Imagine trying to write a paragraph, a page, or an entire short story without ever using the letter E. No the, no he, no she, no be, no see. Suddenly every common word becomes a trap. You cannot say please, believe, remember, or experience. The letter E is the most frequent letter in the English language, appearing in roughly one out of every eight letters. Removing it sounds crippling. Yet this exact challenge—known as a lipogram—has been tackled by writers from Georges Perec (who wrote a 300-page novel without E) to modern word nerds playing games like Never Eat Soggy Waffles. And the payoff is enormous. When you impose an arbitrary constraint like this, you stop relying on habit and start inventing.

The first thing you notice is how many of your default phrases vanish. You reach for there is—blocked. You want to say the end—blocked. So your brain has to dig deeper. You start using shorter, punchier words. It is becomes that’s or this works. You replace believe with trust or know. You find yourself describing things in new ways: instead of a beautiful sunset, you might say a grand dusk show or a warm sky’s closing act. The constraint forces you to see the world from a different angle, to break the lazy links between thought and expression. That is the whole point of arbitrary creative constraints: they shatter your muscle memory.

The principle applies far beyond writing. A graphic designer might restrict themselves to only one font for an entire campaign. A musician might forbid the use of the most common chord in their genre. A photographer might shoot only in black and white for a week, or only with a 50mm lens. A filmmaker might decide every scene must be captured from a single camera angle. In each case, the constraint removes the comfortable go-to moves. You cannot lean on what you already know works. You must hunt for new solutions, and those solutions often turn out to be more original than your standard fare.

Why does this work? Because creativity is not about infinite freedom. Infinite freedom often leads to indecision or to repeating your safest patterns. When you have every tool available, you tend to grab the same hammer over and over. A constraint acts like a blindfold. It takes away one sense, so your other senses sharpen. With the letter E removed, your vocabulary becomes a puzzle. You start noticing words you barely used before. Yon, that, this, thus, so, a, an, for, on, at, by—these become your allies. You compose sentences that sound strange at first, but soon you discover a rhythm you would never have found otherwise. Your prose gains a lean, muscular quality because you cannot pad it with E-heavy filler.

There is also a game-like satisfaction. Imposing a constraint turns the act of creating into a puzzle with a solution. That shift in mindset lowers the pressure. Instead of worrying about whether the final product is good, you focus on whether you can meet the rule. The quality often follows because you are fully engaged. Writers who try a lipogram report that they stop editing themselves into paralysis. They just keep hunting for workarounds. The constraint provides a clear boundary within which you can play. And play is one of the most powerful creative engines we have.

If you want to try this yourself, start small. Write a single sentence without the letter E. Then a paragraph. Then a short scene. Or apply the idea to your own medium. A painter could use only three colors. A composer could write a piece using only white keys. A dancer could choreograph a routine without any jumps. The specific rule does not matter. What matters is that the rule is arbitrary—not imposed by a client or a brief, but chosen by you for the sole purpose of shaking things up. Once you experience how a simple restriction can lead to unexpected breakthroughs, you will see constraints not as limitations but as invitations.

The next time you feel stuck, pick a letter, a tool, a rule—anything that takes away a crutch. See what you build without it. You might just find that what you could not do before was actually what was holding you back.