I've known for quite some time that my most creative stuff, my richest loam, comes from deep, dark and even depressing times in my life. So, here I sit at my computer wondering why I am not able to write. I listen to my muses, the creative geniuses in my life, and wonder why I can't write like them. A Carrie Newcomer song brings me to tears with her depth, cleverness and certain connection to real life. I read a Rilke poem and wonder at the genius and the veil of creativity that is lended him by his own shadow side. What do I do? Wait for bad things to come again? That seems like a desperate way to be a writer.
My creativity feels shriveled, dead and distant. How can this be when life seems so good? Possibly the refrain I would write is actually the life I am currently living. It's so good and fertile right now that I can't access the depth of my feelings, emotions and all the stuff that makes for really good art! That seems very sad to me. Maybe my "dry bones" will be brought to life soon. I keep hoping....
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