In my case, creativity takes place when I’m writing or making book covers. There’s something about the art of both that feeds me. It’s only when I’m starving that I no longer have the energy to be creative. And by ‘starving’ I mean creatively malnourished. It’s possible you’re not the creative type, but if you aren’t, why are you here reading this blog? For me, there’s a fire, and if I feed it well (writing a little each day, taking the physical energy I have and getting up early (even on nights when I don’t sleep well) and just telling my journal how I feel about not sleeping, it’s feeding that part of me that needs to express, to be creative. Sometimes I get actually creative in my journal entries, I don’t adhere to rules. Yes, I tell it what I’m up to, what I’ve done, how I’m feeling and blah blah blah, BUT, the fun stuff comes when I add snippets of poetic rhyme, or I let my mind say the nonsensical stuff right on the page.
Here’s an example of the latter.
Today I woke up to a jamboree killing spree, the victims were entirely the fictions of my own mind, the representations of my contempt. The ballroom hall of death was full of blood, the weapons I wielded were too powerful and too loud to escape. None who had wronged me so much as getting out the door. Afterward, when the murders had been done, I woke up to see that instead of my supposed act of slaughter, the truth revealed that I had tied a million balloons on a million chair backs and set out a banquet for all the would-be villains of my imagination, some of them looking like people I've met before, people I work with every day, and I fed them well and at the end of our party, I sent them on their way, a bestowal of peace shone down on all of us, myself notwithstanding.
The enemy of all nonsense and creativity is distraction. I’ve learned how to live amidst distraction and embrace the nonsense as well as the more lucid and meaningful avenues of production. How? It’s a fire burning inside me. It’s the fire I keep feeding every time I set fingers to keyboard, each time I think I don’t have it in me, my head lowered, I just can’t, something burns and gets too hot, my head snaps up, my eyes blazing, and before long something is moving my fingers over the keys and words appear, it’s just the way it goes. Shaping characters and scenarios and telling stories pleases me, and so I do it, but more than that it feeds this raging bonfire that has nowhere else to go but up and out, burn the page down with all these words, and I would if that were possible. I would pay good money to do it if that were an option. In fact, I guess you could say I already have. I bought all the hardware and software to write more comfortably and easily. I pay for the website and share my thoughts with the world at large even though one could argue that these words never reach the eyes of many. It doesn’t matter. It’s how I sharpen my talons, my claws, and my mind. I’m cutting mental teeth here.
Someday soon I’ll be releasing a new novella for sale, and I’ll just keep going, releasing more and more novellas, more and more novels. I know I’ve been saying that for years, but I swear its true. It takes years to make them worthy of your time and attention. I’ve committed to getting it right. And now the time is drawing nigh.
Be prepared. The stories are coming.