Our book Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity releases in the UK next week. It’s exciting. But if I’m being honest, the past few days have felt more like mourning.

I’m mourning the process.

The creative process is weird. The beginning is a high. The middle is torture. And the end is another strange kind of high — more like a death than a birth. You cross the finish line, and suddenly it’s not just yours anymore. It belongs to the world now.

I’m bumping up against that. The process is over. The book is out of my hands.

And I still, probably just like you, feel anxiety every time I release something into the world. I don’t know if that feeling ever fully goes away. When you pour months of your life into a project, you just hope it mattered. You hope it wasn’t a waste of time.

And I know this book wasn’t a waste because I was just reading it, and it helped me.

It’s wild when you look back at something you made and realize a past version of you was writing to your future self. That’s what Create.Repeat has always been. A place to say what we needed to hear. A practice of turning fear, confusion, writer’s block, burnout, and self-doubt into something honest. Something forward-moving for myself and a community of creatives.

This book is for anyone who wants to stop overthinking and start expressing.

For the dreamers. The doers. The once-a-year painters. The late-night writers.

The burned-out designers. The inspired-and-overwhelmed.

The multi-hyphenates. The in-betweeners.

We don’t have all the answers. But we do know this: if you create and repeat, something will shift. Something will move. And eventually, something will break open.

Maybe that’s what this is — not an ending, but a beginning.

A death. And a birth.

If you’re in the UK, you can pre-order the book here.

If you’re elsewhere, hang tight — it’ll be available in the US early next year.

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Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a bi-weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

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If you’re not familiar with Creator Mag, it’s part Substack, part community, and part quarterly print magazine (and yes, it’s beautiful). I’m a huge fan of what the entire Creator Mag team is building. Their mission to make the internet feel smaller is something I deeply resonate with, and I’m so glad they exist.

Here’s an excerpt from our interview in Creator Mag: Issue 7 – “Touch Grass.”

Enjoy!

Written by

Art Direction by

Design by

Photography by Mackenzie Breeden

In just over a month, Zack and Morgan Evans will be having two babies on the same day—and no, they’re not twins.

The first is their debut book, Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity. Published by Penguin Random House, the book is an adaptation of Create.Repeat, the couple’s Internet-brand-slash-design-studio-slash-life-philosophy that’s developed a cult-like following since launching three years ago.

The second? Their debut child. Morgan found out she was pregnant just four days after learning the book’s release date.

“A lot of things in our life started to fall apart right before then,” Zack tells me over a call in September. “But I feel like the universe, life—whatever you want to call it—has a way of shedding old skin when you need it to, when you need to go into a brand new season.”

Over the course of an hour, I dove into a wide-ranging conversation with Zack and Morgan about several topics: burnout, parenthood, anonymity, creativity, and, of course, touching grass. Before Create.Repeat, the couple had never worked together (“When Vine came out, we were both doing it and almost broke up because of, like, jealousy”), but they share a kindred spirit, a palpable theater kid energy for the Internet age.

Nevertheless, don’t mistake their enthusiasm for performance. The daily essays and prompts packed into their book derive from lived experiences—whether it be the heyday of BuzzFeed, or the struggles of selling a screenplay in modern Hollywood.

I hope you find our conversation as thought-provoking as I did. And when you’re done, keep flipping for a prompt from Zack and Morgan—and a free page all to yourself.³

This conversation has been edited and condensed for clarity. Photography by Mackenzie Breeden.

Nathan Graber-Lipperman: I was curious to hear from both of y’all—what was the first thing you remember creating for fun?

Zack Evans: Like…in life?

NGL: Yeah, I’m really hitting ya with the tough ones on a Thursday afternoon.

Morgan Evans: [Looks at Zack] Oh, so you want me to start?

I feel like my journey with creativity started at a super young age. I went to a performing arts school from kindergarten to eighth grade. Zack always asks what we actually learned there—I’m like, we did math, okay?

But we did have dance classes, acting classes. In English, you’d be writing. When you’re five years old, you don’t really understand what’s going on—you think you’re just having fun. Yet the first time I really remember creating for myself and expressing myself was actually due to a death in the family. I wrote a poem for an essay assignment about what it’s like to lose a family member, and it helped me process my grief.

I think that’s why I believe in creativity so much. It helps you understand the world around you, and I feel like that was the first time art became, like, a means of survival. I couldn’t really understand the gravity of the pain, but creating something through it helped me understand what was happening, even if I was only in fifth grade.

Zack Evans: [Looks at Morgan] Wow. Mine’s not nearly as beautiful.

Like you said, when you’re a kid, you’re in Make Believe Land all the time. I was always playing games with the neighbors, throwing concerts—doing all these little things. But I remember in fifth grade, I got my dad’s old camcorder, and one of my best friends was really good at skateboarding. And I remember telling him that I could make a skate video for him.

I had never really worked the camera before. We’d go to a skate park every weekend, and then my dad showed me how to edit. We used Avid, which is, like, an OG editing software. And I set the video to a Weird Al Yankovic parody song, “Eat It.”

I thought Weird Al was the coolest guy in the world. Because I was, ya know, in fifth grade.

ME: Dude, fifth grade was so lit.

NGL: Zack, the first time we met, we kind of nerded out about our shared love of sneakers. I know for me personally, Tinker Hatfield was an inspiration to take design classes.

When you think about your teenage selves, are there any stories or inspirations you looked to as you considered turning this creativity thing into a, like, possibility?

ZE: When I was in seventh grade, my mom had a heart attack—like, a quadruple bypass—and almost died. It was a really traumatic moment for me. I was in a brand new middle school, and this was happening within the first month of the school year.

I just so happened to pick drama that year for an elective. And my drama teacher, Mrs. Roberts, really stepped up in my life during that time. She saw me as a person and really made me feel comfortable. And it was at that same moment where I was realizing that I really loved improv, and being the funny one in class.

I remember her telling my parents, He’s got a career in this. And she was the art teacher, too—a do-it-all creative person who just had such a passion for the weird kids. As I eventually did sketch comedy and all this stuff, everything was based on these principles that I learned from her in seventh grade.

I also had a screenwriting professor in college, Susan Isaacs. She was in the improv comedy group Groundlings with Will Ferrell back in the day. She was very encouraging, but also very real with us. You’re probably not gonna make it…Will Ferrell is an alien who just so happened to be the one, she’d tell us.

Both of these teachers just really empowered me. They really instilled confidence in me personally, but also prepared me to keep going, because you face so much rejection in anything you want to do.

ME: What you’re saying has really affected the Create.Repeat voice so much. I do believe that greatness within artists exists within everybody, and to have the right person call it out of you is so freaking necessary.

Miss Royster, the vocal program teacher, was that person for me. Again, going to a performing arts school, in classrooms full of talented kids…to have someone see something in you and call it out of you is life-changing.

Even being pregnant now, I’m just thinking, this kid will have the most access to anything they ever want to do in this lifetime because creativity has been such a lifeline for both Zack and I.

I really don’t care what form it comes in anymore. I think that’s why Create.Repeat has been such a great collaboration for us.

ZE: I met both of the teachers I mentioned later in life, as an adult. There’s something special when you learn, Oh, you aren’t some almighty person. You have some wisdom, and you’re sharing it with us, but you’re also just a person going through it as well.

The drama teacher may be grieving the loss of their career, or they’re going home and working on the script that they’re trying to eventually get made one day—because they don’t want to give up the dream of screenwriting.

As I’ve gotten older, I realized that whatever your choice of medium, we all grow through this stuff. Morgan and I always wanted Create.Repeat to come from this spot of, like, we don’t have everything figured out. We’re down in the bunker with you.

NGL: The theme of this season is “Touch Grass.” What does that phrase represent to both of you?

ME: We’ve got a tale for you!

ZE: I mean, our life has just been completely upended this year. And it came from an actual, literal touch grass moment in April.

I wanted to do a challenge for myself. It honestly started off as thinking about how to market this book. We were really big on the “75 Hard Challenge” a couple years ago. For seventy-five days, you work out twice a day, you drink water—

ME: [Laughing] We’ve done it four years in a row. We’re obsessed.

ZE: And honestly, it changed our lives. So we were thinking, what’s the creative version of that?

One of the things I wanted to do was to give up all kinds of vices—alcohol, weed, caffeine. I was a huge caffeine head. I wanted to give that up. And I wanted to have one day a week to be a day of no phones, no internet, no TV. I was only allowed to read and listen to music. It was almost like a Sabbath.

So for thirty days, I wanted to create something every single day. That very first day, I went for a walk. I didn’t have my phone on me. And we were at this point in our lives where there was so much uncertainty, and I was really scared—not knowing what we’re going to do with Create.Repeat, not knowing stuff with our finances.

I was walking around our neighborhood, and I found a park across the street. It was completely empty, and I just went out there in the middle of the grass. I never do this kind of thing, but I took off my shoes, and I sat there and touched grass.

That was a moment for me where I was truly connected, and I could finally listen again. I guess what touch grass for me kind of means is the word surrender. I felt like that moment to me was a moment of surrendering. To just be barefoot in a park that’s just, like, covered in dog pee.

I went back feeling so refreshed. Four days later, we found out we were pregnant. The next week, we learned that the book’s release date was the same as our due date.

The universe has a way of shedding old skin when you need it to. My walk to the park was such a small moment, but to us, it was life-changing. That’s why Morgan was laughing when you said the phrase.

NGL: Sometimes all you need for your creative spark is a grass park covered in dog pee.

ZE: You need to unplug and reconnect with yourself to find your own voice again. When you’re chasing validation, it only leads to depression. Talk to any single person who is in this kind of business.

Dude, I’ve been in the hospital because of burnout when I was at BuzzFeed. I literally lost my eyesight for hours because of a crazy migraine—my body just gave up. I’ve had to learn this the hardest way possible. I’ve had crazy panic attacks. I’ve had depressive episodes.

Stepping away and going back to that kid who decided to put “Eat It” in a skateboard video, even though it didn’t make sense…I did that because that was a Zack Evans video. It was just my favorite song at the time, with my favorite thing at the time. And I made something original.

ME: Keeping Create.Repeat faceless for so long, too, really helped implement that practice of sharing exactly what we want to say.

It doesn’t really matter sometimes who says it. You just have to feel it. So, I think for me, it’s easy to want to avoid and suppress emotions because they feel too big. And feeling anxious for so long…feeling depression as creatives is so deep and dark and devastating. You feel like life has been sucked out of you.

But if you can process those emotions, if you can touch them and feel them and grapple with them, there is light at the end of the tunnel. And that’s coming from people who, again, have been in the trenches with these things.

It’s better to face the mountain and walk through it. Because on the other side, there’s something so beautiful.

So for me, I think we shouldn’t be afraid to touch the grass. Experience the grass. Feel it. If you’re allergic, great. Let’s take Claritin and move on.

We’ve got to touch the grass as creatives in order to express something that’s honest and truthful and authentic. Like, that’s the whole point.

ZE: Bars.

You can read the full conversation with Zack and Morgan in Issue Seven of Creator Mag. And check out their book, Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity, which releases November 27.

Grab your physical copy of the latest Creator Mag here!

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Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a bi-weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

I am always the least productive when I’m waiting on a potential opportunity. The middle period, the lull between sending in a pitch and getting the green light, that’s where I feel my ability to execute starts to slip away.

If you’re working on a creative project, there’s a whole lot of work that goes into even getting the opportunity to pitch or apply. If you’re lucky enough to send in your portfolio, work on a pitch, or plan for the project, there’s a ton of excitement. You work hard to nail every detail, reviewing your slides for typos, honing your ideas, sketching concepts, whatever it is. Then you hit send.

Silence.

I find this silence to be a false sense of security. You may or may not get the project or the job, but the quiet fear and wondering if it’s going to work out stops other projects in their tracks.

Days turn into weeks. This lull of waiting for a follow-up can really wreck your momentum. I start putting off all kinds of projects because “what if” this one comes through? It’s tough to keep your mind from running wild over a single email or pitch.

So how do you stay creative during the waiting game? How do you make sure this false sense of potential doesn’t put all your other projects and ideas into storage until you get an answer?

One of the reasons these waiting periods tank my creativity and productivity is because I let myself believe they’re bound to happen. Be confident, get prepared, make something great, try and kill that pitch, but nothing is ever a guarantee. Success is such a mystery; when it comes, it’s usually from a place I never expected.

Learning how to be okay with no as an answer helps me hold opportunity lightly. It’s exciting, and it should be, but the reality is that anything can happen. And that’s just part of trying to build something.

If you’re reading these newsletters, you probably work in a creative field and you’ve likely been told “no” quite a few times. When you send in a pitch or an application, being comfortable with that possibility allows you to take the pressure off the outcome and keep creating. And keep pushing for other opportunities.

There’s a momentum dump that happens when you have to wait for an answer on something. Finally, the responsibility is off of you and onto someone else. This lures me into a bunch of restful thoughts: “you worked hard on that, you can slow down,” “the ball’s in their court, just wait for a reply.”

Rest can be good, but the problem in these moments is that I start putting off other potential projects or opportunities while I wait for one that’s not even confirmed yet.

In these moments, I need to think about creating in a linear sense. As I build, I can pause, I can take needed breaks, but my rest shouldn’t be conditional on external factors or interference. In an ideal flow state, you’re controlling the output, not waiting on approval from others.

So keep going. Don’t let the potential of a breakthrough stop you from getting there in the first place. Being on the cusp of success isn’t a reason to slow down; it’s a reason to keep moving. Regardless of who or what you’re waiting on, there’s probably a list of projects you’ve put off that might generate a better outcome than whatever you’re waiting to hear back from.

Opportunity often comes from the most surprising places. The best thing we can do is keep doing what got us opportunity in the first place. Every bit of work you put out is a potential launching point for more. It doesn’t always feel that way when you’re in it, but it is.

Stopping your creativity or momentum is the fastest way to make things stall. If you’re playing the waiting game, it’s important to keep creating in between. Between the yes’s and no’s, the emails, pitches, and meetings — don’t let the process of trying to succeed stop you from doing what got you here in the first place.

I am always the least productive when I’m waiting on a potential opportunity. And that’s something I’m learning to change. The in-between moments hold just as much potential as the ones we’re waiting for. Keep building, keep making, and let the work itself create the next opportunity.

Keep Creating and Repeating
- James

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Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a bi-weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

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One of the most common questions I get is: How do you actually succeed in today’s world of algorithms, trends, and content overload?

It’s not the kind of thing I usually write about. Create.Repeat has always been focused on the soul of the creative process. I care more about why we make things than how to beat the system. I want to help people reconnect with the joy of creating for its own sake.

But I also live in the real world.

Like many of you, I need to put food on the table. And if I can do that through my creativity, I’d much rather follow that path than any other. That’s the gift, but also the tension.

So in this letter, I want to talk about winning.

What does it mean to win as a creative person today?

How do you master your craft?

How do you get to a point where you can do what you love and still make it work?

Let’s talk about what it really takes to build a creative career. There is a path. It just might not be the one we were taught to follow.

The most common mistake I see from creatives (myself included!!) is jumping into a new lane and trying to do things their own way from day one. As if they already have all the answers. As if the goal is to prove there’s a better way, without ever understanding the current one.

Now, I don’t think it’s wrong to experiment early on. That’s how you figure out whether you even like something. Play is part of the process. But when you’re serious about succeeding in a field you’re new to, you must approach it with humility, not arrogance.

This applies to everything. Growing an audience on social media. Starting a new role at a job. Pivoting from being a painter to becoming a filmmaker. Whatever new path you’re pursuing, the same process applies.

To truly master something, you have to move through the three stages:

Every industry, every medium, every platform has a game being played.

That game might not be fair. It might be frustrating. It might be built on outdated rules or driven by metrics you don’t care about. But if you’re serious about succeeding, you need to understand it before you try to change it.

Learning the game means watching how things actually work. What gets attention? What gets rewarded? What’s considered good? And why?

You don’t have to like the game. You just need to learn it. Because until you understand the patterns, the incentives, and the standards, you’re creating in the dark.

This is where I see most people tap out. They either reject the system entirely or imitate it blindly. But the people who last, the ones who carve out careers doing meaningful work, are the ones who study it on purpose. They pay attention to the details most people overlook. They reverse engineer the things they love. They don’t just consume, they analyze.

As you work on your craft and move from novice to master, a shift happens. You stop seeing things through the lens of a fan and start noticing the structure behind the magic. The best movie you’ve ever seen, the one that felt like it was made just for you, still followed a three-act structure. The song that brought you to tears still had a bridge and a chorus.

You have to understand the game. Whatever you’re trying to do, take the time to learn how it works and why it’s done that way. There’s a reason for everything. Once you understand that, something unlocks. It feels obvious. You can’t unsee or unlearn it.

You can’t break the rules if you don’t know what they are.

Once you understand how the game works, the next step is learning who’s playing it and how.

Who’s winning right now? Who’s consistently showing up? Who’s taking risks? Who’s being overlooked? The answers to these questions will tell you just as much as the content itself.

This part is about pattern recognition. You’re studying how people operate, what they prioritize, and which choices are creating results. Not so you can copy them, but so you can understand the strategy behind the surface.

Watch what successful people are doing, but also pay attention to what they’re not doing. Who they’re speaking to. What they’re ignoring. What they seem to value. What they’re willing to walk away from. Who their influences are.

Studying the winners can feel like a cheat code, especially when you go back far enough. The deeper you look, the easier it becomes to hear the voice behind the voice.

There’s no Frank Ocean without Stevie Wonder.

There’s no Jim Carrey without Charlie Chaplin.

There’s no LeBron James without Michael Jordan.

Every artist is standing on someone else’s shoulders. The difference is whether you recognize it or not.

Creativity doesn’t happen in a vacuum. It’s a long chain of influence, each link building on the one before it. The greats didn’t appear out of nowhere. They studied the game, studied the players, and then chose which parts to carry forward and which parts to leave behind.

When you start seeing those connections, you begin to realize you’re not as far away as you think. The people you admire were once standing where you are now, looking up at someone else and trying to figure out how to get started.

We all want to be different. We want to innovate. We want to stand out. But lasting originality comes from understanding the rules so deeply you know exactly where they no longer apply.

You can’t reinvent a system you’ve never studied. You can’t lead if you haven’t first followed. The creatives who truly change the game rarely set out to be rebels. They just outgrew the template.

At a certain point, you stop mimicking. You stop obsessing over what’s working for everyone else. You trust your taste. You take risks. You start building the thing you wish existed.

And because you’ve done the work, because you understand the game and the players, those risks are no longer reckless. They are intentional, strategic, and personal.

This is where the shift happens. You are no longer chasing approval. You are building a body of work. One that reflects what you care about. One that resonates with the people who are waiting for something different.

You don’t need to break everything just to prove you’re original. But you do need to know when to bend the rules in a way that only you can.

That is how the game changes. Quietly. Slowly. Then all at once.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

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Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

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We all love big goals.

They look good on paper, they make us feel like we’re aiming high, and they give us a sense of purpose. Write the screenplay. Launch the brand. Land the dream job. But the truth is, big goals often trick us into stalling.

As creatives, we have a gift. We can take the smallest seed of an idea and instantly imagine the finished product. That ability to see the vision is what makes us who we are. The problem comes when we focus too much on the final picture. The gap between where we are and where we want to be starts to feel impossible to cross in a single step.

What actually gets us there are the small, almost forgettable acts.

This letter is about micro goals and why shifting your attention from the end result to the daily process is what will carry you to your big goals and beyond them.

Big goals create pressure, and micro goals create momentum. When the finish line feels too far away, the easiest thing to do is nothing at all. That’s why so many creatives get stuck in the gap between ambition and action.

Trust me, I’ve been there. For the last ten years, I’ve been “working” on a screenplay that, in my heart, feels like my magnum opus coming-of-age film. I’ve started and stopped it more times than I’d like to admit. The problem is that every time I sit down to write, I put the pressure on myself to create an Oscar-winning script that’s nuanced and tragic and funny and all the emotions I want to convey in the story. Some days it feels easier to imagine writing my acceptance speech than to write the opening scene. So I stop.

This is what happens when you let a lofty goal cast a shadow over your process. You end up doing nothing at all.

So instead of trying to write an Academy Award–winning film, maybe you just write a film. Or maybe you write a single scene. Maybe it’s a sketch. Maybe it’s a tweet.

The point is to build the habit of exercising your creative muscle so you can create momentum. This is the essence of Create.Repeat. Do something (anything) every day that keeps you connected to your creativity. Focus on a process you look forward to and stop worrying about the outcome. These little acts might not look impressive on their own, but strung together, they build movement.

And movement is everything. Once you’re moving, it’s easier to keep going.

Micro goals don’t just help you get moving, they help you build a rhythm. When you show up every day for your creative self, even in the smallest way, you’re not only making progress, you’re shaping an identity.

You’re no longer just an ideas person or a dreamer. You’re a doer. You work on your craft daily, putting in the time it takes to be great. You’re no longer satisfied with resting on your laurels or staying a novice. You’re practicing mastery, and in return, getting closer to your bigger goals every day.

Every sketch says, I’m an artist. Every page says, I’m a writer. Every post says, I’m a creator. You don’t have to wait until the big project is finished to claim that title. You claim it in the act of showing up.

That’s exactly what happened with us at Create.Repeat. We didn’t start this page with the goal of landing a book deal with Penguin Random House. We focused on making content that felt positive and inspiring for people going through the same creative struggles as us. By staying in that headspace every day, writing short blurbs, turning them into graphics, and spinning them into newsletters, by the time Penguin came to us, we were ready to write the book because we had been writing it all along.

(Shameless plug: you can pre-order our book Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity.)

By doing something every day, it becomes a habit. And habits are proof that transformation is happening. You’re no longer just thinking about creating, you’re doing it. It becomes part of your routine, part of your lifestyle. Day by day, you’re becoming the person you want to be. Habits keep you grounded, consistent, and moving forward long after the initial excitement of a big goal fades.

The power of micro goals is that they don’t just move you forward in the moment, they quietly stack over time. Day to day, progress feels invisible. One sketch looks like nothing. One page looks like nothing. One small act looks like nothing.

But give it time. Look back after six months, a year, five years, and you’ll see what those tiny efforts have built. The sketches become a portfolio. The pages become a manuscript. The posts become a community. None of it happens overnight, and yet when you zoom out, it feels like it did.

That’s the secret of compounding. You don’t notice it while it’s happening. But one day, you realize you’ve crossed the gap between the dream in your head and the work in your hands.

Micro goals are the bridge. They turn your vision into reality.

Big goals will always inspire us. They’re the reason we dream in the first place. But if you only focus on the finish line, you’ll never take the first step.

Micro goals keep you moving when the pressure feels heavy. They build the habits that shape your identity as a creative. And, over time, they compound into the very outcomes you once thought were out of reach.

So don’t wait for the perfect day to start. Don’t wait until you feel ready. Just do the small thing that’s right in front of you. Write the line. Sketch the idea. Record the thought. Then do it again tomorrow. That’s how the big dream shows up.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

P.S. If this resonated with you, pass it along to someone who could use the reminder. Creativity grows when it’s shared.

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🗂️ Curate to Create: On why content curation might be as meaningful (or more) than creation in the coming era.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

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Check our other posts:

“Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is this gap. For the first couple years you make stuff, it’s just not that good. It’s trying to be good, it has potential, but it’s not. But your taste, the thing that got you into the game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn’t have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it’s normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close that gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I’ve ever met. It’s gonna take awhile. It’s normal to take awhile. You’ve just gotta fight your way through.”

— Ira Glass

We don’t talk enough about how much of creativity is just dragging yourself through the part where your work makes you cringe. When your ideas feel off. When your taste is sharp, but your output is dull.

That tension — between what you know is good and what you’re capable of making — is why so many people quit.

That, my friend, is the creative process.

You have to let the ideas out, because they will rot if you don’t. The same way a garbage bag sitting too long in your kitchen starts to stink, your undeveloped ideas start to back up. They clutter your creative brain, they fog your focus, and before long, you can’t make anything at all.

It’s paralyzing. So take out the trash.

Make something today, even if it sucks… especially if it sucks. Jot down some ideas. Do some research. Spend the night dreaming of what could be. The only way out of the bad stuff is through it. You need to turn your creativity into a ritual.

Now, I’m not saying every idea you have is trash. (Actually, yes, I am.) But that’s not the insult it sounds like. Most early ideas are half-baked, surface-level, or just too obvious. They’re the first draft of your creative instincts. But they aren’t worthless, they’re just not it yet. But they’re useful.

You’ve heard that tired phrase in brainstorms:

“There’s no such thing as a bad idea.”

Well. Yes, there is. Obviously. But that’s not the point.

The point is that bad, wrong, loud, or weird ideas shake things loose. They create friction. They break the seal on silence. They push you out of perfectionism and into movement. And sometimes, all it takes is one wrong idea to trip over the right one.

So, you don’t get to skip the trash. You don’t get to leap from taste to mastery without first producing piles of stuff you’d rather not look at. Drafts that go nowhere. Sketches that fall flat. Videos that feel off. It’s all trash, and it’s all required.

This is what Ira Glass meant when he talked about the gap. The distance between your killer taste and your clumsy execution is proof that you might not be there yet — but at least you care enough to try. You can see what good looks like, and that’s the gift. The problem is, your skills haven’t caught up yet.

And the only way they will is if you take out the trash. Again. And again. And again.

You have to make enough amateur, forgettable, awkward stuff that eventually, your output starts to match your vision.

You must take out the trash because it’s the thing that clears space for your best work to finally show up.

Every time you create something and release it, even if it’s not good (especially if it’s not good), you’re doing the work. You’re making room. You’re taking out the trash so your mind isn’t cluttered with doubt, and your spirit isn’t jammed up with old perfectionism.

Eventually, something shifts. Your ideas start to smell a little fresher. Your instincts sharpen. You find a rhythm. You’re still tossing plenty out, sure, but once in a while, in the middle of the heap, something clicks.

And it’s good. Like, actually good.

That’s the reward. But you don’t get it without the garbage.

So if you’re frustrated, if you’re stuck, if your work makes you wince… you’re probably doing it right.

Keep showing up. Keep putting it out. Keep taking out the trash.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

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🗃️ Indexing, Filing Systems, and the Art of Finding What You Have: Austin Kleon on how personal archives shape creative discovery.

🌌 Notes on Taste: Brie Wolfson, on how taste forms, shifts, and informs creative work.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

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I remember being about six years old, picking up the family VHS camera and trying to direct my three friends in a “Star Wars” movie I wanted to make. The footage was a total mess, nothing made sense, and everyone had their own ideas about what the characters should do. But I had an idea in my head, I picked up the camera, and I made something, without a single thought about what anyone else might think.

Before I even knew what YouTube was, I was filming survival-style videos in my backyard, dressed up in my Indiana Jones outfit, explaining to an imaginary audience how to make a bow and arrow out of sticks and string if you were ever stranded in the woods.

There was no pressure. I was just a kid with an imagination making things I wanted to see. The execution was rough, it was years before I even learned how to transfer footage to a laptop and edit with Windows Movie Maker, but that didn’t matter.

In the professional world, making something is a lot more complicated. You need buy-in, funding, a team, a six-month strategy, twelve rounds of revisions before client approval etc. Then there’s the pressure of social media, where every piece of work you share might be seen by everyone from the kid you sat next to in eighth-grade math to your mom’s friends.

All of that weight feels so different from being a kid in the backyard with a camera, or experimenting with stop motion in Windows Movie Maker.

I’ve noticed a lot of people fall into two camps:

Camp One: is made up of people who trade their creative freedom for a “creative career.” They get paid to design, film, write, or build, but it’s almost never on their terms. They end up boxed into corporate projects that don’t light them up, churning out deliverables that fit someone else’s vision. They get to call themselves “a creative,” but they don’t really get to create.

Camp Two: is made up of people who refuse to play that game. They only make the art they want to see, the way they want to make it. But they spend so much energy just trying to survive without a steady paycheck that their creative work rarely gets the time and attention it deserves. The work stays “pure”, but the artist stays broke.

These two groups don’t capture everyone, but they do describe the starting point for most people. There’s a constant push and pull between chasing a corporate career in the arts, where you risk losing your voice, and going fully independent, where money (or the lack of it) becomes its own creative barrier.

What’s interesting is that both groups are wrestling with the same problem: they aren’t making the things they really want to make. One is trapped by deadlines and client briefs; the other is trapped by survival. Both end up distant from the joy that got them creating in the first place.

The people I see actually making the things they want to make are the ones who can move fluidly between those two groups.

A 9–5 in a creative field can be incredibly valuable. You get to sharpen your craft, collaborate with other talented professionals, and practice on projects you might not even care about that much, precisely because the stakes are low. It’s a training ground, a place to build skills and discipline.

At the same time, it’s equally important to pursue your own ideas. But that doesn’t mean running yourself into the ground with a draining part-time gig and then forcing yourself to make art on empty. It means creating in a way that’s healthy and sustainable, where your energy for personal projects isn’t completely consumed by survival.

To borrow from Dr. Ian Malcolm in Jurassic Park: “Life finds a way.” Wherever you are, let what you want to make find its way out. Don’t let your ideas wither. Pay attention to the ones that bubble up and get you so excited you’re willing to drop everything, those are the ones worth chasing. Push past the fear, pick up your tools, and make something.

We often forget the carefree motivation that got us started in the first place. When I was a kid filming those backyard videos, I wasn’t worried about strategy or approval. They were for me first, and the joy came from sharing them after.

As we get older, we build barriers, reasons why we can’t or shouldn’t start. The 9–5. Or the lack of one. The fear of judgment. The fear of failure. Not knowing where to begin. There are always a million excuses. But if you’re a writer, designer, filmmaker, photographer, whatever your medium is, you probably already have a few ideas sitting in the back of your mind. Things you’ve done nothing with, not because they don’t matter, but because you’ve convinced yourself you don’t have the time, the energy, or the right conditions.

All of the people I admire, their best work stands on top of a pile of experiments, or corporate projects they quietly used as practice. They honed their skills wherever they could, then used their extra time to make the things they actually wanted to see: a website, a magazine, a short film, whatever it was.

Wherever you are professionally, focus on sharpening your skills. And then just start making things. Use the mornings before work, the evenings after, the scraps of time you usually give away. Stop waiting for the perfect conditions, they’re never coming. Take advantage of what you have right now.

Because the truth is, you don’t know which project will matter. You don’t know which small experiment will stack up into something bigger. But none of that can happen if the idea just stays in your head.

So pick one. Make it, even if it’s rough. Learn what you can and move on to the next. That’s how momentum builds. That’s how you get back to the joy of it. You can just go make things.

Keep creating and repeating
- James

🛟 The Artist as Entrepreneur: Reflections on balancing creativity, business, and self-sufficiency as an artist.

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🥇 When Your Purpose is 1 of 1: Yancey Strickler on finding meaning in uniqueness and purpose.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

This year marks the 20-year anniversary of YouTube, the OG creator platform still dominating in today’s content-obsessed world. Without YouTube, there’s no Instagram. No TikTok. No Twitch. No Substack. YouTube changed everything. The way we make, share, and even think about modern creativity started there.

As I’ve been reflecting on two decades of YouTube and, for me, over a decade of being a professional creator in this space (please don’t call me Unc), I can’t help but notice the shift that’s happened over the past eight years or so.

The “cool kids” took over.

The first ten years of YouTube were dominated by the weird kids (I say that endearingly) filming videos with their friends in bedrooms and backyards, uploading them just to see what would happen. It was one big experiment. The outcasts in the traditional world finally had a place to express themselves and find a community that got them.

I’m not saying that isn’t the case anymore. But as internet content became mainstream, younger audiences flooded in, and platforms figured out how to pay creators, the energy shifted. The creator space started to look more like the traditional world. It became polished, optimized, and full of people trying to carve out their niche side hustle.

It’s turned into one big talent show where the class-clown jock and bubbly cheerleader are still winning.

Ten years ago, when I was a video producer at BuzzFeed, a report came out saying the number-one job kids wanted when they grew up was “YouTuber.” I remember sitting in a meeting thinking, this is insane… especially considering I was sharing a two-bedroom apartment with three other dudes in North Hollywood. (For non-LA people: North Hollywood isn’t as cool as it sounds.)

Flash forward, and we’re here. Those kids, maybe even some of you reading this, are now adults. And they’ve entered the creator economy, where social media has become one big monetizable brag-a-thon instead of a playground for expression and experimentation.

And look, I’m not pointing fingers here. I’m a big part of it, too. I do plenty of self-promotion. I curate my feed. I try to make life look easy and frictionless. But here’s the truth, it’s not. Not even close.

(Shameless plug: pre-order our book.)

(Shameless plug #2: We were in The Publish Press!)

I think it’s great that the internet is mainstream. I love what it’s allowed us to build. But here’s what I don’t love: the pressure. The expectation to constantly perform, produce, and fight for attention.

Creators blame Instagram’s algorithm for killing reach, and I get it. I’ve done it too. But the thing is, Instagram has openly said the algorithm follows user behavior. In a Q&A, Instagram CEO Adam Mosseri even said you should be posting at least three times a week and showing up on Stories daily if you want to grow.

So who wins in that game?

The people who crave attention, are addicted to the dopamine loop of posting, and are loud, consistent, and shameless enough to feed the machine.

And honestly, that’s partly how we grew Create.Repeat.

But that’s also the problem.

Because somewhere along the way, that became the only game. The internet stopped rewarding experimentation. It stopped celebrating the weirdos who made something once and tossed it online for fun.

Now, when you see a viral TikTok, you click through the creator’s profile and see the exact same format, idea, and hook repeated thirty times until one finally hit the algorithm jackpot. It’s a game.

And this culture breeds something toxic.

So I’m here to say, f*** that!

If you’re scared to create because you might get rejected? F*** that!

If you spend more time comparing yourself to “successful” creators than actually making something? F*** that!

If you feel stuck, aimless, and like a failure, while feeding your brain endless content designed to make you feel worse about yourself? F***! That!

MAKE MORE OF WHAT YOU WANT TO SEE.

Not what the algorithm wants.

Not what the cool kids are doing.

Not what performs.

Make what you want.

And if you need a reminder why, Austin Butler of all people said it best on the latest SubwayTakes Uncut:

“I think embarrassment is such an underexplored emotion. The times when you make a fool of yourself or you’re humiliated — that’s when you really learn who you are. Nobody wants to feel it, but it’s the thing that makes you grow. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s essential. I actually think more people should allow themselves to be embarrassed, because it’s how you get better at being human.”

Not bad for a handsome movie star.

Check out the full video:

So go make the thing that scares you. Make the thing that might flop. Make the thing that might embarrass you.

Because that’s the only way to grow.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

🏛️ Brand Archive: A growing library of visual identities and brand guidelines from around the world.

🧳 Font Brief: A tool to help you discover fonts based on mood, personality, and style rather than technical filters.

🌌 The Forbidden Zone: An exploration of an artist’s impulse to organize inspiration through systems.

❇️ Site Inspire: A showcase of web design across the web, sorted by style, type, and subject.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check our other posts:

I was sitting in a college business development class on December 1st, 2022. ChatGPT had launched to the public just the day before, and I had it open on my laptop, shocked at how fast it could write.

Our professor started talking about the job market; socially we were still recovering from Covid, but unemployment had stabilized. Then a student in the front raised their hand and asked, “What if we can develop an AI that could do a lot of the basic jobs instead of people?” I glanced over and saw he also had ChatGPT open. The professor chuckled and replied, smiling, “Well, that’s possible… but we’re still a long, long way from that happening.”

Now, less than three years later, we’re in the middle of major disruption and uncertainty. Reports show Gen-Z unemployment rising, tariffs fueling economic unease, political tensions climbing, financial struggles as fewer people under 30 own homes, and cultural uncertainty with AI leaders like Sam Altman saying, “The entire structure of society will be up for debate and reconfiguration.”

Reading that, you might think things are headed toward despair. But I’m actually more optimistic. The past five years have been full of shake-ups, but as we look ahead, I continue to ask myself how do we keep building when everything is so uncertain?

Many of this newsletter’s readers are pursuing, or already living, a creative career. If you want to make a living from creating, and you’re honest, the odds have always been slim. Choosing a creative path has never been safe. But the truth is, pursuing anything is a risk. Even in times of so-called certainty, success is never guaranteed. You’ll hit roadblocks. You’ll make mistakes.

It’s easy to fall into the trap of thinking that if just one external factor were different, things would be better. But the path has never been obvious. No matter what you pursue, there’s always risk.

There’s a narrative out there that younger generations are more risk-averse. But if being online has taught me anything, it’s that people of all ages are taking big swings and carving their own paths. Friends of the newsletter, Creator Camp, in particular comes to mind, a group of young people taking a bold risk, trying to compete with some of the biggest names in Hollywood.

Uncertainty is part of the deal. The path was never supposed to be clear. If you want to accomplish something that you are proud of get ready to take risk regardless of the surrounding circumstances.

As someone who consumes a lot of news, I can catch myself spending way too much time thinking about things I have zero control over. Being informed matters, sure. Understanding the current climate can be useful. But there’s a tipping point where obsessing over external factors only drags down what you can actually accomplish. A New York Post survey found that 19% of respondents fall asleep worried about politics or the current political climate.

I’ve noticed that when I cut out the noise and focus on what I can control, meeting new people, swapping political podcasts for ones about the industries I want to work in, and making my own work the best it can be; I’m far more productive and proud of how I spend my days. Some of this might sound like boomer mom advice “just don’t worry about it”, but every time I fall off track, narrowing my focus back to what’s in my power helps reset me.

The truth is, we’ve all gotten really good at consuming. But how much of what we consume actually helps us make better decisions about what we want to do? If I spend more time becoming an expert in the things I can control, rather than the things I can’t, I end up making better choices.

As you keep creating, focus on the places where you actually have influence. Chances are, you already have more power than you think.

Even in the middle of uncertainty, the chance to build a creative career, or pursue a professional path that didn’t even exist a few years ago, is everywhere. It’s not all bad news. According to the U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics, marketing and creative positions currently have unemployment rates trending below the May 2025 national rate of 4.2%.

Contract work is on the rise, giving creatives more flexibility and freedom. Remote work has opened doors to opportunities you can pursue without leaving a place you love. According to another report creative economy workers continue to become better educated and better paid. And the tools to launch your own creative business have never been more accessible.

There is opportunity in the uncertainty, but you have to be willing to look for it. Explore uncharted areas. Experiment with how you find work. Take the risk of building something new. Building a career you’re passionate about should feel like an adventure, and every adventure comes with exploration.

So as the world shifts and the ground feels shaky, remember this: the path was never meant to be certain. But if you keep focusing on what you can control and stay open to new possibilities, you just might find yourself involved in something bigger than you imagined.

Keep creating and repeating,

- James

🆎 Fonts In Use: A rich, searchable archive documenting typography in real-world applications across media and industries.

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📙 How to Build Your Secret Repertoire: Tobias van Schneider on curating a personal library of references and influences to fuel creative work.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

“If you are going to be creative, you have to be in a state of play. You can’t play if you’re being careful—if you’re trying not to make mistakes. It destroys creativity completely. Because you can have a new idea, you can’t immediately say that’s a mistake until you’ve explored it.” – John Cleese

When I think about the most pivotal moments in my creative career—the opportunities that led to something bigger, the projects that stretched me, the collaborations that became lifelong partnerships—they almost always started the same way: I said yes.

Not because I knew exactly what I was getting into. Not because I had the perfect plan. I said yes because I was willing to enter a space where I didn’t have all the answers. And that space, what John Cleese calls “a state of play,” is where the real magic happens.

When you’re in that state, you’re not protecting yourself from mistakes. You’re not editing as you go. You’re not pre-screening every thought through the lens of whether it fits your brand or your existing skills. You’re allowing the possibility that something new and unexpected might show up. And if you only ever accept the ideas that feel safe, you’ll keep making the same work you’ve always made.

Recently, I’ve been watching a Netflix show called Hit Makers. It’s a behind-the-scenes look at a songwriting camp where some of the biggest names in pop music come together to create. The producers intentionally mix them into new groups every day and challenge them to write a hit song. The goal is to push people outside their comfort zones and see what happens.

What’s fascinating is how quickly you can spot who thrives in this environment. The songwriters who do best are the ones who light up at the first spark of an idea, no matter where it comes from. They don’t pause to judge whether it fits their style. They don’t try to steer the session toward what they’re used to. They jump in, start adding, start building. It’s not about their ego, it’s about the song.

Then there are the other writers. The ones who hang back. The ones who wait for an idea that matches exactly what they already do. The ones who, intentionally or not, send the message, “I’ll participate when we’re working in my lane.” Their songs tend to feel flat and predictable, like they never left the starting gate.

The difference between those two groups isn’t talent. It’s openness. It’s the willingness to say yes before you know how it will turn out.

This isn’t just a music thing. It’s also the heartbeat of improv.

(Don’t roll your eyes)

In improv, the number one rule is “Yes, and…” You accept whatever your scene partner throws at you, and then you build on it. You don’t shut it down. You don’t redirect it to something that’s more comfortable for you. You accept it as truth in the moment, and then you raise the stakes.

There’s a scene from 30 Rock that nails what happens when you do the opposite. It’s a flashback to Liz and Jenna doing improv in college. The audience suggestion is “Sling Blade and Oprah on a date.” Liz jumps in first with an obvious Sling Blade impression: “I sure do like them french-fried potaters.” And Jenna, without missing a beat, kills the momentum with, “No you don’t, Oprah.”

It’s a 10/10 joke. But it’s also a perfect example of bad improv.

And if I’m being honest, a lot of us work like Jenna. Someone offers an idea, or an opportunity comes along, and instead of playing with it, we shut it down. We want to control the direction. We want to make sure it’s aligned with our style, our strengths, and our vision. But in doing so, we cut off the very thing that might have made it interesting.

This tendency doesn’t just show up when we’re working with other people. It shows up when we’re working alone.

How many times have you had an idea pop into your head, only to immediately dismiss it? How often do you tell yourself it’s not worth pursuing before you’ve even tried? When you do that, you’re not just a bad collaborator with others; you’re a bad collaborator with yourself.

The next time you have an idea, try letting it live for five minutes before you judge it. Write down the first version. Push it a little further. See where it goes. You might find it’s not worth keeping, but you might also find it’s the start of something you never would have planned.

Saying yes doesn’t mean agreeing to everything forever. It means keeping the door open long enough to explore what’s behind it.

Safe ideas rarely surprise you. But the ones that catch you off guard, that make you nervous or excited or even a little uncomfortable, are the ones that can lead somewhere new.

Don’t “No you don’t, Oprah” your own creativity. Give it room to breathe. Say yes.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

📷 Field Mag – Photography: Film photography, photo essays, and camera guides—designed for adventure creatives who find meaning in the outdoors.

📘 IDEA Magazine No. 404: A visual deep-dive into co-creation between AI and the human mind, through modern graphic expression.

🌌 Telescope Magazine – Issue 02 An exploration of how art, technology, and human creativity are fashioning the future.

🌐 Internet Phone Book: An annual publication for exploring the vast poetic web, featuring essays, musings and a directory with the personal websites artists.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check our other posts:

There’s an idea in your head right now that won’t shut up.

You know the one. It’s been quietly sitting in the back of your mind, tugging at your attention, whispering, “Hey, maybe you should try this.” You’ve probably dismissed it a dozen times already. You’ve told yourself it’s not ready yet. That you’re not ready yet. That it’s a dumb idea. That people will laugh at you.

And yet, it’s still there.

This is your sign to do the thing.

Whatever “the thing” is for you, whether it’s a podcast, a blog, a business idea, or a weird art project you’re convinced no one will care about, it’s time to make it. Life is too short to let ideas rot in your head because you’re afraid of looking stupid, or afraid of not being good enough, or afraid of being judged simply for trying. Those fears don’t magically go away, no matter how much experience you gain. You just learn how to move through it and carry them with you without letting them stop you. That’s what nobody tells you. You think confidence comes first, but it doesn’t. You go first, and confidence comes later.

I wish I could tell you that writing a book with Penguin Random House was some magical moment of validation. That once we signed the deal, all my self-doubt evaporated and I felt like a “real” author. But the truth is, announcing the book has been one of the most anxiety-inducing moments of my creative life. I’ve never felt imposter syndrome more intensely than I do now. I’ve been a writer for years. I write this newsletter. I write other things. Writing has always been part of my creative identity. But putting out a book? Like, a physical thing that lives in bookstores and libraries and homes? A thing that claims to give people advice?

That feels different. That feels permanent. And permanent feels scary.

I keep thinking, who am I to write a book about creativity? Who am I to try to inspire people? I don’t have all the answers. I’m not some shoeless self-help guru standing on a mountain, waving a flag, shouting advice down to everyone else. I’m just a person who’s trying to figure it out, just like you are. Morgan and I didn’t write this book from a place of expertise. We wrote it while climbing out of a hole. We wrote it in real-time, as we were dealing with every doubt, every setback, every “maybe this isn’t working” conversation. It started as almost a daily diary, where we’d unload our frustrations about the creative process and how mentally exhausting it can be to keep pushing through when no one’s paying attention yet.

Most of the book was written during quiet walks with our dog at night or over weekend coffees when it was just the two of us, talking about how hard it is to stay motivated when the finish line feels invisible. That’s the version of creativity people don’t see. The unglamorous, tedious, emotionally draining version. And that’s why announcing the book felt so vulnerable. Because the moment you share something with the world, it stops being yours. People will take it and project their own opinions onto it. Some will love it, some will criticize it, and most will scroll past it and never think about it again. You can’t control any of that. You just have to live with it.

And letting go of control is the hardest part of the creative process. You have to be strong enough to not be defined by how people receive your work. You have to separate your identity from their feedback, good or bad. That’s the trade-off. You get to bring an idea to life, but in exchange, you have to be willing to let go of how it’s perceived.

I’ve always said that the process is for you, and the final product is for them. And now, I’m living that in real-time. I’m mourning the creative process of writing that secret project that only Morgan and I knew about. The thing that dominated our walks, weekends, dinners, and sleepless nights. The private joy of building something that wasn’t public yet. Now that it’s out there, it belongs to everyone else.

That’s how it’s supposed to be, but it’s still a weird emotional shift.

Getting to this point required us to believe in the project before anyone else did. Our families didn’t believe us when we said we were writing a book, and it wasn’t because they didn’t support us; it was because it wasn’t real to them yet. It wasn’t until they saw the Penguin Random House logo on our Instagram post that they fully understood. That’s how creative work goes. You have to carry the vision by yourself in the beginning. You have to nurture it when it’s fragile and no one else can see it. You have to keep going through all the doubts, all the crickets, all the quiet days where you wonder if this is a giant waste of time.

Eventually, the world catches up. But the belief has to start with you.

So yes, this is a plug to pre-order our book. But more importantly, this is a reminder that you don’t need permission to start the thing you’ve been putting off. You don’t need more validation. You don’t need to feel “ready.” You just need to take the first step, knowing full well that it’s going to feel awkward and uncomfortable and maybe even pointless at times. That’s the price of admission.

Morgan and I wrote a book. That feels surreal to even type. But we did it. We aren’t geniuses; we just kept going. That’s really all it takes. You have to be willing to look a little foolish, to be misunderstood, and to trust in your own vision long before anyone else gets it.

So go make the thing.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

P.S. You can pre-order Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity here. It’s currently the UK version, with the US version open for pre-orders a little closer to the November 27 release date.

P.P.S Thank you so much for the kind words already. Happy to be part of this community :)

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📜 In Search of Beautiful Books: Medieval manuscripts examined through the lens of modern graphic design.

📓 The Kool‑Aid Factory: Zines on how organizations coordinate, communicate, and build systems.

🗣 Clear Communication: Behind every successful design project is a foundation of clear communication.

🙂 Metalabel: A platform for creators to release work together and share value.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

It’s called Create.Repeat: 365 Days of Creativity, and we’re thrilled to be partnering with Penguin Random House to bring it into the world.

This project has been years in the making. My wife, Morgan, and I poured our hearts into every page. This book is deeply personal to us, and our biggest hope is that it finds you right where you are.

Pre-Order Create.Repeat

The truth is, this book was born out of struggle.

A few years ago, I hit a wall. I was dealing with severe depression. Rejection after rejection had worn me down, and I was ready to walk away from it all. So I stopped creating. I thought stepping back would help me feel better, but it only made things worse.

Everything started to shift when I returned to what made me feel most alive…

Creating and repeating.

When we started Create.Repeat, we made a commitment to make something every day. Not for likes. Not for followers. Just for the joy of it. I stuck to that rhythm for a full year, and it changed my life.

My confidence came back. New opportunities showed up. I reconnected with that stubborn, beautiful, painful thing we call the creative process.

Create.Repeat became more than a practice. It became a mantra.

Keep going. Keep making.

Don’t wait for inspiration. Don’t chase perfection.

Just show up. Do it again. And again.

This book is 365 daily entries: pep talks, prompts, reflections, and gentle perspective shifts, all designed to help you push through the doubt and keep creating.

If you’ve been following this journey with us, thank you. This book is for you.

And there’s one more big piece of news. Create.Repeat releases on November 27, 2025. That just happens to be the same day our baby is due!

We still can’t believe the timing. It’s going to be a BIG day.

The book is available for pre-order now in the UK. A US version is coming soon.

Pre-Order Create.Repeat

We’ll be sharing more about it in the coming months. We hope you’ll grab a copy for yourself or for someone who needs a creative spark. Most of all, we hope it brings a bit of encouragement when it’s needed most.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

The second you start expecting something from creativity is when you lose.

It’s a subtle trap, and it doesn’t feel like one at first. You sit down to write or paint or film or sketch, and some part of you is already looking for the payoff. A spark. A breakthrough. A sign that this is the idea that will “change everything.” But creativity doesn’t respond to need. It doesn’t feed off ambition. In fact, the hungrier you are for a result, the quieter it gets.

And that’s what makes creative work so brutal to pursue seriously. You’re agreeing to tap into this elusive, invisible force day after day, without any guarantee it’ll meet you there. Creativity can come in a flash, or it can creep in slowly. Most days, it doesn’t show up at all. If you’re someone who makes things, you know exactly what I mean. You can show up faithfully and still walk away empty-handed.

Back when I was at BuzzFeed, I didn’t have time to worry about any of this. It was creative chaos, and somehow I thrived in it. It felt like the millennial version of SNL—every Monday started with a full-on panic attack and zero ideas. But by Wednesday, a video had to be live, and my next one already in pre-production. Period. There wasn’t time to wait for inspiration. I had to start with nothing and trust that something would show up. Every. Single. Week.

Some of my best work came from that pressure. It was like there was a metaphorical gun to my head every week, and that urgency forced me into flow. Lorne Michaels has a great quote about SNL:

“The show doesn’t go on because it’s ready. It goes on because it’s 11:30.”

That was my life for 5 years. Panic, then publish.

But now, working for myself, the stakes feel different. I have time. And weirdly, that makes it harder. Time to overthink. Time to second-guess. When I made the shift from viral videos to TV writing, the writing wasn’t just about making something funny or smart; it felt like my shot at a better life. Every sentence suddenly carried weight. Every draft felt like a test.

That’s where I messed up.

When you start expecting something from your creativity—when you need it to open a door, fix your life, prove your worth—you put a pressure on it that it can’t survive under. You’re no longer creating to connect. You’re creating to control.

Actors in LA know this feeling intimately. If you’ve ever auditioned for something you needed to book because rent was due, or your savings were gone, you know how that desperation seeps into the performance. It’s two minutes to prove you’re worth hiring. And if the part is in a pilot that looks promising, you’re already fantasizing about a new car or finally moving out of your shitty apartment. You’re not acting anymore. You’re begging. And the camera sees it. It always sees it.

It’s the same with creativity. When you chase results, you lose the magic. The joy gets replaced by calculation. The excitement turns into anxiety. What started as a playground becomes a performance review. And when the algorithm changes, or the audience drifts, or you hit a dry spell, it feels like you failed because you were counting on it to deliver something it never promised.

You didn’t fail. You just got disconnected. You forgot why you started.

The good news is you can get it back. The spark. The freedom. The weird joy of making stuff that doesn’t make sense yet. But it won’t come from trying harder. It comes from stepping back. From remembering the kid in you who made videos or songs or stories for no one but yourself. Who didn’t care about monetization or engagement or agents or virality. Who was just playing.

Creativity is a collaboration with yourself. A relationship. And like any relationship, it needs trust and space, not pressure and conditions. If all you ever do is demand something from it, it will close up. But if you protect it, if you create space for it, if you show up without expectations, it’ll come back to you.

And when it does, protect it. Not just from the internet. Not just from deadlines. But from yourself. From your own hunger to make it mean more than it does. Because creativity isn’t just a transaction. It’s a gift. And not everyone deserves access to it.

Don’t create because you want something back. Create because it’s how you stay connected to who you are.

And trust that when you’re ready, and when it’s ready, something beautiful will come through.

Keep creating and repeating.

Zack

📚 Design Books by Stripe Press: Design books for non-designers, recommended by the Stripe Design Team.

✍️ Words as Material – Nicole Fenton: An essay that explores writing as an essential design tool.

🎨 30 Lessons from Art, Business & Life: Personal reflections on creativity, entrepreneurship, and finding your authentic voice as a public artist.

🧩 Sections.wtf: A gallery of cool web page sections, hero headers, footers, forms, pricing tables, perfect for design inspiration.

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

There’s probably a project sitting in the back of your mind. An idea you care about so much that starting feels risky, what if it doesn’t turn out the way you hoped? Or maybe you’re just too busy to give it the attention it deserves.

But the truth is, you should probably just start.

For better or worse, the way we’re perceived professionally is largely shaped by what we share online. Our Instagram feed, LinkedIn profile, or personal website. These platforms can feel limiting, like you're expected to distill your entire personality and creative range into a few curated tiles and a LinkedIn bio.

There’s a temptation to spend far too much time thinking about these things. However, as I continue to work and have conversations with others who are undertaking incredible projects, they all share one similar piece of advice.

Sounds easy, but it can be really difficult, leading to thoughts like, “What do I actually want to do?” or “I’m not at the level I want to be yet, so I’ll just wait.”

But the artists and creatives you admire have made a lot of things they didn’t love. Projects that were revised beyond recognition. Passion pieces that never landed. Client work they took just to pay the bills. Their online presence might look pristine, but just like yours, it’s curated, not complete.

It’s far better to spend your time perfecting your craft, learning the tools, making the work you want to see more of, putting it out there, and then starting the process all over again.

Start.
Put pen to paper, finger to mouse, idea to instrument. If you use your creative skills for work, it’s easy to reserve that energy only for your job. But if you’re not doing the kind of work you love on the clock, find outlets elsewhere. Little side projects that keep you inspired.

Do it well.
Everyone starts somewhere, but that doesn’t mean you should stay there.
So many ideas die on the learning curve, when your skills can’t yet match the concept in your head. The only way through that is to keep going. Spend time on your own projects. Do them well. It’s long and it’s difficult, but if you’re working on things you love, you’ll get better. Eventually, your skills will catch up to your ideas.

Stay consistent.
This is the part where I could give some generic advice like, “It takes six months to build a habit and years to master a skill.” But seriously, it takes time to get even halfway decent at anything. And if you’re just starting, chances are you’re not that great at it yet. But that’s okay. That’s part of the process. Share your process, the learning curves, and how you got through them.

Get Paid (If Possible).
I think creative people should be paid for their work. That said, the paid work won’t always look the way you want it to. And that’s okay. It might feel weird, even wrong, to take on a project you’re not passionate about, but sometimes it’s worth doing if it helps you learn.

If you can get paid to pick up a new tool or sharpen a skill that brings you closer to the kind of work you want to make, that’s a win. And if we’re honest, it’s a lot easier to make time for creativity when work is helping pay the bills.

There are so many people who need creative help. Even if the brief isn’t exciting, treat it like a challenge. How can you make it fun? What can you learn from it? That’s the job, too. Be creative, even when the project isn’t.

If you get the chance to meet someone whose work you admire, ask them about all the things they’ve made that no one’s ever seen. You’ll probably find out the portfolio you admire is built on a pile of unfinished drafts, scrapped concepts, and quiet failures. Stuff they never posted. Stuff they weren’t proud of. Insert generic iceberg graphic with the portfolio on top and all the messy work underneath.

Ask if they’ve ever taken a gig just for the paycheck. They’ll probably say yes.
The people you admire aren’t some perfect creative class. They’re just people who kept going. They’ve just put in the time and discipline to make something out of their endeavors.

That’s the key. You’ll make things you don’t like. You’ll look back on something that once felt great and cringe. But that’s how it works. Every project you regret is another rep. Another lesson. Another step closer to the kind of work you actually want to be doing.

Yes, it’s scary. But sharing your work has always been part of the creative process. Long before the internet, artists still had to put themselves out there. They hung their paintings in galleries. Musicians played open mics. Writers made zines and handed them out one by one. Journalists had to find publishers. If you wanted to create for a living, you had to find a way to be seen.

Now, the reach is bigger. What used to take years of gatekeepers and good luck can now happen online much quicker. Social media can feel like a burden. Like another job, another algorithm to please. But at its core, it’s just a tool. It gives you the ability to put your work in front of more people than any generation before you could even dream of.

You don’t need to be viral. But you do need to be visible.

If you want to do more of your craft, especially as a career, you have to put it out there. Not just any work, but the work. The kind you want to be known for. Share it in a way that feels honest. You don’t need to mimic trends or chase engagement. You just need to show up, consistently, with something real.

Be honest. Be consistent. Be generous with your ideas. And over time, people will notice. They’ll start to associate you with that kind of work. They might ask to collaborate. They might even pay you for it.

But none of that can happen if you keep it all to yourself.

Keep creating and repeating,

- James

🗓️ How to Finally Make Something: A breakdown of the traps creatives fall into, and a guide to actually starting and finishing your work.

🛞 Michelin Man: Graphic design inspiration from the history of the Michelin Man. A brand character that has evolved with the mediums available.

🎨 The Matter of Taste: “Taste is cultivated by a natural curiosity for a problem space.”

🔴 Alright Studio: A full-service creative-tech agency behind work for A24, USAL Project, and more.

Creative Rebels

This week, Create.Repeat founder Zack Evans sat down with David Speed, host of Creative Rebels. Tune in as they dive into the dark arts of going viral and explore what it really means to find your purpose.

Creative Rebels

216 - I was Famous and I Gave It All Up - with Zack Evans // Create Repeat

There seems to be a mini-theme of ‘finding yourself’ on the podcast at the moment…

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10 months ago · 5 likes · 1 comment · David Speed and Create.Repeat

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

Ugly emotions come with the territory when you’re chasing a creative life. No one tells you that part. It’s not just doubt or burnout, it’s something even sneakier. Especially during a dry spell, when nothing seems to be working, one emotion tends to creep in louder than the rest…

Jealousy.

I’ve heard the quote “Comparison is the thief of joy” probably a thousand times. And sure, it’s easy to nod along when everything’s going well, when you’re in your groove, posting wins, and making progress. But when you’re stuck and feel like a failure? When your ideas aren’t clicking and your confidence is shrinking? That’s when comparison creeps in, and it doesn’t stay harmless for long.

It festers. It mutates. What started as comparison soon calcifies into jealousy.

And if you try to create from that place, your work will feel hollow. It might look polished on the surface, but it won’t sound like you. That’s chasing, not creating.

But the secret is, jealousy isn’t always the villain. In fact, if you learn to listen to it, jealousy might just be the thing that propels you toward your next creative breakthrough.

Jealousy isn’t random.

It feels like it is, though. It hits out of nowhere—scrolling through social media, hearing about a friend’s big opportunity, watching someone accomplish something you’ve barely dared to admit you want. Suddenly, there’s that tightness in your chest. You think, Why not me? And almost immediately, you feel guilty for even feeling that way.

But jealousy is directional. It points somewhere.

I remember exactly when this hit me. I was in a rough creative stretch of half-written scripts, scattered ideas everywhere, and nothing finished. Then one morning, I saw a post from a friend announcing they’d just sold a TV show.

I won’t lie, that jealousy hit hard. I closed Instagram in disgust, spiraling. Why them? Why not me? I wanted to be happy for them, but underneath, I felt that gnawing, hollow jealousy.

Later that day, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. But instead of brushing it off, I sat with it. And the answer wasn’t that they didn’t deserve it, they absolutely did. In fact, the more I thought about it, the more I realized they’d been working harder than me for years. They weren’t just dreaming about selling a show; they were finishing scripts, pitching relentlessly, taking rejection after rejection, and showing up again.

The real reason I was jealous wasn’t because they got lucky. It was because they had the discipline and follow-through I’d been avoiding. My jealousy wasn’t about them at all. It was about me and my unfinished scripts, half-hearted efforts, and fear of really committing.

That was the first time I started to see jealousy as something useful. A clue.

Psychologists have actually studied this. Niels van de Ven and his colleagues distinguish between benign envy and malicious envy. Benign envy—the kind that motivates you to improve—leads to what they call “moving‑up motivation,” while malicious envy drives you to pull others down. That gut-punch feeling you get when you see someone else’s success isn’t just noise, it’s a clue pointing toward what you secretly want. Benign envy says, Yes, that’s what I want too. If they can do it, maybe I can too.

But most of us are taught to treat jealousy like a dirty secret. We panic, shut it down, and miss the message it’s trying to deliver.

What if you treated jealousy like a map?

Instead of running from it, ask: What is this really pointing me toward? What does this success represent to me?

You shouldn’t copy someone else’s path. But you should be gathering honest, sometimes uncomfortable, information about what you’re really hungry for, and what you’ve been too afraid to pursue.

Every time you feel that sharp pang, you’re being handed a clue. You can either slam the door on it, or you can follow it.

Jealousy tricks you into believing there’s only room for one winner.

That’s why it feels so personal when someone around you succeeds. It feels like the door just slammed shut behind them, leaving you outside. But every win you witness isn’t a closed door. It’s an open one. It’s proof that what you want is possible.

We tend to see success as scarce, like there’s a limited number of seats at the table. But creative careers rarely work like that. In fact, success often expands possibilities for everyone around it.

I’ve seen this firsthand. I’ve watched friends sell shows or sign big deals. In the moment, it stings, of course it does. But every one of those moments has also shifted my thinking. They expanded the size of the room. Suddenly, something I’d filed away as a distant dream wasn’t so distant anymore. It was right there, happening to someone I knew, someone who had once been exactly where I was.

If it’s possible for them, it’s possible for me too.

This is where jealousy quietly transforms. What starts as bitterness can become possibility.

You can see someone else’s win as something they took from you. Or you can see it as evidence. Evidence that the thing you want is real, attainable, and already within reach.

But this shift takes intention. You have to let go of the story that says success is a zero-sum game. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t proof you’re behind, it’s proof that what you want is possible.

Your proximity to success isn’t an accident. If someone in your circle has reached that next level, chances are you’re closer to it than you think.

Jealousy is energy.

It feels draining, but only if you let it sit stagnant. At its core, jealousy is just a surge of focus, longing, and attention. It’s heat. And like any heat, you have a choice. You can let it burn you up, or you can learn to harness it.

You already know what happens if you let jealousy fester. It spirals into self-pity, bitterness, and paralysis. But what if, instead of drowning in it, you used jealousy as fuel?

Whenever it creeps in, ask yourself:

Maybe it’s finishing that script. Maybe it’s reaching out for advice. Maybe it’s just taking a tiny, concrete step toward momentum.

Jealousy can also fuel curiosity. Instead of obsessing over why them, ask how them. What do they consistently do? How do they handle setbacks? What risks are they taking that you’re avoiding? Not to copy them, but to learn what it really takes.

Instead of letting jealousy make you small, let it make you bold. Let it push you out of your comfort zone and into the work.

Because in the end, jealousy isn’t your enemy. It’s just information. A flashing arrow, pointing toward the places inside you that still want more. More freedom, more creativity, more growth.

And you get to choose what you do with that information.

You can shrink from it.

Or you can rise to meet it.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

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📗 Book-like things, Paper devices: Inventions and artwork that resemble books or paper.

🌐 The Index: A curated online gallery with design studios, designers, type foundries, and other creatives worldwide.

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Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Subscribe now

Check out some of our other posts:

Everyone has a graveyard of projects that died simply because they saw someone else doing something that distracted them from their current endeavor. You get started on something, just to see someone who’s probably a lot better than you are make something cooler than what you’re trying. Suddenly, you feel like you need a new idea.

Going from motivated to unmotivated can happen so fast, and it usually comes from some external input you didn’t even know existed before. I’ve found myself in this place a lot recently. Something I want to start excites me, but then I get pulled toward a new idea or concept, sometimes without even getting started on the original one.

Earlier this month, I got married (highly recommend). I intentionally took some time away from the online world. Email, phone, even Substack were turned off. Taking a break from everything to enjoy getting married was awesome. But I hadn’t realized how much input I’d been dealing with. The big day came, and suddenly all the noise stopped. I could actually focus on the things that mattered.

Whatever you’re pursuing, you have to learn when to turn off the noise and follow through on the things that actually matter. All the input, self-criticism, and distracting ideas are self-inflicted. They come from a place of fear that you’re wasting your time on what you’re working on, that your attention should be somewhere else.

“Imitation is the best form of flattery” or “steal like an artist” are things I hear often and have even said myself. But there’s so much out there to try and copy or imitate that, at least for me, it gets overwhelming. You start a project, then see someone else doing something cooler, and now all your motivation to finish the thing you were working on disappears.

The best inspiration just becomes noise when you’re so overloaded you can’t tell the good from the mediocre. If you’re not channeling that inspiration somewhere, if you’re not using it to make something or to actually finish a project, then it just swirls around in your head with nowhere to go. Then it’s just noise.

I often scroll or explore online with the excuse that I’m looking to be inspired. Sometimes that’s true. But more often than not, I end up finding validation for the self-doubt that says the thing I’m working on is a waste of time and I should stop and try something else.

That’s when it’s time to turn down the noise.

It’s no secret that it’s becoming increasingly difficult to pay attention. A study from Cambridge University just came out discussing the “accumulation of cognitive debt” when using tools like ChatGPT to write essays. There are so many tasks no where one can easily get by with a prompt and a copy-paste, then keep scrolling to fill our heads with even more noise.

But your attention is still yours to control.

With feeds that are perfectly curated to our tastes, it’s easy to get stuck in a loop. We end up constantly being inspired by everything we see without ever taking action. We push ourselves into an inspiration echo chamber.

Something I’ve been trying to do lately is take what actually inspires me seriously, then tune down the rest. This takes intentionality and organization, but it helps. Find the work that really moves you and hold onto it. Don’t let it just get buried with every other Pinterest screenshot or saved reel.

If you’re stuck between starting a million projects because they all sound exciting, just pick one. Start. See it through. Finish it. You’ll be better off completing one thing than letting them all die in the graveyard of decent ideas you never started.

Maybe I’m just speaking for myself, but once you do start, try your best to turn down the outside input. The feeds, the other ideas you’re having, your own self-doubt. Tune it out. Push through. Then decide what you think when you’re looking at a finished project.

Start by making space for your own voice again. That might mean logging off for a bit, even just long enough to remember why you cared in the first place.

Then pick something and commit. Not because it’s the best idea or the most impressive, but because it’s the one that’s yours. The one that feels worth finishing.

And while you work, protect your attention. Guard it like it matters, because it does. You don’t need every new idea, every new trend, every new piece of content swirling around in your head. You just need room to make.

Everything else can wait.

Keep creating and repeating,
- James

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🚴‍♂️ Designing Friction: A call to reconsider ease. This essay explores the overlooked value of friction in product, design, and life.

🏢 Artist Corporations An interesting proposal for “A‑Corps”: legal structures that empower creators with equity, community ownership, and long‑term control.

🎨 Todd Durkee – Wild Durkee Art Director at REI with a human-centric approach. His art and illustrations are pleasant and enjoyable.

🛠 How to Make Something Great “true greatness emerges not from any single stroke of genius, but from a careful cultivation of potential.”

This week, we’re spotlighting Nathan Graber-Lipperman, the editor-in-chief of Creator Mag, an indie print and digital magazine on a mission to make the internet feel smaller. His work captures the voices of rising tastemakers shaping culture online—story by story, gathering by gathering.

We asked Nathan for a piece of advice that has shaped his creative journey. Here’s what he shared:

“Know the person you're interviewing better than they know themselves.”

Nathan is building something special with Creator Mag, a publication that blends cultural commentary with deep, human storytelling.

Go check out their Substack here:

Creator Mag

A Crash Course on Hank & John Green 🍏

I’ve been keeping this reveal close to the chest for a while now, but I’m honestly still dumbfounded every time I say these words out loud. Hank and John Green—the authors, VidCon founders, “Crash Course” creators, and, above all else, (Vlog)brothers—are…

Read more

a year ago · 9 likes · Nate Graber-Lipperman

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

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You can’t make anything honest without lying to yourself first.

The creative process doesn’t start with confidence. It starts with make-believe. You lie to yourself just enough to get moving, and hope the truth catches up later.

That’s the part no one really talks about. Not in the TED Talks, not in the productivity guides from Instagram gurus, not in the self-help books about flow state and morning routines. The creative process, for all its aura and romanticism, is a scam. There’s nothing inherently false about it. But to even begin, you have to believe something that isn’t true yet.

There’s a quote I keep coming back to, one I’ve had to learn the hard way:

No one starts making something because they’re overflowing with confidence. That’s a myth. Most of the time, you’re just sitting there, staring at the thing. Blank page. Empty canvas. A screen that’s already judged you. Trying to talk yourself into starting. You tell yourself a story you don’t fully believe. That this might matter. That it might actually work. That maybe, if you stick with it long enough, something good could come out the other side.

It’s not vision or discipline or even inspiration that gets you going. It’s pretending. Pretending you know what you’re doing. Pretending the effort is worth it. Pretending that this stupid little half-baked idea might eventually turn into something tangible.

We call this imposter syndrome and tell each other to fight it, fix it, or push through it. But what if it’s not a flaw in the process, but it’s the process itself? Confidence is crafted, not discovered. You don’t find it, you fake it until the work makes it true.

This is the part we rarely admit.

Creative people aren’t more confident than others. If anything, they’re just more practiced at faking it. They’ve learned how to move under uncertain conditions, to work with shaky hands and oxymoronic thoughts. And eventually, if the work is consistent enough or resonant enough or simply survives long enough, it starts to talk back. It begins to justify itself. The performance of belief becomes something close to real belief.

That’s what makes it feel like a scam. You’re betting on something that doesn’t exist yet. You have to suspend your own disbelief before you ask anyone else to. And that suspension is the real work, not the typing or sketching or editing, but the part where you choose to believe.

You’re the first person it has to convince.

And even then, after all that, you’re not guaranteed anything. Not success or clarity. Not even satisfaction. Sometimes the thing flops, sometimes it almost works. Sometimes it just sits there, unfinished, daring you to try again.

But none of that means it wasn’t real or that it wasn’t worth it.

The real scam is waiting until you’re certain. That version of you never shows up. The one who feels ready. Who knows exactly what to say. Who’s no longer afraid. That person is a ghost.

So you learn to move without them.

You lie to yourself, just enough to begin. And if you’re lucky, or just stubborn, the work slowly makes a liar out of your doubt.

Just start the scam.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

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Some Personal News

We’re having a baby!

Most of you probably don’t know me, but this felt like a good time to reintroduce myself and my wife and cofounder, Morgan. We’re really excited for this next creation!

Someone commented on our announcement, “Mom and Dad created and repeated.” We couldn’t have said it better.

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🧠 The Subtext Resource Library: A curated stack of websites, brands, and articles from the worlds of design, business, and storytelling.

🧸 Brian Moore: An artist designing cultural provocations that playfully comment on modern life.

🔧 Fictive Kin – Web Systems: Big thoughts on small tools. This microsite explores how structure, aesthetics, and clarity intersect in modern web-building.

🏀 NBA Uniform Tracker: A look at the data behind the increasingly vibrant (and maybe a little confusing) landscape of NBA jerseys.

Know someone writing on Substack?
We’re always looking to feature more voices from the community in our Talent Show section. If you or someone you know are using this platform to share your creativity, fill out the form below. We’d love to see what you’re working on.

Submit For Talent Show

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Check out some of our other posts:

If your Notes app doesn’t look like a manifesto written during a caffeine blackout, are you even trying?

Mine’s a fever dream. It looks like a mix between the Zodiac killer and the most pretentious film school kid you’ve ever met. It’s fragments of thoughts, voice memos I don’t remember recording, autocorrected nonsense, and cryptic one-liners like “make it hurt but make it mean something.” My desktop is full of files like “REAL_draft_final_final2_TRUSTME.” Actually, here’s a real screenshot of my desktop.

This is the part of the creative process no one glamorizes. We talk about creativity like it’s all clarity. Like one day you’re hit with a lightning bolt of inspiration, and the next, your masterpiece is complete and you’re off to the next thing. But most of the time, creativity feels like decoding a language you’re inventing as you go. You’re scribbling in the dark, trying to find it. Flinching at your own annoying voice and still forcing it out anyway.

It’s not pretty. It’s not meant to be. This is the middle—the part that doesn’t get posted, but the part that makes the end possible.

Ugly is the middle. And most of life happens in the middle.

There’s this quiet lie baked into the way we talk about success, creativity, healing, whatever—the idea that you’re either stuck or you’ve made it. Either lost or found. But the middle is where it actually happens. The middle is where things are still wobbly and unclear. Where you’re unsure, inconsistent, or uncomfortable. It’s not linear. It’s not graceful. But it’s where you build the thing, become the person, and shape the story.

We don’t post the middle because it doesn’t come with clean edges. It’s not screenshot-worthy. It’s hard to summarize the season of life where you’re not quite falling apart, but definitely not put together either. Where you’re still figuring it out, or maybe you’ve been “figuring it out” for years.

But the middle is honest. It’s where your work starts having fingerprints. It’s where your life starts having substance. It’s not optimized or “aesthetic”. It’s real.

And somewhere in the middle of the rambling notes, unsent emails, awkward drafts, and hard conversations, you start to recognize the shape of something that matters. Something that wasn’t there before. Something that had to be earned, not just discovered.

We love things that look effortless.

That poem that feels like it was written in one breath. That photo that looks like it just happened to catch the light. That performance that feels relaxed, natural, and fluid. But the smoother something looks on the outside, the more likely it’s been sanded down by hours of invisible, unglamorous work.

What we’re really seeing isn’t ease, it’s editing. Practice. Repetition. The accumulation of tiny moments where someone could’ve quit, but didn’t. The only reason something looks effortless is because someone suffered through the part you’re in right now.

We forget that because most people are smart enough not to show us the bloopers. The breakdowns. The multiple deleted drafts. All we see is the highlight, so we assume they’re just better than us. More talented, more inspired, more certain. But that’s the illusion. We confuse the end result with the process, and end up thinking there’s something wrong with ours.

But here’s the thing: ease is not the same as skill. Real skill is being able to tolerate the ugly part long enough to shape something that eventually feels inevitable. You don’t get there by skipping the hard parts; you get there by walking through them so many times they stop scaring you.

So if it feels hard right now, if it feels clumsy, if you’re staring at something that feels like it’s never going to click… good. That means you’re in it. That means you’re doing it. The work doesn’t get easier. You just get better at surviving the ugly parts.

Some of the best things I’ve ever made were born out of embarrassment, not excellence.

It’s easy to romanticize progress when you’re looking backward. You trace a clean arc and pretend you knew what you were doing the whole time. But in the moment, it rarely feels brave. It feels awkward. It feels loud. It feels like something you’ll regret posting. You don’t feel like someone stepping into their purpose. You feel like someone oversharing on the internet at 2 a.m.

But shame is a weird kind of fuel. It tells you where the edge is. It shows you where you care. If you can stay with it long enough, if you don’t run from it or disguise it, it usually means you’re close to something true.

We spend so much energy trying not to look foolish that we forget something important. Looking foolish is how you start to sound like yourself. You don’t find your voice by getting it right. You find it by getting it wrong enough times to know the difference.

That’s the part no one can shortcut. Not the confident artist. Not the successful founder. Not the person whose work you secretly compare yours to. The only way out is through. You have to write the bad version before the good one. You have to say the wrong thing before you understand what the right thing even is.

It’s not fun. It’s not cute. But it’s necessary.

If you wait until the work is uncringe, unembarrassing, and perfectly articulate—you’ll be waiting forever.

We keep asking, “When will it be ready?”

Maybe the better question is, “When will I be brave enough to show it?”

That’s the hard part. Letting something be seen while it’s still in motion. Sharing the version that feels uncertain, unfinished, and maybe even a little off. But also real. And alive. And honest in a way the polished version might never be.

The internet rewards polish. Real life rewards persistence.

If you’re waiting to feel totally sure about your work, your voice, or your choices, you’ll wait forever. Readiness is a myth. Clarity usually comes after the leap, not before.

So no, your Notes app isn’t supposed to make sense yet. That doesn’t mean you’re failing. That means you’re in it.

The goal was never perfection. The goal was to try anyway.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

P.S.

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🏀 Courts: Every outdoor basketball court in the U.S., mapped. A massive visual project combining public data and design.

🤖 Machines Will Not Replace Us: A short essay on the limits of AI and why the messy, imperfect parts of creativity still matter.

🛠️ AppStacks: A site highlighting well-built apps and the stories behind them. No flexing, just the tools and thinking that went into making something good.

🍷 Wine Animals: A combination of data and web design exploring the correlation between animals on wine labels and the cost or quality of the bottle.

Know someone writing on Substack?
We’re always looking to feature more voices from the community in our Talent Show section. If you or someone you know are using this platform to share your creativity, fill out the form below. We’d love to see what you’re working on.

Submit For Talent Show

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Check out some of our other posts:

Just as a reminder, Take It or Leave It is for paid subscribers. We’ll be pausing paid subscriptions for the next month so I can take some time to recharge. We’ll be back soon with your questions and some fresh creative advice.

Thanks so much for your support and patience.

A few months ago, I came across this quote:

I haven’t stopped thinking about it since. Because that’s what it feels like most of the time. Not “I did it,” but more like “this is all I’ve got.” It’s rarely a proud moment. It’s usually quiet, a little frustrating, and honestly, kind of painful. Not a triumphant ending, just the moment you let go.

Surrender.

That’s the thing about creating. You have to surrender to the work, to the process, and to your ego. I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately—especially the moments when something isn’t working and I keep pushing anyway. Or when I’m trying to force a version of an idea that no longer feels right. Or when I’m so tired I can’t even remember what I was chasing in the first place.

Surrender shows up everywhere in the creative process. At the beginning, when you finally stop planning and just start. In the middle, when your perfect vision falls apart and you have to adjust. At the end, when you realize you could keep tweaking it forever, but it’s time to move on.

One of the hardest lessons I’ve had to learn is that my plan isn’t always the best one. And as a creative who tries to control everything, that’s a tough pill to swallow. I used to get so locked into this version of success I had in my head that if something didn’t match it, I’d ignore it. I’d let opportunities pass me by because I couldn’t see how they fit. At the time, I told myself it was about staying true to the vision, but really, I was scared. Scared to pivot. Scared to look lost. Scared to admit I didn’t know how it was going to play out.

But the version in your head rarely matches the version that ends up working. That’s why I love what Kamasi Washington said in a video we made last year:

”Be stubborn with your dream. Be flexible with how you get there.”

That’s where I’m at right now. Still committed to the dream, but not obsessed with controlling how it happens. Still making and still caring, but holding it all a little more loosely.

Most burnout, at least for me, doesn’t come from doing too much. It comes from forcing something that doesn’t want to be forced. That might be a project. Or a pace. Or an identity you’ve outgrown. You’re not tired because you’re working hard. You’re tired because you’re fighting your own creative process.

Surrender sounds beautiful in theory. But in practice, it’s brutal. It feels like quitting. Failure. Like walking away from something you thought you were supposed to push through. But sometimes surrender is the only way forward. Not quitting, just loosening the grip enough to hear what the work is actually trying to say.

That’s where I am right now. Trying to listen better. Trying to trust more. Trying to remember that creativity is alive, and it’s not something you control—it’s something you trust, and that trust doesn’t come from knowing the outcome, it comes from showing up.

So if you’re stuck or burnt out or questioning whether what you’re making is even worth it… same. You’re not alone. But maybe the next right step isn’t to push harder. Maybe it’s to breathe, release, and begin again.

When you stop gripping the work so tightly, it starts to move again. New ideas show up, joy creeps back in, and the pressure lifts. And you remember—this is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Alive. Honest. Yours.

Surrender is the creative process.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

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🧮 Life Weeks: "Sometimes life seems really short, and other times it seems impossibly long. But this chart helps to emphasize that it's most certainly finite. Those are your weeks and they're all you've got."

💡 Double Click: Does Efficiency Kill Love?: An essay from Figma “On the rocket ship that is AI, having a human at the helm is critical.”

🧠 The "Contentification" of Marketing: A longform breakdown of how marketing has shifted and what that means for the future of brand strategy.

🪙 Flip a Real Coin: A website where you can flip a real coin. That’s it, I just love that someone built this.

This week we’re excited to highlight Amanda McCreight, an Artist, Creative Director, and writer from Long Island, New York. In her Substack, she’s offering advice and sharing lessons from her own experience in the professional world.

A piece of advice that’s shaped her journey:
“Don’t be afraid to start. Inexperience can be your superpower. If no one is telling you how to do your job, there’s a guarantee that you’ll do it differently than everyone else.”

Check out one of her favorite pieces:

Live Life Extraordinary - with Amanda McCreight

#2: How to Get the Job Everyone is Going For

New York City, May 2018…

Read more

a year ago · 6 likes · 23 comments · Amanda McCreight

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

“When you have a creative mind, you’re gonna doubt a lot of things. Insecurity is all completely normal, especially with your own work, because it’s an extension of yourself. So when you’re giving away some of your art, you’re giving away a piece of yourself.” — Mac Miller

I’m currently in a season of doubt.

I wouldn’t call it panic, but I’d call it a sense of having no idea what the hell I’m doing. I’m in that part of the creative process where you’re too deep to turn around, but still too far from the finish to see if it’s working. It’s the “all is lost” moment in a screenplay—except this time, I’m the confused lead, squinting at the script like, “Who wrote this part?”

In screenwriting, this beat usually lands near the middle of Act II. Sometimes it’s called the false ending. It’s when everything seems like it’s falling apart, or worse—like it already has—and the only way forward is through a door you never meant to open.

That’s the thing about self-doubt: it’s not a detour from the process; it is the process.

Self-doubt creeps in at every stage. In the beginning, when the idea feels too small. In the middle, when it feels too big. And sometimes, even after it’s done, when you wonder if this is really how you want to be seen.

But don’t look at doubt as failure, look at it as evidence that you care.

You don’t obsess over something meaningless. You don’t lose sleep over something you don’t love. Doubt is what shows up when you’re doing work that has weight. It’s a shadow, and shadows only show up when there’s light.

And the longer you stick with a project, the louder the voice gets. The “wouldn’t it be cool if…” turns into “what the hell am I doing?” And that’s when quitting starts to feel like relief. That’s when your couch looks like salvation. That’s when a dumb Netflix original you’ll forget in two hours starts to sound better than finishing the thing you once believed in.

But when you don’t give in, you’re not just surviving the doubt—you’re becoming the kind of person who finishes. There’s power in finishing.

Creatives are often people who feel too much to speak plainly. So we use art to say it. You might not know how to tell someone you love them, but you can write a song that aches with it. You might not have the words for your grief, but you can paint what your heart is carrying and let the colors speak.

Because your work comes from somewhere real, the doubt will always be real, too.

And the more you make, the more it changes shape. You get one win under your belt, and the voice adjusts to “can you do it again?”, “what if it was a fluke?”, or “what if the next one doesn’t hit?”

It never goes away. You just learn how to move with it.

That’s why I believe so deeply in studying the creative process. That’s the heartbeat of Create.Repeat. You will be brave, and then scared, and then brave again. And then you’ll have to do it over and over, again and again.

This is the calling.

Self-doubt is not a sign that you’re failing, it’s a sign that you’re doing something worth failing at. Something that asks you to show up fully. Something that might not work, but if it does, it could change everything.

So if you’re stuck in the fog today, if you’re second-guessing everything, if you’re reworking the same paragraph for the sixth time, if you’re looking at your blank canvas and wondering if this whole thing was a mistake… take heart.

Doubt is not the end. It’s the middle. And the only way out… is through. Stick with it.

Say something true, even if your voice shakes.

Keep creating and repeating,

Zack

P.S. If this landed with you, please forward it to a friend who’s in their own creative fog. Let them know they’re not alone :)

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🎨 Giacomo Bagnara: Illustrator Giacomo Bagnara brings a vibrant approach to his work. His illustrations are fun and pleasing to scroll through.

📰 Kurt Woerpel: Kurt Woerpel is a graphic designer and art director whose experimental layouts have made amazing magazines and zines.

🟩 New Rules of Design Special Offer, the creative tech company behind the Brat album visuals, shares insights into their design philosophy.

🖥️ When You Know, You Know: Alex Dobrenko explores the creative decisions behind the Sublime landing page.

If you believe in what we’re building with Create.Repeat, the best way to support us is by joining Take It or Leave It—our weekend newsletter exclusively for paid subscribers.

It’s more than just a newsletter. It’s a direct way to back the work we do, helping keep Create.Repeat independent, creative, and growing.

Each week, we dive into community questions submitted through Substack Chat, offering our honest take on the creative process, career struggles, and everything in between. It’s part advice column, part mood board, and part behind-the-scenes look at what it really takes to stay creative.

For just $5/month, you get exclusive content while directly supporting the mission of Create.Repeat. And if you haven’t used your free trial yet, now’s the perfect time to start. No pressure, just inspiration.

This week’s advice…

Know someone writing on Substack?
We’re always looking to feature more voices from the community in our Talent Show section. If you or someone you know are using this platform to share your creativity, fill out the form below. We’d love to see what you’re working on.

Submit For Talent Show

Create.Repeat is a community for creatives.

The Create.Repeat Substack is a project designed to be a weekly diary on creativity. Sharing inspiration for artists to keep creating and repeating.

Written and curated by Zack Evans & James Warren Taylor

Each week we will be sharing recent thoughts on creativity, some links helping us stay creative, and a talent show featuring an artist from the community. Thank you for engaging with us.

History repeats. Create the future.

Check out some of our other posts: