Courtney Barnett is staring at a praying mantis, waiting for a miracle. The indie-rock world sighs in collective relief because a quirky anecdote has once again replaced the uncomfortable reality of professional output. We love the narrative of the "struggling artist" finding salvation in the mundane—a bug on a windowsill, a chance encounter, a mystical alignment of the stars. It makes for a charming headline. It also happens to be total nonsense that keeps aspiring creators stuck in a cycle of unproductive navel-gazing.
The "writer's block" Barnett describes isn't a medical condition or a spiritual curse. It is a luxury. It is the ego’s way of saying the work isn't "precious" enough yet to be put on paper. By waiting for an external spark—like a literal insect—you aren't being "mindful." You are being a hostage to whim.
The Myth of the Sacred Spark
Most people think creativity is a lightning strike. You sit in a field, you wait for the electricity, and then you write a Grammy-nominated album. If the lightning doesn't hit, you claim you’re blocked.
Real professionals know better. Nick Cave doesn't wait for a mantis. He goes to an office, puts on a suit, and sits at a desk from 9 to 5. He understands that the "block" is just a lack of discipline masquerading as a sensitive soul. When you treat art like a job, the block disappears because "not feeling like it" isn't a valid reason to skip work.
The competitor article focuses on Barnett’s 2021 period, where she supposedly found clarity through observation. While observation is a valid tool, the framing is dangerous. It suggests that if you aren't currently inspired, you should just wait. This is the "Lazy Consensus" of the creative industry: the idea that art must be effortless or it isn’t authentic.
Why Your "Process" is a Procrastination Tactic
I have seen songwriters spend three years and $200,000 of a label's money "finding their voice" in a cabin in the woods. Do you know what they found? Ticks. And a massive debt.
The industry rewards the story of the struggle more than the efficiency of the craft. We want our artists to be tortured and erratic because it feeds the brand. But look at the data of the most prolific creators in history.
- Piotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky said: "A self-respecting artist must not fold his hands on the pretext that he is not in the mood."
- Maya Angelou kept a hotel room just to go to work every morning at 6:30 AM, regardless of how she felt.
- Steven Pressfield calls the block "Resistance." It is a force of nature, like gravity. You don't "cure" gravity; you build planes that fly in spite of it.
When Barnett looks at a praying mantis to get through a slump, she isn't solving a problem. She is self-soothing. If you are a creator waiting for a sign from nature to finish your project, you aren't an artist; you're a tourist.
The Biology of the "Block"
Let's dismantle the physics of why you feel stuck. It isn't a "lack of ideas." The human brain is an idea machine; it produces them constantly, even while you sleep. The "block" is actually an overactive internal editor.
$Creativity = \frac{Idea Generation}{Internal Criticism}$
When your internal criticism—the part of you terrified of making something "bad" or "cliché"—becomes $x \to \infty$, your output drops to zero. You aren't blocked; you are just afraid. The praying mantis trick works for someone like Barnett not because the insect is magic, but because it provides a pattern interrupt. It forces the prefrontal cortex to stop obsessing over the self and look at something else.
But you don't need a mantis. You need a deadline.
Stop Searching for Meaning and Start Generating Volume
The biggest lie in the arts is that "quality matters more than quantity." In the early stages of any project, that is a death sentence.
In a famous study recounted in the book Art & Fear, a ceramics teacher divided his class into two groups. One was graded solely on the quantity of work (50 lbs of pots = A), the other solely on quality (one perfect pot = A).
The result? The "quantity" group produced the highest-quality pots. They were busy making mistakes, learning from them, and moving on. The "quality" group sat around theorizing about perfection and ended up with a pile of nothing.
Barnett’s slow, observational approach is fine for a multi-millionaire with a loyal fanbase and no immediate rent due. For everyone else, it’s a trap. If you want to beat the block, you have to be willing to write garbage. You have to fill pages with the most trite, derivative, embarrassing prose imaginable.
The Cult of Mindfulness vs. The Power of Iteration
The competitor piece leans heavily into "mindfulness" as the antidote to creative stagnation. It’s a trendy buzzword that sells meditation apps, but it’s often a mask for stagnation.
True mindfulness in art isn't about staring at a bug until you feel a "connection." It’s about being present with the discomfort of the work. It’s about sitting in the chair when your brain is screaming at you to check your phone or clean the kitchen.
If you want to actually finish your album, your book, or your screenplay, stop looking for "help" from external sources. The mantis doesn't care about your lyrics. The universe isn't trying to help you finish your bridge.
The Actionable Anti-Block Protocol
If you’re currently "waiting for the muse," here is how you actually get back to work:
- Lower the Stakes: Tell yourself you are writing the worst version of this song ever recorded. Aim for a zero-star review.
- Use Constraints: Don't write about "life." Write about a blue chair using only five verbs. Complexity is the enemy of starts.
- The 10-Minute Rule: Commit to working for ten minutes. That’s it. If you still feel like a failure after ten minutes, you can stop. (Spoiler: You won't stop).
- Kill the Totems: If you need a specific coffee, a specific notebook, or a specific insect to work, you aren't an artist; you’re a ritualist. Work in the middle of a noisy airport. Work on a greasy napkin.
The downside to this approach? It’s not romantic. You won't get a heartwarming profile in an indie mag about your "spiritual journey." You’ll just have a finished body of work.
The Hard Truth
Courtney Barnett is a phenomenal songwriter, but she succeeded because of her years of relentless gigging and writing in the Australian pub scene—not because she learned to talk to bugs. The "praying mantis" story is the marketing-friendly version of a much grittier reality.
The next time you feel "blocked," don't go for a walk in the woods. Don't buy a new synthesizer. Don't wait for a sign.
Open a blank document. Type one sentence. It will probably suck. Type another one.
The mantis is busy trying to survive. You should be busy trying to build.
Stop romanticizing your paralysis.
