The Space Needle is My Neighbor

"A mind stretched by a new idea can never go back to its original dimensions." - Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Saturday, February 24, 2007

Warning! Writer's Block Ahead

I have been stuck for a very long time. Stuck behind this huge obstacle which has silenced my writing voice for months now. The connections between myself and the world around me that I've always attempted to create, simply would not reveal themselves to me in any form. Trying to make art of any kind was an excruciatingly unfulfilling experience and the process continually led me to the same dead end where I would stand, surrounded by either my books and papers, or my pieces of wood and plaster until it was time to gather everything up and return it to its home; unchanged, untransformed and almost completely untouched, for that matter.

When you are used to living within the creative process, when everything around you only serves as more and more inspiration to keep going- finding yourself without a voice, without any inspiration, feeling as if you have nothing to say- it all comes as a shock at first. Gradually the shock subsides, and a feeling of uneasiness and guilt begin to set in. For the last few months I have been floating aimlessly around in this tepid, flavorless broth of ennui. I would usually tell myself each morning that when I came home that night, things would be different. Something would surely happen during the day; I would hear a song or meet a person and my slumbering creativity would be inspired to wake up and get going again! Didn't happen. Through it all, I would have several different types of internal monologues going simultaneously and they would typically fall into one of two categories; both equally self-delusional and based on nothing more than 1. sheer denial or 2. an elaborately constructed rationale for why it was perfectly ok that I was going through this dry spell. Now that I think of it- at least if I had tried writing them down, it would have probably felt more productive than did the act of force-feeding myself the repetitive diet of b.s. I was using to sustain myself. At least at the end of the day I'd have had something tangible, albeit unreadable, to hold in my hands. I'll remember that for the future.......hmmm. And so now, for whatever reason, my voice seems to have returned today, and I am actually thinking about what subject I'd like to tackle tomorrow. So far, so good, I guess.


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