How I Boost My Creativity as a Composer

Creating music, for me, is like opening a door to the unknown.
Each new composition often starts with a simple blank page — an empty space full of promises. That moment is both dizzying and exhilarating. What I’ve learned over time is that creativity can’t be forced. It must be cultivated. It invites itself. And sometimes, it surprises.

Mindset above all

I don’t believe in chemical shortcuts: no drugs, no alcohol. Those crutches, instead of opening the doors of the soul, only cloud them. For magic to happen, you need to be clear, present, and relaxed. My experience has taught me that true inspiration comes when you allow yourself to be vulnerable and open, even in discomfort.

Creating means accepting not to control everything. It means welcoming both the beautiful emotions and the darker ones. It’s a kind of surrender, almost meditative, where you let whatever wants to be born come forth.

An invitation to travel

When I start composing, I never know exactly where I’m going. And that’s precisely what makes the process so fascinating. Every note, every texture, every silence becomes a marker on an as-yet-invisible path. You move forward tentatively, trusting your feelings, an intuition that guides your fingers more than your mind.

Often, I am surprised by the result myself. Sometimes I listen to a finished piece and think, “Did I really make this?” As if a deeper—or higher—part of me had taken control. Moments like these remind me why I compose.

The discreet but essential role of my smartphone

Even when inspiration seems to come from nowhere, I’ve learned to accompany it, to nurture it, to keep it alive. One of my most valuable habits is jotting down a lot of things on my smartphone: melody ideas, lyrics, moods, thoughts, dreams, sounds recorded on the fly, sometimes just a single word or feeling.

This digital notebook goes everywhere with me. It allows me to capture what passes by, even when I’m not “actively composing.” And above all, it becomes a vast source I can draw from when inspiration seems absent. These notes, often taken without thinking, are like seeds planted in advance, ready to sprout when the time comes.

It’s a kind of parallel memory. An echo of my creative mind when it doesn’t yet realize it’s at work.

And when the wind blows less strongly, when inspiration grows shy, I turn to those little fragments I’ve slipped into my phone over the days. They’re the ones who gently reignite the flame until the magic returns.

Creating the space for it to come

To give inspiration room, I also try to create a conducive environment. Not just a tidy studio or a good pair of headphones, but a peaceful inner climate. Sometimes that means a walk, a moment of silence, reading, or simply cutting myself off from distractions.

I make myself available. I listen. I play a few notes without intention, just to see what resonates. I trust the moment. It’s a bit like tuning in to something invisible, fragile. And when it happens… you feel it immediately. It vibrates. It touches you. And all you have to do is follow the thread.

Boosting creativity isn’t about adding more; it’s often about removing: noise, stress, expectations. It’s about opening up, without judgment, to what wants to emerge. It’s letting the music flow through you, rather than trying to own it.

For me, composing is an inner adventure. A journey without a map. But it’s precisely that uncertainty that makes it beautiful.