Every creator hits a wall. It’s that moment where the vision in your head doesn’t match the mess on the page, the canvas, or the spreadsheet. When the gap between your ambition and your current reality feels impossible to bridge, the temptation to quit can be overwhelming. But the difference between a forgotten project and a masterpiece isn’t usually raw talent—it’s the willingness to stay in the fire. In this post, I’m going to explore how to persevere through the “creative thrash,” showing you why the hardest part of the journey is often the most necessary for your success.
I thought my career as a filmmaker was over.
—Steven Spielberg (referencing how he felt after he finished filming Jaws)
The Creative Thrash
My client, Jim, came barreling into the coffee shop with his black wool coat flying behind him like Professor Severus Snape. As he approached my table, I nearly expected him to admonish me with, “There will be no foolish wand waving or silly incantations in this class.”
Jim flipped a chair around and straddled it. His glasses, wet with rain, rested on top of his wavy, brown hair. He put his elbows out, leaned forward, and said, “I’m done with my book. Like done done.”
I was thrilled for him. “That’s fantastic!” I said.
“No, no—you don’t understand,” Jim said. “I mean…I quit.”
“Tell me what your brain is telling you,” I said.
Jim said, “That I’m gonna be the laughing stock of my firm. That it’s too damn hard to write a thriller. That I don’t have any talent.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Jim said, “I’m gonna die worrying about billable hours and feeling like a failure because I gave up.”
I leaned forward and put my hand on his shoulder, the very same way my dad used to console me. I said, “Jim, I couldn’t be happier for you. Welcome to the creative thrash! The great news is that you are right on the razor’s edge where your best writing is going to show up. The bad news is that you are going to have to slay a few dragons in some pretty scary caves as part of your journey.”
Jim dropped his head, looking defeated, and said, “I can’t do it.”
“You most certainly can. Let me tell you a story.”
Learning How to Persevere from Hollywood Legend
I took a worn copy of my book, Buoyant, out of my Mulberry bag and turned right to the section I knew Jim needed to hear. The excerpt below is what I shared with him. Perhaps if you are stuck in the weeds right now and unsure how to persevere in any area of your business, personal life, or creative project, this will help you as well:
“In the late spring of 1974, Steven Spielberg had a problem. More accurately, he had several problems. He was about to begin filming the movie Jaws, without a script, without a cast, and without a shark.
Spielberg pushed forward anyway with determination, spirit, and courage. He and the writers worked on the script the night before each day of filming, and many times, they decided with cast members what would go into the movie. As a result, many rich improvisations found their way into the film.
The mechanical shark, Bruce, constantly malfunctioned. They dealt with numerous challenges that filming at sea presented: waning light, seasick crew members, and boats sailing into view during shooting. The project ran way over budget, and Spielberg and many of the actors feared their careers were over.
Yet, they all pressed forward. It was a harrowing 159 days of filming. Each day was a test of endurance, creativity, and innovative thinking. The constraints they dealt with, such as not having their main character functioning for most of the filming, forced one of the most creative and thrilling aspects of the film.
For instance, the horizontal waterline shots, where we saw legs underneath the water and bodies above the water, added to our sense of impending doom, heightening our perspective of the vulnerability of the swimmers. Our not being able to see the shark turned out to be exponentially more terrifying. The iconic music denoting the approaching shark filled our minds with frightening images we created, far exceeding the power of having the image shown to us.
If the experience of the filmmakers and actors had been less challenging, I believe the end result would not have been the same blockbuster movie that thrilled and captivated millions of viewers, scaring some so much that they never went into the ocean again.
Spielberg spent his 159 days of filming being tested, stretched, and pulled from every angle. His experience is a powerful lesson for all of us. The times we are most tested are not fun to live through, as the process of being dissolved and reshaped can be painful. But they are often the best levers for our creativity.
Every one of us experiences such trials and tribulations when we are creating something. This is simply part of the process. The difficulty, the challenge, the uncomfortable remaking of who we are is the point. Sometimes, many times, even more so than the end result of what we are making.
I have begun experimenting with an entirely new mindset when I am up to my knees in a creative project. Rather than sitting in the dark ready to cover my eyes with my hands when the scary stuff shows up, I walk right toward it.
Yes, it is going to hurt. The work will be hard. But I know the best part of me will show up as a result. The most layered and creative version of me will crawl from her shell with claws at the ready.
We’ve got to hack our way through the jungle while simultaneously forging the machete we need for the job. The tool we need will reveal itself to us. Let yourself not know throughout the entire process, because that’s how the magic shows up. The troubles we encounter along the way make our work, and us, better. Note: This is not my favorite thing! No matter how many times I have walked into the unknown, I still want to try to control how things will go. But we cannot. The only way out is through surrendering and doing the work. This is your own personal jungle, and no one else can clear the way.
The fear of the unknown may be a well-disguised version of the fear of being who we truly are. It may be easier to not boldly be ourselves. Not show what we see. Not reveal our vision of the world and her inhabitants and reflect that back in our art. It is always easier to stall. Water down the expressive parts of us. Not ruffle feathers. If we don’t move, there won’t be any ripples in the water. If we don’t breathe, maybe no one will even know we are here.
Show up anyway. Move and breathe and create.
It’s going be hard. Harder than we ever imagined. The challenge is the fire that takes the glass of us and shapes us into a new form with dazzling colors. The choice, then, is to show all of our colors or die on the vine comfortable. Let’s say who we are and mean it.
Don’t pray for mythical gifts or talents; pray for perseverance and the ability to exhale deeply and dive in. The gifts will arrive in the doing, during your time in the fire. The flames will take you further forward in your provenance of becoming, where you will find at last the freedom and enduring impact you seek.”
A Win For Perseverance
I set my book down and waited for Jim to look up. When he finally did, he took the book, gave it a playful spin on the table, and smirked like he’d been cornered.
“Alright, smarty pants,” he said. “You win.”
“This is your win, Jim,” I said. “Your future readers win, and so do you. So what’s the verdict? Feeling brave enough to crawl into caves and chase dragons today?”
Jim pulled a yellow legal pad from his satchel and placed it on the table. He stood, flipped his chair around, sat down with a straight back, and said, “Let’s go.”
Jim now knew how to persevere, and now you do, too. Let’s go.
