My creative mind brandishes a sword, and my depressed mind dons a shield. Wrote across the shield are the words “Rest thee in peace, creativity”. Engraved on the hilt of the sword in bold letters, “Nigh, I know not dispirit.”
I can’t seem to get it out today, I want so badly to be creative but it just won’t come. I’m teasing that special place between rest and excitement, searching for “the flow.”
Depression is hitting me hard today, and feeling sick isn’t helping the situation. I haven’t eaten solid food for 3 days, and I feel dizzy and out of breath. I will probably go to the doctor tomorrow if I’m not feeling better.
I feel so out of it today, I can’t seem to focus on anything and my motivation is nil.
There’s a state of mind I need to be in to create works of art, and it’s just not coming today. I feel boring and pretentious.
Muse, get down out of the rafters and present to me. I need your gentle sweet whisper, and the hoarding of your filth. Give to me everything, and let your scent fill up my nostrils.
Nope, not coming out to play today, I have nothing. It’s taking a push just to zone out and try to be breezy with some words.
I’m still trying though, this is a habit I’m forming after all, and taking a day off so early wouldn’t be helping the cause. So I suppose, for today, I will have to write badly. I will have to revel in the spit of the camel that is my stinky, smelly expression of language.
I love just playing around with words, especially ones that don’t go together. It’s a bit of a game for me to come up with things that just barely fit together, but more importantly cause a feeling when read. I don’t know why I write the way I do sometimes, it just comes out that way.
There is an experiment I would like to try, just to allow myself to get into the flow and not worry so much about what is being produced. I don’t have a name for this process yet, and I wonder if it’s something others practice as well.
What I would like to try is just letting the words come out, as they feel right, even if it’s nonsense. I think I love poetry in this sense, because it can be more about how the words look or are arranged, and the feelings aroused by this. Sometimes words just sound beautiful to me, the way they are stringed together, even if it doesn’t make sense.
Here’s an example of what I mean:
I am coveted, and you are weak. Where is the man when I am resting? I plaster on the guards, and the sheep will always follow. And when your plate and my plate have palaver, we dance and they dance and our moons are howling together.
Okay, that’s probably the worst example I could give you, it was shit. I told you I’m not feeling it today. But it just feels good, right, to let words come out. I don’t want to do this so much that it’s detrimental to my writing style (I do still want to learn structure and grammar!), but it’s a fun little way to flex my writing muscles and then begin on something more important. Similar to how actors will make funny noises and faces to loosen up before a scene.
I like the idea of writing a 1000 words a day, although my goal right now is 600 because I’m still quite slow with this. Doing some kind of exercise to get pumped up might be just what I need to start bringing that number up, and to start making the time taken to write posts shorter.
Unread books are scattered about my house, perhaps it’s time I cleaned them up and opened the covers. I do need to start reading more if I want to learn things about writing and find my own style. Lately not a lot has been interesting to me, and reading has been slow. I’m hoping that reading some recommendations will help me find something that sparks an interest in me. I’m already hearing all about this Hemingway guy, so I think I’ll have to pick up some of his books.
Learning how to write is going to take a lot of time and effort, and for the first time in awhile I feel up to it. I can do this, I can take it one step at a time and improve myself. Sure, the anxiety is coming in here and there and screaming at me to stop, but for the most part I can tell it to shove it.
I’m still excited, and I’m not even manic! In fact I’m quite depressed today, and yet I still have this passion growing in my heart. I’m already starting to forget why for so many years I was afraid to write. Afraid to express and also to do something so simple as typing and be proud of it.
There is an itch to explore all things writing, and it’s a healthy itch. The itch is confidence boosting, rather then self-destructive.
The great sword of creativity crashes down on the disgusting maggoty shield of depression. Okay I’m sorry, that was just pure bad language. That’s what it is though, a dirty maggoty shield made of filth.