The reality of a crowded life
My creative time is broken up a lot. Part of that is simple lifestyle. I work, I have a family, I play football, I do Taekwondo, I play in a band, and I also have Fauhn. Like many people with ADHD, I take on too much and then try to do all of it seriously.
Creativity does not always cooperate with schedules. Musical ideas arrive in moments that do not neatly align with free time. Sometimes I have space to work but no inspiration. Other times a strong idea appears when I have no opportunity to capture it. Progress often depends on luck as much as planning.
What a good small session looks like
A typical session for me might be twenty minutes in the evening after my son has gone to bed. That is enough time to make a little progress, and that is all I really ask for.
A good tiny session is defined by doing something practical. I might add a new instrument to an existing part, write a short section, or simply listen carefully and identify what I like and what I do not like. As long as I have moved the song forward or learned something useful about it, I count that as a success.
Finding continuity between fragments
I do not always manage to keep perfect continuity between sessions, so I rely on a simple routine. The first task is always to listen back to where I left off. That act of listening is what pulls me back into the mindset of the song.
I also try not to stop in the middle of an unfinished idea. Returning to half formed thoughts can be difficult. If I can finish a melodic phrase or a hook before I step away, it is much easier to pick up again later. Those small completed pieces become anchors that help me remember what I was trying to say.
Guilt, balance, and honesty
Balancing creative work with family and other responsibilities brings complicated emotions. Guilt and shame are familiar companions for many people with ADHD, and I feel them too. Wanting time for music can sometimes feel selfish, even when it is important for my wellbeing.
I am fortunate to have a supportive family, and that makes everything easier. Over time I have learned that the best approach is to accept those difficult feelings as part of me rather than as messages from other people. Writing music about these experiences often becomes a way of processing them.
Progress instead of perfection
Accepting imperfect progress begins with recognising that time is limited. I cannot polish every idea endlessly, so I focus on one song at a time and try to bring it as close to finished as I reasonably can.
In Maschine I concentrate on shaping individual tracks. Later, in Reaper, I move between songs to unify the overall feeling of the project. This means I sometimes return to pieces I thought were complete months earlier to make small adjustments. That is simply part of the process.
Deadlines help as well. I have given myself a firm target for finishing the Project Blue Screen album, and knowing that date exists keeps me focused. There is nothing quite like a deadline to turn scattered hours into real momentum.
Music made in real life
Writing in stolen hours is not a compromise for me. It is just the shape my creative life has taken. Songs grow slowly, a few percent at a time, and eventually they become something whole.
The important thing is to keep showing up, even for a short while, and to trust that all those small pieces of time will add up to something meaningful.
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