Monday morning, October 14th. Watching someone describe their scattered, undisciplined work as 'the creative process,' and realizing we've turned creativity into an excuse for avoiding the hard work of getting better.

The Creativity Shield

Here's the uncomfortable claim: most of what people call "being creative" is actually just being undisciplined, and we've collectively agreed to pretend otherwise.

You miss deadlines—it's because you're creative, you can't be rushed. Your work is inconsistent—it's because you're creative, you follow inspiration not formulas. Your process is chaotic—it's because you're creative, structure kills creativity. Your output varies wildly in quality—it's because you're creative, you take risks and some don't land.

Strip away the creativity label and look at what remains: someone who doesn't meet commitments, produces unreliable results, resists structure, and hasn't developed consistent quality. But call it creativity and suddenly these liabilities become features. You're not unreliable—you're an artist. You're not undisciplined—you're authentic. You're not inconsistent—you're following your muse.

The creativity excuse protects you from having to improve. Because if your work is capital-C Creative, then suggesting you develop more discipline, consistency, or structure becomes an attack on your creative essence. You've made your flaws unfixable by redefining them as personality.

The Discipline Denial

Look at who actually produces great creative work consistently: writers who show up every day, artists who practice technique obsessively, musicians who drill scales for decades, designers who iterate relentlessly. Their work looks magical to outsiders because the discipline is invisible. You see the output, not the daily practice that produced it.

But they don't call themselves creative. They call themselves professionals. They view creativity as a outcome of disciplined skill development, not as a substitute for it. They know that inspiration is fickle, talent is overrated, and the only reliable path to good work is showing up consistently and improving deliberately.

The person who produces one brilliant piece among twenty mediocre ones isn't more creative than the person who produces twenty good pieces. They're less skilled. The brilliant piece was luck or inspiration. The twenty good pieces are craft.

But we romanticize the inconsistent genius over the reliable professional. We celebrate the chaotic creative process over the systematic one. We prefer the story of the inspired artist channeling their muse to the story of the disciplined craftsperson refining their technique. One sounds like magic. The other sounds like work.

This preference reveals what we really mean by "creative": we mean undisciplined work that sometimes succeeds despite lack of structure, and we're so impressed when it works that we forgive all the times it doesn't.

Why We Protect the Myth

The creativity myth serves several purposes. First, it excuses poor process. If you're creative, you don't need to show up consistently, hit deadlines, or produce reliable quality. Your chaotic process is part of your gift, not something to fix.

Second, it creates status without achievement. You can identify as a creative person based on how you work, not what you produce. The process itself—the late nights, the inspiration chasing, the dramatic mood swings—becomes evidence of creativity, regardless of output quality.

Third, it justifies resistance to feedback. If your work flows from your authentic creative vision, then suggestions for improvement are attacks on your identity. You can dismiss critique as "not understanding the creative process" instead of engaging with whether the work is actually good.

Fourth, it makes failure less painful. If you're truly creative, then anything you produce must have value because it came from your creative essence. The market might not recognize it yet, but that's the market's failure, not yours. You're vindicated by the process, not the outcome.

The creativity excuse lets you avoid the hardest part of improvement: accepting that your current level isn't good enough and you need to develop better skills through disciplined practice. As long as you can call yourself creative, you never have to face that you might just not be very good yet.

The Craft Alternative

Here's the contrarian position: creativity isn't real. Or more precisely, "being creative" isn't a personality type or an identity—it's just what happens when you combine skill, judgment, and enough practice to make novel-but-good things reliably.

The writer who produces consistently good work isn't more or less creative than the writer who occasionally strikes gold. They're more skilled. They've developed better judgment about what works. They've practiced enough to execute their ideas competently. The consistency isn't stifling their creativity—it's evidence of their craft.

The designer who can generate twenty good solutions to a problem isn't less creative than the designer who has one brilliant idea they can't execute. They're more creative, because creativity in practice means being able to generate good novel solutions on demand, not occasionally stumbling into brilliance.

The musician who practices scales daily isn't killing their creativity. They're building the technical foundation that will let them execute whatever creative ideas they have. The creativity isn't separate from the technique—the technique enables the creativity to become real.

This reframe eliminates the creativity excuse. You can't hide behind "I'm a creative person" when what you need is better skills, more practice, clearer judgment, and more disciplined execution. And you can't dismiss structure, consistency, and reliability as anti-creative when those are exactly what enable reliable creative output.

What Changes When You Drop the Label

Stop calling yourself creative and see what happens. Stop using creativity as an identity or an excuse. Just focus on making things, getting better, and producing work you're proud of consistently.

First: You can develop discipline without identity crisis. Showing up every day isn't stifling your creativity—it's building your craft. Structure isn't the enemy—it's the foundation that lets you execute ideas competently.

Second: You can accept feedback without defensiveness. Critique of your work isn't an attack on your creative essence—it's information about how to improve. Your work being flawed doesn't mean you're a failed creative—it means you're still learning your craft.

Third: You can judge yourself on output, not process. It doesn't matter if your process was inspired or chaotic, structured or spontaneous. What matters is whether the work is good. The process is just a means to that end.

Fourth: You can improve systematically. You can identify specific skills to develop, practice them deliberately, measure improvement, and get consistently better. You don't have to wait for inspiration or hope your muse shows up.

Fifth: You can be reliable. You can commit to deadlines, produce consistent quality, collaborate effectively, and build a reputation for professionalism. Your work being "creative" doesn't excuse you from basic professional standards.

The Monday Truth

The creativity excuse lets us romanticize undisciplined work, avoid improvement, and pretend our inconsistency is vision. We call ourselves creative to justify our chaos and failures. We resist structure because we believe it will kill our creativity. We take pride in our process instead of our output.

But look at anyone producing genuinely creative work consistently: they're disciplined craftspeople who've practiced their skills obsessively. They show up regularly. They iterate relentlessly. They accept feedback non-defensively. They judge themselves on outcomes, not intentions. They build structure that enables creativity, not chaos that occasionally stumbles into it.

The path to doing creative work isn't protecting your creative identity from the corrupting influence of discipline. It's developing craft through disciplined practice until you can reliably produce novel-but-good work. It's building judgment through iteration until you know what works. It's developing technical skills until you can execute your ideas competently.

Stop using creativity as an excuse. Stop romanticizing chaos. Stop protecting your process at the expense of your output. Get disciplined. Practice deliberately. Build craft. Measure improvement. Show up consistently.

The work you call creative when it succeeds and excuse when it fails? That's not creativity—that's luck plus skill, with the ratio shifting as your craft improves. Improve the skill part through discipline, and the luck part matters less.

Creativity isn't an identity that exempts you from discipline. It's an outcome that emerges from disciplined skill development. Stop being a "creative person." Start being a craftsperson who produces creative work reliably.

That's what Monday mornings are for: showing up, doing the work, building the craft. The creativity takes care of itself.

We call work "creative" when we want to romanticize undisciplined process and excuse inconsistent output. The creativity label protects us from improvement—suggesting you develop discipline becomes an attack on your creative essence. But examine who produces great creative work consistently: disciplined craftspeople who practice obsessively, show up daily, iterate relentlessly. They view creativity as an outcome of skill development, not a substitute for it. The inconsistent genius isn't more creative than the reliable professional—they're less skilled. One brilliant piece among twenty mediocre ones is luck; twenty good pieces is craft. We romanticize chaos over systematic work because magic sounds better than work. The creativity excuse serves multiple purposes: excuses poor process, creates status without achievement, justifies resistance to feedback, makes failure less painful. It lets you avoid facing that you might not be good enough yet. The alternative: creativity isn't an identity—it's what happens when you combine skill, judgment, and practice to make novel-but-good things reliably. Stop calling yourself creative and start building craft. Develop discipline without identity crisis. Accept feedback without defensiveness. Judge yourself on output, not process. Improve systematically. Be reliable. The path to creative work isn't protecting your creative identity from discipline—it's developing craft until you can reliably produce creative output. Creativity isn't a personality that exempts you from discipline. It's an outcome that emerges from disciplined skill development.