Sometimes I can’t shake this feeling that when I’m in my moment of creating, I am really just a goldfish, swimming laps in a tiny, bulbous glass bowl. Set on the dining room table for all to admire my useless circling; together with a swaying plastic vine and a toy sunken pirate ship, magnified in all our convex glass glory.
Before you think I’m out of my goldfish brain and completely insane, let me explain. Shouldn’t the “creating place” be the freest place? The center of play and exploration, with unexpected things like tigers skulking in a leaf-shadowy jungle, cowboys whooping in the distance over a dusty plain, and when night comes – a dark abandoned house with spiraling towers and one lone window lit with mysterious light… (absolutely no vampires though)
Instead, I’m a lumpy goldfish. Circling, over, over, over again.
Maybe you have absolutely no problem tapping into your creative element. But if you ever feel like you’re beside me, pulling 20 second laps in a glass tank…
Then try screaming. Really.
Some of the best writing advice I’ve ever gotten had nothing to do with actual form or style. My room-mate told me to loosen my body before sitting down to write: jump around, do somersaults, a couple pirouettes in the kitchen before even touching the keyboard. And you may surprise yourself with how well it works. Give yourself five minutes to just hop around, throw rocks at a tree and be a wild thing. Addle your brain a bit, getting out of you element. Don’t judge the hilarity of your dancing, and you won’t find any reason to second-guess or judge your creative play.
