Fill the Well...

I have been working hard on my next novel, Coast of Carolina, and I love where it is headed, but I have noticed that I am writing on discipline. There have been flashes of inspiration, but my well has run dry.

Don’t get me wrong, discipline is so necessary for a writer to get through those moments when you don’t “feel” like writing. But there is also the other end of that spectrum, when all you do is write by discipline. And I want more for Harley's story. She is such a cool character that I have been waiting to write, and I know she deserves to have the greatest story.

So, I have stopped writing for now and am going to spend a Seasonal Sabbatical focussed on filling the well, (grateful head nod to The Artist's Way by Julia Cameron, check it out if you haven’t already). Julia shows how the artist will draw inspiration from a well of experiences and exposure and that the well can run dry if we end up taking too much from it to do our creative work without taking time to replenish it. Things like seeking out inspiring images, experiences, and sensory input end up replenishing that well.

Until Spring Break, or earlier if my well fills quickly, I will be focused on doing those things that fill the deep reservoir of artistic inspiration. For me, that’s great tv series and movies, reading all of the inspirational books I have put off lately, doing fun visual art projects, and thinking deeply about my own artistic process and what I want to do with it. And a lot of the beach. A lot.

And I am trying to push myself out of my comfort zone to seek out other artists and writers. This month, that will be at the Galentine’s 2026 event in SoCal on Feb 7. Some terrific closed-door romance writers will be there and I cannot wait to chat with them about their craft and inspiration.

Billie’s journey in Anything Anytime Anywhere reminded me how universal this struggle is—even for fictional artists! So here’s what I’m carrying with me into this break (and hoping you’ll carry too):

🌊 It’s okay to step away when you need to realign. The creative surge that follows will outpace any “lost” time. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast.

🌊 Just like an artist replenishing their well, we all need to nurture our own reserves. We’re often so busy caring for everyone else that we neglect ourselves—and burnout helps no one.

Billie is an artist at her deepest core. It is her way of dealing with all of the grief she’s endured and all of the hurt in the world. But after her latest run-in with danger she should have never had to endure, her brain is more hesitant to drop into the well to pull up some inspiration.

But she knows that she has to leave an art installation before she leaves her current home. So, she will push hard to find it...

🚨  SPOLIER ALERT!!!  🚨 This may give away a little too much if you haven't had a chance to read Anything Anytime Anywhere yet. 

Over the next four days, I pour myself into research. I read all the library books I checked out within the first few days and go back for more. I print out all the articles that I can from scientific journals and psychology sites.

One of my favorite books is Pacing the Cage, by Scroobius Wilder. It’s a small pocket-sized manual, each page with some quote or mantra over a beautiful picture of the ocean or an island. The backside has a little summary of what the phrase means and how to use it. I may have forgotten to return this one to the library. After I cut out all the pages to hang them around my place or keep them with me, I’m not sure they would have wanted it back anyways.

The page that has been in my back pocket since the day I saw it, says, “Action Beats Anxiety.” The back explains that when you get stuck in that cycle of fear, doing something small can break you out of it. And that one small success leads you to take on something else a little bigger. And then, before you know it, you have broken out of the anxiety jail.

It also delineates how having a forward center of mass, just moving your body in the forward direction like walking or running, actually suppresses amygdala function which reduces threat detection, anxiety, and fear. I don’t know if anything can suppress my amygdala right now, but, with all my research, I have determined to try everything and keep what works. So, I resolve to test it out the next time I feel the panic pressing in.

The more I learn, the more it feels like it’s possible for me to recover from this and maybe go home.

Maybe. 

It would take a lot to make that happen. Even coming up with the money to fly home is a huge hurdle. And then I’d need money to pay rent once I get there. Maui rents are nearly the highest in the nation, nothing like my current place. 

That is if my landlord hasn’t evicted me and thrown all my things on the curb for anyone to take. I would have nothing. But I have nothing here and I’m still surviving. I could survive there with nothing, too, I suppose.

After another long day in the soul-crushing heat, I arrive at my empty shack and finally decide it’s time to go home—to my real home—back to Nalu Kai.

But I need to leave my mark here before I set sail. If I don’t arrange even a tiny installation, it was like this time never existed. And no matter how incredibly hard this time in my life was, it was mine.

And it matters.

The conception is glacial in its formation. Usually, from the moment I have an idea for a piece, it only takes a matter of days before I have all the parts worked out and am ready to install it. 

But this one? It is days before I even get to a starting point. 

And even that is a repeat of an old theme. I know I will use little toy soldiers again. Instead of Hawaiian shirts, they will have little navy blue hoodies on. But that’s all I got. I have no inkling where or what they will be doing or what any of it means. I just know it has to be an army guy in a hoodie.

With the first nebulous ideas of an installation brewing, I have the confidence to look at flights to Maui. 

Until I see the prices. Maybe my army guy should rob a bank so I can afford to go home.

And then I remember. The Patreon account. There might be enough in there to offset the airfare. I log into the account and am floored when I see the balance. I have to check it several times. I even sign out of the account and sign back in to make sure it is the right account. But it is. And although it is incredible to know that I have a little cushion to help me get back home—actually, a really huge cushion—I think it’s even more encouraging to think that I have reached that many people with my portraits of joy.

Most of the contributions are small, five or ten dollars, so this sum must represent tens of thousands of people, some of them even signing up to make their donations a monthly recurring donation. 

I’m overcome with joy until I realize that means tens of thousands of people are expecting me to continue to create that same caliber of artistry.

Right now, I can barely string together a cohesive theme. What are they going to think about anything I put out there now? 

It’s one thing to create art for myself with the misguided dream that it might bring joy to one person someday, but to have tens of thousands of people waiting on my next production when I have a brain that won’t function? That’s crushing. 

What if I can’t? What if the only creation I make from here on out is just one giant heap of steaming dung? How many people will I have disappointed?

My head starts spinning with all the what-ifs. I gnaw on my nails, cutting them all to the quick in seconds.

I shove my hands in my back pockets to stop myself from gnawing off my fingers and find a small card. I pull it out and read it. Action Beats Anxiety. 

Forward center of mass. 

I swipe my keys from the table and head out the front door. 

After a solid thirty minutes of walking along the water, I return home and book a ticket for two weeks from today. Action Beats Anxiety. I won’t allow anxiety to keep me from this decision. 

Two weeks should give me enough time to let Rusty know I’ll be leaving and to figure out what the hell I’m going to leave here to mark my time.

But the art stalls. I cannot for the life of me come up with what to do with the army dude. I can’t even convince my mind to focus on the problem for more than a minute without totally spacing out. Twenty minutes later, I awake from my stupor and have no memory of what I even set out to do. The PTS has mangled my brain and it may never come back. 

Oh, God. What if it never comes back? I have no idea who I am if I can’t create. Am I even Billie anymore? Have I become some wholly new person that only looks like the old me but has nothing else in common with her? How dismal life will be without producing my creations.

I remember the first piece of street art I saw. It was about a week after Brent’s funeral. I found myself at Westies, staring out at the ocean for hours. It wasn’t the first time I welcomed the growing darkness after another day squandered on those lava stones. I was trudging over the uneven rocks towards the parking lot when I made it to the short wall that separates the cliffs from the road and caught my foot on the onyx rocks, splaying out like I was trying to slide into home plate. Having used up what little emotional energy I had left, I simply laid there, scuffed up and bleeding.

After a few brutal moments, I gathered the strength to roll to my side. On the backside of the street sign was this beautiful rainbow someone had painted. Next to it, they printed the words, “Someday we’ll find it.” 

I found myself singing. 

Singing. 

When you hear any part of the lyrics to The Rainbow Connection, you can’t help but to finish it.

Out loud. 

And I discovered a miniature slice of solace in a time where I hadn’t felt any for far too long.

A few weeks later, when the grief clouds began to burn off, I decided that I would drench the town with tiny pieces of joy so that everyone else could stumble on a sliver right when they needed it.

Maybe I need to leave Key Largo with some happiness, too.

Immediately, I know exactly what that army dude will do. Finally finding direction, I sprint out to the store to pick up my supplies before I lose the inspiration.

One more thing before I dash off to refill my well...

Are you coming to Galentine’s 2026 in SoCal on Feb 7? 👯‍♀️💕

If you haven’t grabbed your FREE ticket yet (and let’s be honest, you’re totally a cool person), I’d LOVE to see your face there. Come find me, say hi, and let’s chat books, beaches, and all the creative sparks! 🌊✨

Tickets & details here: 

Can’t wait to hug some of you in real life!

Until next time—keep riding those waves (and filling your own well),

Erin 🌺🏖️

P.S. Anything Anytime Anywhere is free this week from now until Jan 29 over on Amazon. Go grab your copy today and see if Billie ever gets back into the flow of her art.