Writer’s block has been following me around over the past couple of days with more persistence than the hemorrhoids did during my second pregnancy. Sometimes, creative constipation hits when life takes aim with both barrels and peppers me with calamity. Other times, I find myself bound up by the clogged toilets of my existence. On the flip side of that—joy can rob me of the discipline needed to uncork something wonderful as well. Ever been just too happy to make something? That kind of YEEHAW feels magnificent—until I have deadlines. Then I find myself trying to dig the hairballs out of my creative pipes so something can flow to the damnable empty screen. Ever change the color of your word processing background just so it’s not so white?
Earlier in the week, I shared my little wogging adventures with my iPod. If I have time and child care each day, my waddles through the soybean field provide daily fiber and keep writer’s blockage at bay. No matter how much fiber I take in, sometimes I just have to sit at this computer and strain. And it hurts!
A wonderful artist friend of mine who paints seven days a week once told me, “Just show up every day at the same time.” Since she has paintings in galleries all over the world, this must work magically for her.
“If you don’t show up for your creativity, the spirits won’t think you’re serious, and they won’t help you,” she said.
God, how true is that? The Muse has been known to go silent for long periods of time when I blow off my work for something else, like closet cleaning or sufficient house maintenance to keep the health department at bay. As I look around this room, toys, baby wipes, sippy cups, a dishtowel (a dishtowel?), hair bows, books, and another dishtowel (how the hell did two dishtowels find their way into the living room?) cover this floor. The room smells funny. Everyone could use some clean underwear; I’m thinking we may have to all go commando. The Muse, however, had been keeping me busy. She’d been right there tapping me on the shoulder, whispering profane things into my ear.
The wily wench has been testing me for the last couple of days, though. She stays quiet until I come to the computer. She makes me sit here sometimes, pushing. She carries me to the brink of my time limitations, then she spews.
Today is an excellent example. A healthy dose of Ick recently fell on my head. In times past, Ick sends me running from the computer with my tail between my legs, but not anymore. Today, I’m learning that I can unplug my own creative constipation by dragging myself out of bed and plopping it in front of the computer. How do you unpop your cork?
This blog post brought to you by the makers of “Get Off Your Ass and Make Something,” a soul laxative and perfect antidote to your everyday ICK.