Listening To Rain

Notes on taking your creative pulse

Have you ever been in a room with someone who turned to you and asked,

‘Is that rain?’

Did you stop what you were doing and stand silent and still for a moment to listen? Yes, there it was, the patter of rain on the roof, the first drops hitting the window. The sound was there all along, yet you were unaware of it.

You’ll often hear it said if you want to be a great writer, you must read a lot.

I’ve followed this advice as part of my writing apprenticeship for the last fifteen years. When writing non-fiction, I read as many brilliant big ideas books as possible — titles by the greats from Godin to Gladwell, Simon Sinek to Susan Cain.

These days, I write novels. I’m still honing my craft by reading other writers’ beautiful sentences, words I wish I’d written while working on writing my own — countless gorgeous sentences by Irish writers, many about rain.

But here’s the rub — it’s easy for these other voices to crowd out your own.
If you spend more time consuming other people’s thoughts, ideas and words than working on yours, how can you expect to hear yourself on the page?

The caveat to the advice about reading a lot is knowing when it’s time to stop.

My epiphany came at the pottery workshop I wrote about last week — two hours of total immersion where time stood still. That’s what writing feels like when it’s going well. Lately, I have been touching my work, but I was touching and thinking about other people’s gorgeous writing, genius plots and groundbreaking ideas more. I had stopped taking my creative pulse, so the balance of creative probabilities was out of whack.

I’ve practised being more present this week, along with many of you. I’ve stopped multi-tasking and listening to podcasts and audiobooks, avoided filling every dead moment of the day. It’s not been easy, but it’s working. I’ve spent quiet time getting to know the characters in the first draft of my next novel and engaged with my ideas before seeking others’ opinions online. Several batches of scones were baked and eaten as part of the process.

The more time I spend listening to my work when I’m away from my desk, the more resourceful and creative I am. I’m remembering what it feels like to create space to hear my heart and think for myself.

Years ago, my friend Seth Godin shared these words to live by with me:


’Before you consume, create.
Before you read something, write something.
Before you listen to a song, write a song.’


Disengaging to practice deliberate acts of awareness is a worthy goal.

You hear the rain when you’re still enough to listen for it.

Image credit: Amin Hasani