Collecting Scraps: A Pocket Method for Creative Dry Spells

Hi friends,

I collect scraps.

A scrap is small and stubborn. A sentence heard at the shops. The squeak of a trolley. The way a dog lies stretched out in the sun.  The neighbours laugh through a fence at 10pm — too loud, then fine, then kind of perfect. 

I learned this in New York, you stare out the window and the city tells you what it’s doing: a man in hi-vis talking to a tree; a kid dragging a guitar case; A bus rattling and rumbling past on the way to work.

Scraps don’t pretend to be songs. They say: I am awake. I noticed. 

People ask where songs come from. They come from everywhere and nowhere.  a misheard phrase in a café, a street name that sounds like a chorus, the rhythm of a turn signal. Listening. We may live in the same city; but we all notice different things.

Scraps are easy to carry. The notes app. A voice memo that’s mostly tram noise and one line that sticks. This is not a lesson in songwriting. When your life feels overfull — work, forms, doctors, family, the non stop news — attention shrinks. Scraps widen it without asking for an hour you don’t have. 

I’ve had long dry spells. Months of blank. In those stretches I was convinced I was done. Then I’d open the folder and find a scrap of a sentence…“she baked a map into the cake.” No idea what I meant. But the line kept its spark long enough for me to follow it. 

A note about kindness. Collecting scraps only works if you don’t bully them. No “is this good enough?” on the first day. First days are for catching things before they run off. 

And please, let your scraps be ordinary. Steam on a takeaway lid. A magpie arguing with the dog. The way your own voice lands when you’re tired and still sing anyway. Ordinary is where the gold is. 

If you’re in a dry spell, I hope this gives you a way to stay close without pressure. Not output. Contact. You were here. You noticed. That counts.

If you’d like company while you find a voice that works in real life — one that doesn’t leave you wrecked by day’s end — I invite you to book a short chat or a first lesson: lisarichardsmusic.com.

Thanks for reading,

Lisa