Creativity is movement. Creative energy is waxing and waning. For the past month, I have had little motivation to put words to paper on this blog. I wrote a blog post about a week ago, but deleted it. The thing needed to be put out of its misery – it was bad writing. I had read too much of the type of writing that I don’t like, and it moved into me and onto my own page. What I read and subject myself to is important. I can’t control all of the energies moving around me that transform my writing, but I can make some decisions as to what I make myself subject to when it comes to articles I find on the internet.
I’ve found that LinkedIn has been playing a bigger part lately in my writing. I am conscious that there is a lot on there that I don’t resonate with. I have probably been spending too much time on there – looking for jobs and feeling the nag of social media involvement. I cling to ideas that I will come across THE information it takes to get a meaningful opportunity. But my expectations are intertwined with the knowledge that I’ll never really know how to network. I’m still trying to figure out what that word means. This relentless search of an unidentified morsel of data is insatiable. It takes away the energy I could otherwise be using to create. In reality, I take it away from myself by paying mind to something I cannot even identify.
When I don’t rush to write blog posts, journal entries, or other works, I find that I need to add to my mind. I garner mobility to create by gathering and reading new books. In these, I find portions of myself as a writer and person. The writer is always at the forefront, a lens that looms and alters all that I intake. The entity that I am, the person, is in charge of getting herself to sit down and write. The writer is in charge of coursing through the person, from immaterial matter of origins not entirely known. The person just has to move her fingers along the keyboard. She types rather blunderingly, but always corrects the misspellings and odd spacing as she goes.
Now back to the first person. I’m minding some other portions of my life that will help me to round out the aspects of my creativity. I know it is coming on time for me to begin another large writing project. So preparing in different ways is essential. I know some things for certain about my writing. Firstly, I need to be putting my body through heightened physical conditioning. It helps me think and it prevents me getting the bad back pain that only comes when I have neglected exercise. For this conditioning, I have chosen surfing. I used to be an avid surfer in my teens. Rekindling my relationship with this sport and with the ocean has already been incredible and charging.
Secondly, I have been coming back to the subject matter that resonates with me immensely. I have long been fascinated with the Victorian era and with mental illness. I have been reading books recently that have been reinvigorating my interest in both. Engaging in this subject matter is creating a whirl of enthusiasm – for the clothing, food, interactions, restraints, powerhouse women, and details of station and status within society.
I am writing this blog post so that I have written something public this month. I have had a strange and disappointing time on this Earth thus far, but I am here and I am here to write. I have showed up and I will continue to show up. Creative energy is not about waiting for the energy or motivation to write – I know that. It is about stabilizing and creating the discipline around the task. It is something I have mastered in the past that I have to master again. Just as I used to be a good surfer, I must learn again to be confidently in commune with the ocean, that I may be confident to ride waves and strong enough to paddle hard enough to catch them.
To do this, I must practice and grow more in reckless abandon, lest I not trust enough that I can balance on a board and glide with the wave. Lest I not trust enough that I can write down the words and flow with the narrative.