On welcoming a creative drought
Hey there, good lookin. You may have noticed that I've been stealthily avoiding the internet these days, or you may not have noticed at all. That's how damn stealthy I am. Like a ninja slipping into your home in the dead of night and relieving you of all of those unwanted possessions. My presence has been that brand of undetectable.
So here I am, emerging into the unflattering direct sunlight of midday, fully prepared to answer for my absence. Alright, stop staring at the one stray whisker on my chin. It happens to the best of us.
I've been battling a creative drought for the better part of a month. I realize that doesn't sound super long in the grand scheme of things, but I was feeling as if creativity and I had an understanding. I was writing regularly, on both the blog and in the book series, and I was starting to mentally expand to invite in other forms of creativity.
Like, I was ready to try visual creativity. I thought about making jewelry. I romanticized taking up painting, drawing, or sculpture, and I started putting feelers out for ways to express this creative energy. "I have an abundance," I thought. "Art is everywhere!"
Cue the drought. I'm not sure what to attribute it to. Maybe it's the depressing political climate, and the fact that I wake up to a handful of boner-killing headlines on the daily. It could be the time of year, and the fact that fleeting daylight + cold weather and I have never been simpatico.
Maybe it's a combo of all of the above, but suddenly words were just not coming. Usually I'm like this vessel through which overly descriptive phrases just FLOW, y'all, but this past month has been one continuous "nope."
It's ironic, because my latest book, Roused - Above the Fray, featured a drought in the rainforest. My lead character is fed up with the lack of rain, and I enjoyed writing about her frustration. I actually loved it, because I thought there's no way life could imitate art.
Then it did, y'all, but it didn't take one thing into account. I have the strength of like a dozen Trojans, or at least the misplaced confidence of a certain orange-hued leader of the free world. I'm leaning into this drought. I welcome it. It won't define me. I've got creativity in the reserves, and I'm evoking it to help get things started. I've padded the tip jar with a few dolla dolla bills y'all, and the rest of my creativity will have no clue but to follow suit.
So, yeah, I don't exactly have a plan, but I'm committed to bringing back the creativity. I'm spitting on the crunchy grass of my creative drought. How's that for moisture?