Dammed Waters and Cold Embers

Note: Creativity, for me, is often the roaring of a flash flood or a raging firestorm. The feelings intermingle as I can feel I’m drowning in words or burning up with creative desire. Then there are times …

I’m not very motivated or inspired lately. Usually, words flow like water over a dam after a storm, but lately the water is low and there hasn’t been any fresh rain. The creative bursts of gushing words dried up. The word flow which stimulates other creative endeavors is nonexistent. I’m empty and I’ve no energy to breathe a spark to the embers.

I finished reading the last issue of Pastel Journal, and though I picked up a couple of tips, I’m still not inspired to go in the studio. It’s almost as if the last painting, which I have to admit I hate, dumped water on my creative fire putting out the flames, and the wet ashes left a burnt taste in my mouth I can’t get away from.

I keep telling myself it will come back. And it has, a bit – it’s in the proof as I’m sitting here writing this. Still, it’s a struggle and usually writing isn’t a struggle. When was the last time I wrote a poem? Months ago.

There was a bit of a spark over a week ago when I felt drawn to get back to the book I haven’t finished. But that fizzled out. There was a brief flash when I tackled a new garden project a couple days later. But those embers cooled quickly. I blogged five days in a row. But that fizzled when the words ceased, and nothing inspired me. I stood at the easel and worked more on the sky. But any more painting desire dried up like the excess pastel dust I blew off the paper.

I blamed the changing season. I told myself I needed rest and more time to heal from the fall I took in August. I used the excuse of having to put the gardens to bed and cleaning up the yard. I even allowed myself more time to sit and play Spider Solitaire telling myself, “I’ll work tomorrow.”

But the creative fire didn’t burn the next day or the day after that. I’ve made to-do lists. I’ve jotted down ideas for next spring’s gardening. But something feels missing. Where are my muses? I feel I’m in limbo. I’m in waiting mode – but for what?

I used to be able to see water gushing in the brook as I looked out from my seat. Now I have to go outside to see the trickling water. Maybe, like the brook, I just need to be patient and peaceful. Yes, for now the waters are slow trickles and the embers are cold, but it’ll all come back. Hey, maybe the muses need to rest, too. Maybe this is their dormant stage.