Creativity

Where does ir come from, this elusive part of ourselves called
creativity?  Is it that quiet part of our soul that  quietly urges
us to expand our horizons, to look beyond ourselves for
answers, inspiration, motivation, and  life path selection?
Creativity comes from deep within us and bubbles outward,
changing and re-arranging us in its path.  Not to be
commanded, but rather nurtured and coaxed into making
an appearance, creativity appears just when we think it has
abandoned us, saving us from our own narrow perspective
and limited view of the world.

As my primary passion is the art of writing, I have been
seduced by a flow of words one day, only to find the
stream dried up, empty, the following day.  This creates
frustration and conflict within, and I fight to win back my
muse.  I laboriously write new words to learn each day,
even though they are as tasty as all-bran cereal.  I dedicate
myself to reading positive quotes daily, saving to a file, for
use in a future blog.  I write letters to myself, (yes, I really
do that) saving them to a file and sharing with select friends.
I am brutally honest in these letters to myself, uncomfortably
so.  I title all these  with a date  and the words morning
blog, sometimes condensing the subject matter within to a
single word or two.  All of these help.

Writing down words I am unfamiliar with seems, at first, a
waste of time. But when one ceases to learn, that is  the
moment in time when creativity begins to shrink, shrivel,
and die.  Creativity must be fed.  It is akin to an exotic pet.
It must be carefully nurtured in order to live and grow.  And
grow it will.  Creativity is only limited by the work we put it
in it.  The words "I can't" are great deterrents to its habitat.
I may not immediately recall the so many words initially but
as time goes by, some slither quietly into my vocabulary.
Definitely, this does not occur overnight.

Reading  everything  is helpful, clarifying.  I have been reading
world news and politics lately and recently read a post or
beginning of future book by Rebecca Solnit, who is revered
by me for her unique voice and style in writing.  Everything I
read by her humbles me.  Her style is clean and crisp,
thoughtful and inspiring. I admire her writing, even while
recognizing I have my individualistic style and voice also.

One of my friends from this cyber world  recently published
a book under a  pen name.  I have read the first pages courtesy
of Amazon, and even the pen name could not cover his own
unique voice.  Pacing the Bird is the title of the book, and I will
purchase it eventually; it is exceptionally good.  Beginnings
are more difficult than one would think, and he pulls you into
the story easily.  I must buy it; I must know what happens next.

I have also been reading poetry, specifically American Poetry:
The Twentieth Century, Volume Two.  I especially was drawn
to e.e. cummings, who at one time I did not care for,  Reading
his poetry inspired me to adapt his style of little to no
punctuation and use of all lower case.   Is not poetry in many
ways an uninterrupted flow of consciousness?  I wrote three
poems in this style, which no one but me seemed to like.
That did not deter me.  I was playing with words and
thoughts--and enjoying the play immensely.  Stepping out of
my comfort zone, unafraid to experiment evoked feelings of
pure delight within.

Reluctantly I sign off for now.  Real life beckons.  My daughter
will soon be here and I  am still here at my keyboard, hours
after awakening.

Kate Thorn  3/23/2011