You’re not stuck. You’re just in the wrong phase of the process.
“Writer’s block” isn’t a wall. It’s a missing piece.
You can’t force yourself to write what hasn’t been conceptualized yet. That’s where most people get stuck—not because they’ve hit a wall, but because they tried to start with step three.
For me, creativity always breaks into three phases:
Conceptualize → Plan → Create.
If you’re missing the first two, the third feels impossible.
But that doesn’t mean you’re blocked. It just means you’re out of ingredients.
Whether I’m writing a scene, designing a character, or composing a soundtrack—these phases never change. Creativity isn’t just about doing. It’s about knowing what you’re doing, and why. That’s why I break it into three parts:
This is where it all starts. Not with a blank page—but with something itching at the edge of your brain.
Sometimes it’s a theme you can’t shake. Sometimes it’s just a mood. A color palette. A sentence. A fight scene playing on repeat in your head. You’re not writing yet—you’re just chasing the energy of something other creative minds created.
This phase is what most people mistake for “writer’s block.” But really, they’re just trying to write without having anything to say yet. There’s no block. There’s just nothing there yet. That’s fine. Go fill yourself up.
For me, Vow of Eden came from everywhere. Final Fantasy gave me the scale and drama. Journey to the West gave me world building and mythic rebellion. Berserk taught me how to layer rage and trauma beneath beauty. League of Legends' lore taught me how nations can be characters. Devil May Cry showed me that style and emotional depth can coexist if you know how to control tone. And that’s just a few.
None of that came from sitting still. Art doesn’t spawn from the void. It echoes what you love, fear, or obsess over.
So if you’re “blocked,” maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re just not full yet.
Go get inspired. Then come back.
This is the part people either skip or overcomplicate.
A plan doesn’t have to be a 10-page outline or a beat-by-beat spreadsheet. It just has to give your idea a shape. Some people need the entire skeleton mapped out before writing a word. Others just need a north star. I lean closer to the latter. I like to write and discover at the same time—but even then, I always have some kind of structure in mind. A feeling. A goalpost. A gut instinct that says, we’re headed this way.
What planning really does is give your creativity a playground. Without it, you’re throwing paint at a wall and hoping it turns into a mural.
For Vow of Eden, some arcs were fully mapped. Others? Just a concept and a feeling. But even a single sentence like “This character starts the story with kindness and ends it with hatred” is a plan. You don’t need a manual—just a compass.
Planning is freedom disguised as structure. Don’t be afraid of it. Use what works, ignore what doesn’t. But at least give your ideas something to grow inside.
This is the part where people freeze.
The blank page doesn’t scare me. Not because I’m fearless—but because I don’t sit down to write unless I already know what I want to explore. If Phase 1 gave me the fire and Phase 2 gave me a place to burn it, then writing is just letting it happen. Imperfectly. Messily. But with intention.
You can't edit a blank page.
I don’t worry about getting it right the first time. I just get it out. When you trust your concept and trust the direction, the words eventually catch up—even if they stumble. And yes, sometimes you’ll write garbage. You’re supposed to. Sometimes I’ll write ten pages just to throw out nine (Or entire books.) That’s not failure. That’s refinement.
Writing isn’t sacred. It’s iterative. Like sculpting, you chisel out the wrong shapes until the right one shows up. You let it suck until it doesn’t.
And if you ever sit down and feel “blocked,” go back to Phase 1. You’re probably low on concept. Or go back to Phase 2—you’re probably writing without aim.
The writing only flows when the rest is in place.
Ideas come when you chase them. Not when you wait.