want to write better? start by turning yourself on

seduction is the key to creativity

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There’s one thing I do every time I feel blocked as a writer. I turn myself on.

Writing is a lot like sex. Honest, exposing. Not something you can force, if you’re not feeling it. Foreplay is essential.

I’ve done it before every piece I’ve ever written that I’m proud of. I discovered so the other day, when I found myself frustrated at a lack of words and promptly took myself to one of my favourite restaurants to flirt with one of my favourite bartenders and drink my favourite martini without hesitation. The thin-stemmed glass, the low golden lighting, the light, effortless flirting — it was foreplay.

I was seducing myself, subconsciously. It’s become a habit, when I feel the desire to be creative and honest — but can’t quite locate my feelings.

I think I’ve actually always romanced myself as a way of getting back to my inner voice. Because that’s what being a writer is, right? Sharing your voice. So it’s no good if you can’t hear it. And there’s no better way to coax it out than a bit of foreplay.

Eroticism is one of the basic means of self-knowledge.

Anaïs Nin sums it up beautifully. To write well is to know yourself intimately — your longings, your contradictions, your truths. And where do we face those more, than in the bedroom? Under the sheets — with ourselves and our lovers. In the moments we lay bare, where we see things for what they are, where we let ourselves cry out for what we want and feel a rush when the request surprises us.

Good writing asks you to show up naked. With a clear sense of who you are but with an openness for anything to emerge. Desires, questions, fears, resentments, anger. You feel it when you read it, but only if it’s real.

Writing isn’t just intellectual. It’s bodily. It lives in the gut, in the chest, in the tips of your fingers.

It can feel so frustrating at times, knowing you have something to say and feeling desperate to get it out — but your thoughts are all jumbled. They don’t make sense on the page. It’s a lot like wanting to have sex but realising your body isn’t ready. You can’t get wet, your mind is elsewhere, you don’t feel hot enough to want to rip your — or someone else’s — clothes off.

I’m basically saying that writers block is like sexual frustration. Like there’s a little creature deep inside of you who’s busting to burst out, but there’s something stopping it. You know you’ll feel better as soon as you let it out, but you can’t figure out what you have to do to get there.

Well, let me tell you.

You’re not able to find the words, because you haven’t romanced your mind. You must seduce yourself. Get your imagination flowing. Your body warmed up. Your perspective clear. You need to turn yourself on.

And how the fuck do I do that? You ask. It’s a good question. It’s not something they teach in schools.

I think it’s different for everyone — much like foreplay in the bedroom. You might love a cup of cleansing tea in the garden, while I might yearn for a dry martini with a twist. You might need visual cues, while I might need physical release. I think it depends on the day, the time of month, your past. Turning yourself on is wildly personal.

I’ve made a list of 8 turn ons that work for me when I have writer’s block. I think some of them might work for you, too. There’s no harm in trying.

People watching

I love people. How we relate to each other, how we dress, how we hold ourselves in conversation and move through the world — it all intrigues and thrills me. Finding a perch on a busy sidewalk or at a window in a café or bar has sparked inspiration more times than I can count.

I love imagining how people came to be friends or lovers. I love guessing what they might mean to each other (especially when it’s unclear). I love reading the faces and outfits of people I’ll never see again — letting them leave an impression I carry with me for the rest of the day.

Cooking

Maybe it’s my Italian upbringing, or my parents’ obsession with Nigella Lawson — but food has always felt erotic to me. Especially the act of cooking it.

First, shopping. Take yourself to a farmer’s market if there’s one available to you, or simply find the closest fancy supermarket and buy all the ingredients you need to make the meal you desire. Take your time. Smell the tomatoes. Squeeze the avocados. Mull over which cut of meat to buy. Chat to the butcher about it, even. Why not? When in Rome!

the queen herself

Then when you get home, lay everything out on the bench like your own cooking show. Nigella-core. Tie a linen apron around your waist, wash your hands and turn on some jazz music (I recommend this album). Then, begin to cook. Let your mind wander. Go blank. Really lean into what you’re doing — whether it’s marinating, kneading, chopping or sizzling.

You’ll find that the ideas just flow out of you.

Touching yourself

This one takes turning yourself on more literally. But truly, sometimes there’s nothing more to do than to give yourself an orgasm. It can jolt you back into reality. Clear your clouded mind. Help you to let go of whatever it is you’re holding onto, whatever it is you’re afraid of. In my experience, there’s nothing that makes you more relaxed and honest than an orgasm.

When I want an orgasm to lead to creativity, I’ll often start by watching an ethical porn video I like. We all have our favourite porn stars, right? The ones that really turn us on? I’ll often start by watching them to ease myself into the right headspace. For some reason, I find that watching someone else get turned on — for at least half an hour before touching myself — is the most effective primer for creative expression.

Then, take your time. Start slow. You’re in no rush. Let your mind wander, imagine things you’ve not yet said out loud, people you’ve not yet kissed. Tell yourself a story you wish would play out in front of you. Really make it your moment. Remember, you’re romancing yourself — body and mind. And when you’re finished, just wait a beat. You’ll feel clearer. Lighter. Open. That’s when the words often arrive.

Making a moodboard

Sometimes you don’t know what you feel until you see it. That’s the beauty of the internet — or at least, the corner of it I still live in. Before social media turned everything into performative comparison, it was just endless imagery, blog ramblings, and moodboards.

First it was Tumblr, then We Heart It, now it’s Pinterest (my old faithful). I’ve always found looking at online image galleries invigorating. They spark little imagined worlds inside my mind: eating a peach under an olive tree, bathing naked in a lake.

photo by @claireguarry

It’s like being in an art gallery — only you can do it from bed, in front of the fire, or while in transit.

They can act as thought-starters, too — jogging a memory or a smell or a person. Sometimes, when I know I have words to write but nothing is coming out naturally, I will sit and scroll through a digital art gallery and simply dream; and see what comes up.

Going on a date

With yourself, of course. To your favourite spot — the one that’s speaking to you in this very moment. It might be a dimly-lit cocktail bar that plays soothing jazz and serves a perfectly chilled vodka martini (can you tell it’s my favourite drink?). It might be a beautifully bright cafe, buzzing with early morning activity and a bubbly barista. It might be a restaurant that serves your favourite dish and always makes you feel special because they know you by name and remember your order.

Whatever it feels that you’re craving in this moment, wherever you wish you were, whatever you wish you were eating or drinking — take yourself there. Treat yourself. You deserve to live the life that lives inside of your imagination. You are the character you wish you were. You’ve just got to live it.

walking to a restaurant in a pretty silk dress

I always find that when I take myself out and I interact with the world in the places that make me feel the most like me, my inner monologue comes back. As I dress up to go out in a date-worthy outfit, as I commute there and as I sit and indulge in my surroundings — I can feel myself return.

PS: this is also a great one if you’re going through a difficult time in a relationship, with work, or just in general. For me, it’s rarely not worked.

Watching a film

Let someone else do the creating. I find watching a film to be the best source of art consumption when I have writer’s block, because it takes little to no effort to sit and watch a film. You don’t have to read, or think too hard. You just get to treat yourself to beautiful visual stimulus that provokes your mind — and often, your emotions — with little effort. Sometimes I cry. Sometimes I leave with more questions than answers. But somehow, I always leave feeling just a bit more connected to myself.

If you’re having one of those days where you’re not only having writer’s block but also beating yourself up over it — take yourself to the nearest cinema immediately. Don’t overthink it. Choose a film when you get there. Maybe order a wine. Or a choc-top. Choose a seat that’s away from others, so you can breathe and feel in peace.

Walking

Sometimes, all you need to do is just walk. Don’t take any distractions — music, a podcast, a friend. Just walk. Preferably somewhere immersed in nature. Maybe there’s a park near your house, a river, the coast? The less buildings the better. Limited noise. Just you, moving your body, your mind empty, free to feel and think whatever is true.

A combination of moving at a pace and being surrounded by nature is really magical. I especially love when it’s a cool but sunny day, and your face feels cold but your body feels warm. I like to walk quite fast and focus on my breath — almost like meditating.

Dancing

Take your clothes off and dance. Put on a song that feels how you feel and just move to it — as though no one is watching you. Get out of your mind and into your body.

This can work literally wherever you are. If you’re out with friends, find a late-night dance venue and sweat it out in a room full of people. But remember it’s not about them. Just focus on yourself. If you’re at work, take your phone to the bathroom, plug in your headphones and dance in the cubicle. If you’re at home, there are no barriers. Blast the music. Jump and sing at the top of your lungs.

I don’t think we dance enough, in this life.

Getting dressed

Dress for how you feel. For mystery. For warmth. For power. For softness. I pull on clothes like they’re my most ideal characteristics. I choose a sheer shirt because I want to feel delicate but seen. I tie a scarf around my hair because it makes me feel like an old Hollywood actress who’s on her third husband and 27th lover. I wear red lipstick because it makes me feel seductive.

Take a moment to feel your body as you dress. Let whatever you put on to be a silent celebration of all your body does for you. Give it the freedom to exist in many forms. To look different than how you might expect. Graze your neck, touch your breasts, say something nice to yourself in the mirror.

It doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it’s just an oversized white tee and pretty underwear. But it’s the intention that changes everything. The act of slipping something on as a response to the question: how do I want to feel in this body today?

What do I want to say?