It’s been dry – like the desert, like cracked earth in need of rain, like dust and talcum powder. Parched. I’m not talking about lack of rain here. I mean a creative drought where nothing is flowing. There’s barely a trickle.
Up to this point, I had been writing and painting a lot. Things were moving along nicely. I had just finished some projects. What was next, I asked myself. And then the “dries” hit me. I was staring once again at blank pieces of paper and canvas. I don’t know about you, but that always makes me anxious. You know what I mean. Doubts creep in. Have all my creative ideas been used up? Is that possible? Where can I find inspiration? Where is my imagination?
So you tell yourself to relax. You will yourself to be calm. You try to distract yourself. If you think about something else, the ideas will start to flow once again. Right?
So I wandered from room to room in the house, hoping moving around would shake some brain cells loose. Nope. I surfed the web. Nothing. I played Mahjong – a lot. Didn’t work. I got desperate and did housework, hoping that repetitive motion would trick my brain into thinking. Didn’t work, but my house is a little cleaner. Chocolate. I had a stash in the pantry, an unopened box of special chocolate – a gift. But I knew if I opened it, I would devour the box and all I would have to show for it was a counter littered with empty wrappers and a few pounds I didn’t need. I tried reading, journaling, walking, and yoga.
I kept returning to my desk and painting table, but nothing was coming to me.
Finally, I said to myself, just let it be. Take the break to recharge. The ideas will come back in their own time. And they did. The other day I went back to the painting table. I started a few pictures. The first one is awful, but it was a start. I started a couple of essays. They’re still not ready, but they are a start. The dry spell appears to be over.
© Lynn Wyvill, 2011