On creativity

Everything I do, with an exception or two, is done in waves. Writing is no exception.

I float passively, letting the tide carry me away from words, floating aimlessly, then words build up in a great wave and relentlessly push the tide in one direction only, onto the shore, words pounding to break and alternately crush larger ideas into smaller pebbles or smooth words into flowing poetry. Once the breakers are rolling, little stops it, the tide carries only a few words back to sea, until mere exhaustion slows the onslaught of continuous building waves into a trickle of waves to gently caress the ankles of wading thoughts.

My novel is like a strong tide that has drifted for miles. It has now found a catalyst to grow stronger and is gathering strength just off shore begging for the moon to pull it toward its destiny to crash onto shore and break into small manageable pieces.

Creativity is back. . . Did it bring Obsession with it?????



As one who also obsesses, I understand. Why is it that when I'm thinking about working with beads, I have to have one of every color, only to let them sit in my craft room for weeks while I obsess about working with them. It's the same thing with paints, brushes, etc. I have to have materials at hand, just in case...but then I sit and obsess over what to do. In the meantime, I could open a store to rival "Michaels." OY!