Is Keep Going: 10 Ways To Stay Creative A Good Book For Artists?

There's something quietly radical about how 'The Artist's Way' sneaks creative training into ordinary life, and I've felt it work like a gentle boot camp for my scattered brain. I started doing the 'three pages' on a weekday when my apartment smelled like coffee and the news felt too loud. Those morning pages are the backbone: three longhand pages of stream-of-consciousness that empty the garbage can of worry so the creative stuff can breathe. Over weeks I noticed less circular thinking and more tiny ideas sticking around long enough to be acted on. The book's weekly 'artist date' pushed me to treat my inner life like a museum—I'll wander a secondhand bookstore, try a pottery class, or take an aimless walk to feed my curiosity. That ritual of scheduled play transformed my weekends from recovery time into idea-farming time. Add to that the gentle dismantling of the inner critic (the book gives you language and exercises to spot and reframe the complaints), and you get a slow but steady shift in habits: daily unloading, weekly nourishment, and regular small challenges. It’s not glamorous, but it makes creativity a habit instead of a mood, and for me that meant more finished sketches, more written scenes, and fewer nights waiting for inspiration to 'show up'. I still fall off the wagon sometimes, but the structure helps me get back faster and with less self-recrimination.

You know, I picked up 'Keep Going: 10 Ways to Stay Creative' during a phase where I felt stuck in my own projects. What stood out to me was how Austin Kleon frames creativity as a daily practice, not some mystical inspiration that strikes randomly. He talks about embracing routine—like how showing up consistently, even when you don’t feel ‘inspired,’ builds momentum. One chapter that hit home was about ‘disconnecting to reconnect.’ I used to scroll mindlessly for hours, but his idea of ‘productive boredom’ (like taking walks without your phone) actually helped me brainstorm better than forcing ideas at my desk. Another gem was the concept of ‘building a bliss station’—a physical or mental space where you can tune out noise and focus. For me, that became a corner with just a sketchbook and cheap markers, no pressure. The book’s strength is its simplicity; it doesn’t overcomplicate creativity. Instead, it feels like a pep talk from a friend who gets how messy the process can be. I still flip through it when I need a nudge to keep making things, even if they feel small or imperfect.

I picked up 'Daily Rituals: How Artists Work' out of sheer curiosity about the creative process, and it turned out to be one of those books that lingers in your mind long after you've finished it. Mason Currey does this brilliant thing where he compiles the routines of famous artists, writers, and composers—everyone from Beethoven to Murakami. It’s not a prescriptive guide but more like a collage of how wildly different (and sometimes downright bizarre) people’s creative habits can be. Some thrive on chaos; others need rigid schedules. What stuck with me was how relatable it felt. Even geniuses struggle with procrastination or finding the right balance between work and life. What’s fascinating is how the book subtly dismantles the myth of the 'perfect routine.' There’s no one-size-fits-all approach, and that’s liberating. For every artist who woke at dawn to write, there’s another who partied all night and scribbled ideas on napkins. If you’re looking for inspiration rather than instruction, this is a gem. It made me laugh, nod in recognition, and occasionally gasp at how extreme some rituals were (looking at you, Balzac and your 50 cups of coffee a day). A must-read for anyone who’s ever stared at a blank page and wondered, 'How do others do this?'

Twyla Tharp’s 'The Creative Habit' is one of those books that sneaks up on you. At first glance, it might seem like just another self-help guide for artists, but the way she breaks down creativity into tangible, daily practices is genuinely transformative. I picked it up during a slump where I felt like my ideas were stale, and her insistence on discipline over inspiration flipped my mindset. The exercises she suggests—like keeping a 'creative box' for projects—aren’t gimmicks; they’re tools I still use years later. It’s less about waiting for a muse and more about showing up, even when the work feels messy. What I love most is how Tharp blends personal anecdotes with universal truths. Her stories about choreographing ballets or collaborating with musicians make the advice feel lived-in, not theoretical. If you’re someone who romanticizes creativity as a lightning strike, this book will challenge you in the best way. It’s not a quick fix, but if you’re willing to put in the effort, it’s like having a no-nonsense mentor whispering, 'Stop complaining and start doing.' Now when I hit a block, I hear her voice: 'Creativity is a habit, not a miracle.'