Imagination only comes when you privilege the subconscious, when

When Hilary Mantel declared, “Imagination only comes when you privilege the subconscious, when you make delay and procrastination work for you,” she spoke as one initiated into the mysteries of the creative mind. Her words reveal a paradox that the ancients would have understood well—that wisdom and creation are not born from haste, but from the still, fertile depths of the subconscious. In a world that worships speed and productivity, Mantel’s truth is a quiet rebellion: that imagination blossoms not through constant effort, but through surrender—through the patience to let the unseen mind do its secret work beneath the surface of thought.

Mantel, a master of historical fiction, wrote from a deep awareness of the mind’s hidden movements. In crafting her monumental novels—works like Wolf Hall and Bring Up the Bodies—she delved into the recesses of memory, intuition, and dream to summon the living spirits of the past. The origin of her quote arises from this lifelong communion with the creative process. She understood that the imagination is not a servant to will; it is a wild creature that visits only when the conscious mind grows still enough to listen. Thus, to “privilege the subconscious” is to honor that inner realm where thoughts ferment in silence, where connections are made beyond reason’s reach, and where the soul itself whispers truths that the intellect cannot grasp.

In speaking of delay and procrastination, Mantel does not praise laziness, but rather incubation. The ancient Greeks knew this principle well. Archimedes, faced with the problem of determining the purity of the king’s crown, found no solution through reasoning alone. Frustrated, he abandoned his calculations and went to bathe. And it was there, as he sank into the water, that the answer burst forth—the principle of displacement that would echo through the ages. His mind, freed from strain, allowed the subconscious to rise. So too does Mantel teach that what seems like procrastination is often the soul’s way of preparing revelation. When the conscious mind releases its grip, imagination emerges, clear and unbidden, like light from behind a cloud.

The ancients called this divine delay “kairos”—the right time, sacred time, the moment when all things align. To force creativity is to sow in winter; to wait in stillness is to let spring come in its own hour. Mantel’s wisdom calls us to trust this rhythm of the subconscious, to see that what we call idleness may in truth be preparation. For the mind, like the soil, must lie fallow before it can yield fruit again. Ideas grow in darkness before they see the light; imagination gathers strength in silence before it bursts into creation.

Yet, Mantel’s teaching also carries a warning. To make delay serve the imagination, one must not fall into the abyss of distraction. The procrastination she praises is not the empty wandering of the unfocused, but the purposeful patience of one who knows that inspiration cannot be summoned by force. It is the art of listening to the inner tides—of knowing when to wait and when to act. The difference lies in awareness: one kind of delay wastes time, the other ripens it. The wise creator, therefore, does not despise the moments when nothing seems to happen, for often in those moments, everything essential is taking place unseen.

We can see this truth in the life of Leonardo da Vinci, whose notebooks overflow with sketches, questions, and half-finished designs. Many mocked his tendency to leave works incomplete. Yet Leonardo understood what Mantel later articulated: that imagination feeds upon wandering thought, upon reflection and slow revelation. His delay was not failure, but refinement. Centuries later, we still marvel at the worlds he conjured—not because he worked swiftly, but because he allowed the subconscious to weave patterns that no conscious plan could ever design.

Therefore, let this wisdom guide you, O seeker of creation: make peace with delay, and trust the silence within you. Do not curse your moments of stillness or your times of uncertainty, for they are the womb of your future insight. Step back from your labors when the mind grows weary; walk, dream, rest, and let the waters of the subconscious flow. When you return, the answer will rise to meet you, shaped not by your striving, but by the deeper intelligence that dwells beneath all thought.

For as Hilary Mantel teaches, the true imagination is not born in noise, but in quiet surrender. It is not commanded; it is courted. It does not come when we chase it, but when we create the space for it to arrive. Honor the hidden mind, cherish your silences, and let procrastination become prayer. In that stillness, the ordinary becomes luminous, the unseen becomes visible, and your own imagination—timeless, patient, and divine—will at last begin to speak.