"Authorship is exhibitionism, and readers a species of voyeur."
To the writers on my FL: Do any of you go through extended "dry spells"? That is, are there periods out of the month or week when you're absolutely flat, without the urge or inspiration to write? For me, those humps come every other month or so. I'll have this incredible momentum for a while -- to the point where I'll be writing dialogue in my head, or daydreaming the same scenario a thousand different ways -- when it seems like I've got a new idea every couple of minutes. And then, inexplicably, I'll wake up the next morning and feel completely drained of any creative momentum. Like I've used up all of my reserve creativity in that orgiastic frenzy of the last week. And that can last. Sometimes it stays for a month or more. Everything I write in that period will feel forced, or sound stilted, and for the life of me, I can't string a noun to a verb or squeeze blood from a...you know, something else.
But then, when it comes back? Oh boy. That's a gift. That's a cosmic favour. That's the ex who comes screaming back into your life for a red-hot one night stand. And it's intense again, and wonderful, and everything you write has panache and style, like it should be squeezed on the rim of Tom Wolfe's cocktail glass; and there's nothing better than the feeling of being connected to that dreamy pipeline, that pneumatic tube that goes--swoosh!--down from heaven and into your brain, where every sentence has been dictated by Calliope, sitting at her solar switchboard, smacking her gum while she connects your wires to the perfect noun, verb, adjective, or modifier.
That's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
I don't know where any of that came from. I was going to write a post about something completely mundane -- the fact that I think I have an irregular spread of taste buds -- but that came out instead. It's late. I'm tired. I think I'm finally plugging in to something creative again. Thank god, because school starts up in a little less than two weeks. I'll need the enthusiasm.
I keep touching the tip of my tongue. What is going on in my mouth?
But then, when it comes back? Oh boy. That's a gift. That's a cosmic favour. That's the ex who comes screaming back into your life for a red-hot one night stand. And it's intense again, and wonderful, and everything you write has panache and style, like it should be squeezed on the rim of Tom Wolfe's cocktail glass; and there's nothing better than the feeling of being connected to that dreamy pipeline, that pneumatic tube that goes--swoosh!--down from heaven and into your brain, where every sentence has been dictated by Calliope, sitting at her solar switchboard, smacking her gum while she connects your wires to the perfect noun, verb, adjective, or modifier.
That's the most wonderful feeling in the world.
I don't know where any of that came from. I was going to write a post about something completely mundane -- the fact that I think I have an irregular spread of taste buds -- but that came out instead. It's late. I'm tired. I think I'm finally plugging in to something creative again. Thank god, because school starts up in a little less than two weeks. I'll need the enthusiasm.
I keep touching the tip of my tongue. What is going on in my mouth?