Major Announcement + Want To Be More Creative? Make Your Life Dull

A Lesson from Immanuel Kant around creative work

*Important Notice*

I’m super excited to announce something I’ve been working on.

See, ever since I started writing for A Mug of Insights, I wanted to give my subscribers a clean, thoughtful, and deliberate reading space where they could explore ideas, get inspired to read more and use some of the stuff I write about in their lives. This was Substack’s promise from a few years ago, so I placed my trust in this platform to deliver this experience to you.

However, as you’ve probably noticed, this space is getting noisier by the month. When I open my Substack app, the first thing I see is not my inbox of thoughtful newsletters, but Substack Notes. Sometimes, as many people have also reported on this platform, newsletters aren’t delivered to subscribers’ inboxes, but they’re filtered through an algorithm of some kind.

And when they started introducing reels into the equation, I started to sense that I could no longer stand behind some of Substack's creative decisions in running this platform.

Don’t get me wrong, it is an incredible platform for engaging with a wider writing community, and you’ve probably discovered my work through Substack. However, some of Substack’s recent decisions around turning this once writing-focused engine into yet another social media platform are not a step in the right direction.

So, after a few months of thinking this through, I decided to take it upon myself to build the experience I promised you when you subscribed to this newsletter. This came at a huge financial and personal cost. I spent many evenings over the past month getting my head around HTML and email platforms, but I’m pleased with the results:

Here’s the announcement: A Mug of Insights will be migrated to an open-sourced engine, Ghost, to deliver the original vision of an educational, distraction-free and streamlined newsletter to help you recover the pleasure of reading. I’m now working with Ghost’s concierge team to bring about a seamless transition, so that by the time we’re fully migrated, you won’t have to lift a finger to continue getting my weekly letters.

Subscribers who are already paying will retain all their subscription benefits (1-2-Read Newsletter and archive access), but rest assured that making the core body of my work (the weekly long-form letters) free to read for all remains my top priority.

I’ll give you guys more updates soon, but I’d love for you to do one thing for me.

If you are not a regular reader of A Mug of Insights, now it’s the time to unsubscribe. I’ve noticed a recent explosion of growth in my subscriber count, yet the open rate remains relatively low. I suspect that Substack has tweaked its internal algorithm again to boost subscribers’ activities, but at this point in my career, subscriber count is the last metric I care about.

What I want is a community of engaged, passionate and curious readers who are going to comment, discuss and interact with other readers at our new home for A Mug of Insights. Believe it or not, making literacy accessible for all begins with you, the one who’s reading this post, and the energy you bring to further this vision. So, I need to make sure that 1: you enjoy reading this newsletter, 2: you believe in the mission of this newsletter and 3: you are willing to give input regarding the future of this publication. If this all sounds well and good to you, stay tuned, because we’re only getting started.

I will announce the link for the new site in the coming weeks, but for now, here’s this week’s letter free for all to read. Enjoy :)

Your substitute English teacher

Robin

---

Creative work is a contradiction.

There’s the creative part. This probably looks like waiting for inspiration, circling, mumbling to yourself and finding excuses to leave the desk in search of ‘inspiration’. I did a whole lot of that back in 2021, living alone out of a shabby studio in the heart of the CBD. Before I could settle down to write anything, evenings full of drinks, dancing and reading poetry at dive bars would seduce me away from my desk until that ah, fuck feeling comes racing back in the morning, reminding me that there’s also the work part.

The work part is the boring side of the coin. There’s a lot less running around and chit chatting over drinks, but a lot of staring at unfinished projects, unsure where to start. This is when we realise that inspiration is a luxury, ideas are finicky, and motivation is a sketchy valet that disappeared with your BMW keys.

If all this sounds familiar, you’re not alone. I recently signed my first book deal, and the editor gave me an impossible deadline of 80,000 words before the end of the year. Maybe you’re also faced with a deadline like this, or perhaps you’re struggling to get started. But today, I’d like to share a story that inspired me to start creating good work. And this story all started with an infamous household name in Philosophy: Immanuel Kant.

The Pedantic Philosopher

Immanuel Kant was somewhat of a Galileo in Philosophy. His theories fundamentally altered how we see reality and remained unchallenged for decades following his death. But, in this case, the man behind the work was even more fascinating.

Most people know Kant as a quiet recluse who was punctual at every turn, got mad at people for interrupting his afternoon strolls, and was meticulous to the point of “exhibiting more precision than that of the local clock-tower” (Weigelt xx)¹. And his books certainly read like how he behaved: precise, pedantic and uncaring as concepts are drilled into our brains.

But Kant was far from a recluse before he started writing seriously. In 1753, he was just a 28-year-old philosophy graduate, arriving at the famous Keyserlingk Palace on the back of a buggy to take up a job as a tutor for the Keyserlingks’ two young children.

His employer, Countess Keyserlingk, liked Kant immediately and used the job as an excuse to keep Kant around. See, the Countess was one of those intellectually curious, French-speaking society ladies furnished with the most dazzling wardrobe. But most people in that palace didn’t share her love for philosophy, theatre, and the arts, least of all her husband. So, to add a bit of flavour, Kant assumed the double role of tutor and an intellectual court jester.

Faced with this generosity, Kant developed a taste for palace life immediately. He learned how to greet, refined his palette on what to eat and became fluent in the ways of high society just a few years in. He spent most of his evenings circling lavish garden parties, followed by card games in the drawing room. Above all, everyone liked Kant and described him as a fine mix of charm and intellect.

Around 1754, Kant went back to Königsberg University to get his master’s, just so he could have more things to talk about with the countess. Within a year, he received the title of Magister and started turning up to the palace in the Rococo style, complete with gold-rimmed coats and shiny swords. He was such a hotshot that by the time he turned 30, the countess offered to draw his portrait, cementing his reputation as a renowned man of letters in the court.

However, this dazzling life slowly chipped away at Kant’s work ethic. Quiet evenings turned into cheers and jeers at the court, and reading philosophy gradually turned into reading hands at card-playing dens. His income also suffered because he had written close to nothing since graduating, and his meagre teaching job paid very little. But an encounter with an English merchant soon changed the trajectory.

The Man Who Made Immanuel Dull

This merchant was Joseph Green, and at first glance, he had nothing in common with Kant. He didn’t spend his evenings playing cards and charming guests; instead, all that sailing and selling between London and Königsberg demanded a restrained, orderly and punctual way of life. But very quickly, Kant and Green managed to put aside their differences because they both were obsessed with philosophy. They spent entire afternoons strolling the harbour, debating works by Rousseau and David Hume until the sun went down.

Eventually, Green’s disciplined and highly organised way of life inspired Kant to take a page out of the merchant’s book. By the time Kant turned forty, he stopped going to card-playing dens and lavish balls and committed to a rigorous schedule of reading, writing and teaching. Soon, in 1766, this new routine landed him a paid academic position as a librarian, gradually advancing him up the ranks to Professor of Logic and Metaphysics at Königsberg University.

This commitment to quietude started to gather momentum. Six years later, Kant entered what we now call his ‘silent decade’. For eleven years, he shut himself away in his study and occupied himself with the nature of reality and the mind. As this period of hibernation started to consume his life, Kant, the court jester, gradually morphed into the reclusive, precise and pedantic philosopher we know him as today. Some might describe his life as incredibly dull because, besides brief visits to the Countess and afternoon walks with Green, Kant was entirely consumed by the clockwork of reading and writing to the point of obsession.

Once, a former student sent Kant a letter, attempting to bring him out of his isolation. But, like a passive-aggressive crank on a hiatus, Kant replied:

“My great thanks … to my well-wishers and friends, who think so kindly of me as to undertake my welfare, but at the same time a most humble request to protect me in my present situation from any disturbance.”

Eventually, almost eleven years later in 1781, Kant finished the manuscript for what we now know as Critique of Pure Reason when he was 57 years old. Frail, frazzled and perhaps exhilarated, he looked down at the original manuscript of over 800 pages of writing, knowing all too well that the sacrifice had been well worth it.

And the rest was history. In a short span of 3 years after Critique of Pure Reason had been published, Kant enjoyed the reputation of the most renowned philosopher in Germany, boasting a reputation for having started philosophy’s Copernican revolution. Philosophical achievements aside, he also demonstrated that sometimes creating good work demands daily efforts, focus and a steadfast way of life when everything else seems to want to drag you away from the desk.

Now, Back To My Desk

I think we should all find Kant’s story rather inspiring. So often, we assume that people who are disciplined by routines are naturally that way. But for me, Kant was someone who deliberately cultivated his creative discipline, and this has inspired me to rewire how I think about work.

Sometimes, the price of doing good work is a period of being dull. In other words, if you want to be creative, make your life incredibly boring for a short while. I took a page out of Kant’s book right when my editor sent me that impossible deadline. Mornings are for writing my weekly newsletter, and from Monday to Friday, I would show up at the State Library at 11 am sharp and work on my manuscript until 5 pm.

I expected myself to feel listless, depressed and constrained by routine, but the polar opposite was true. Writing now functions as a daily ritual like prayer or meditation. It frames the rest of my life in a clarity that bred excitement instead of fear. Writing no longer lurks in the shadows, constantly guilting me into working more. Now it’s just a part of my life with a few hours of focused work every day. And these concentrated dashes are always followed by the sweetest rewards.

I can now dance with a beer in my hand on Friday nights without worrying about writing. I’m free to watch a movie without the voice of my editor in my head. Also, making breakfast on Saturdays over a history podcast felt liberating, knowing that I’ve worked consistently (not necessarily hard) during the week. The breaks felt well-earned, and I usually find myself burning with excitement to get back to the library at 11 am on a Monday, ready to perfect my craft.

See, even though this way of creating like a craftsman isn’t as glamorous as an explosion of obsession, it does ensure longevity. I find that whenever I’m acting like a romantic nutcase exploding with creativity until 4 am, the work isn’t as good as my 500 words every morning over music and coffee. Worse, burnout usually comes attached as a tax for irregular and obsessive work. So, it ultimately comes down to this: am I addicted to the excitement of creative work, or do I care about the work itself?

If your answer is the latter, there is no shame in working at a slower pace. What you’ll get in exchange is better work, less guilt and a subtle fulfilment that will seep into your everyday life. And this way of pursuing creativity is anything but dull to me.

1. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Pure Reason. Translated and edited by Marcus Weigelt, based on the translation by Max Müller, Penguin Classics, 2008.