Living the Drafts

I haven't written much recently, and I used to panic when that happened.

I’d scroll through half-finished blogs, folders of notes, phrases that once sparked and then faded, wondering if the magic had slipped through my fingers. But I’ve come to realise that the silence is incubation.

It's not even really silence.

It's living.

And that's where the drafts start to seed in my mind.

Every day is a paragraph I haven’t written yet.

Each conversation, every nostalgic wave, every tiny miracle that crosses my path is a living draft — the universe handing me experience before it asks for words.

We tend to think of creativity as the act of producing, but a lightworker knows creation begins long before the page. It starts in the lessons, in the stillness, in the moments where we’re too busy living to record. The story needs to be lived before it can be told.

I used to rush the process, trying to capture the download before it dissolved. Now I let it breathe. I trust that when the time comes, the words will arrive fully formed, dripping with the wisdom of the wait.

Often this happens during hermitting for me — an evaluation of things from the past. This year I’ve realised that the past expands with each day we live, and that’s where the new stories start to take form. Because of that, I’m catching them more quickly. I may not be writing about them straight away or posting them, because I’m living my future blogs.

You can pretty much guarantee that if I’ve gone quiet, I’m either living the story or I’ve started writing again and the flow of words is being laid down.

Because sometimes Spirit doesn’t want us to write the story yet —

it wants us to walk it.

So if you find yourself in a quiet chapter, remember:

your drafts are still being written, just in a different ink.

You are in progress.

And one day soon, you’ll look back and realise —

this was the part where life was gathering its sentences.