is on to be 'an artist' or 'a writer'? That identity can feel so heavy. Rachel: That's the perfect lead-in to the final, and maybe most profound, idea in the book: Forget the noun, do the verb. Stop trying to be an artist and just do the art. Stop trying to be a writer and just write. Justine: Oh, I feel that. The label comes with so much baggage and expectation. It's paralyzing. Rachel: It is. And Kleon points out how our culture constantly pushes us to monetize every hobby, to turn every passion into a 'side hustle.' We've lost the ability to do things just for the love of it. Justine: Oh, that is so true. You bake a nice cake for a friend's birthday and suddenly everyone's telling you to open a bakery or sell them on Etsy. It sucks the joy right out of it. It turns a gift into a potential product. Rachel: Exactly. And Kleon’s advice is to reclaim play. To get back to that childlike state where you're just messing around, not worried about the outcome. He tells this beautiful story about his young son, Jules, who would just draw and draw—on paper, on the driveway, on the couch cushions—and the second he was done, he didn't care about the drawing. He was totally absorbed in the act of drawing. The verb. Justine: He was just enjoying the process. He wasn't thinking, "Is this a masterpiece? Will this hang in a gallery?" Rachel: Not at all. And Kleon argues that the best artists retain that sense of play. To get that feeling back, he suggests practicing for practice's sake. And he shares this incredible story about Kurt Vonnegut. Vonnegut once wrote to a group of high school students and gave them homework: write a poem. Justine: Okay, standard enough. Rachel: But then he told them, "Do not show it to anybody... Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them in a trash can." He said the reward wasn't the poem. The reward was that you "experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow." Justine: Wow. Destroying your own work. That's a powerful idea. It completely detaches the act of creation from the need for validation or a final product. It's about making something as a gift, either to yourself or someone else, without any expectation. Rachel: Precisely. It’s about the work, not the praise. He tells another personal story about a time he was feeling burnt out on his professional work. His son was obsessed with robots, so he started making these little robot collages out of tape and magazines for him. They weren't for sale, they weren't for Instagram. They were just a gift for his son. And he said they became some of his favorite things he's ever made, because they reconnected him to the pure joy of making. Justine: That’s a beautiful way to think about it. It’s not about the noun, 'artist.' It's about the verb, 'making.' Rachel: It's about doing your verbs. Walk. Read. Draw. Tidy up. Pay attention. Make gifts. Just keep doing the work.

Rachel: So when you put it all together, Kleon's message isn't just a set of ten tips. It's a philosophy for a more humane and sustainable creative life, especially in our frantic, distracting world. It's about building a daily practice, protecting it fiercely, and focusing on the simple, joyful act of making things. Justine: It’s about playing the long game. It’s not about one viral hit or becoming famous overnight. It’s about being like that maple tree the artist Corita Kent watched for decades from her Boston window. She realized the tree's beauty in the spring was only possible because of what it went through in the winter. It's such a hopeful message—knowing that even in the harshest, most unproductive-seeming seasons of our own lives, something is happening quietly inside, preparing for what's next. Rachel: It really is. And that's why the book is so highly-rated and has resonated with so many people. Some critics might say the ideas aren't revolutionary, but the way he presents them—with this gentle, zine-like, personal feel—is what makes it stick. It feels less like a command and more like a friend putting their hand on your shoulder and saying, "Hey, just keep going. One day at a time." Justine: So if there's one thing for our listeners to take away, what would it be? Rachel: I think it's to ask yourself: what is one small, daily verb you can commit to? Not to achieve a title, not to build a brand, but just for the joy of doing it. Maybe it's writing one sentence. Or taking one photo. Or just taking a walk. Justine: I love that. A simple, daily verb. We'd love to hear what your 'verbs' are. Find us on our socials and let us know what you're doing to just keep going. Rachel: This is Aibrary, signing off.