Kickstart My Art

This unpublished post is for me.

No offense.

I just need this one.

I’ll go back to posting about me, but this one is for me.

(Of course, one could argue all of my unpublished posts have been both about and for me, but I digress)

My brain is sludge. I’ve battled a nasty head and chest cold for three solid weeks. Its physical toll wasn’t nearly as bad as the mental one.

When you’re listless and bland, when ideas crash and burn, when imagination falters, when taste has no flavor, air has no breath, fortune favors neither the brave or foolhardy, then you’ll understand.

Then you’ll be there.

And you won’t like it.

Normally, images are captured in my mind’s eye, rendered onto virtual canvas, stroke for stroke, word for word.

That’s what usually happens.

But, lately, not for me.

Everything has been a chore. A struggle. A battle just to stand upright.

When I’ve sat before my iMac, I’ve had all the energy of a sloth that’s run a half-marathon.

In the summer.

Wearing a parka.

And interruptions kill momentum.

Dogs.

Kids.

Phone calls.

Nature.

Sleep.

Responsibilities.

Adulting.

Exhaustion.

So I’m writing this stream of unconsciousness in the hope it will kickstart my art. Rev my internal creative engine. Remind me I can write.

That I will write.

Again.

Now.

Thankfully, my wife gets it. She knows when I behave this way, I need some space, time and the relative dimensions of the guest room where I can sleep, uninterrupted.

But this time, it hasn’t worked. Probably because of the trauma my poor sinuses and chest have suffered. Likely because my mind needs recovery.

Space.

Nourishment.

Rejuvenation.

That’s the key, isn’t it?

My day job keeps me very busy. Stress is a large part of it, because in order to be successful in my industry, taking on risk is what I do on a daily basis.

I won’t bore you with the minutiae of commercial property underwriting. It’s numbers, analysis, an eye for detail and an appetite to avoid destruction. It’s playing with house money, and those dollars are counted in the tens to hundreds of millions. It’s developing and maintaining rapport with a number of very distinct and, at times, challenging personalities.

But it’s also very rewarding.

I’m fortunate I work somewhere that respects me for who I am, what I do, my strengths and weaknesses, and, above all, my personal needs.

But that’s not what this unpublished post is about.

It’s about what I do when I’m not at the office, on the phone, checking work emails nightly, trading texts with co-workers about the vagaries of the insurance industry.

No, this one is about me finding Stella again. And when I do that, my groove will follow.

The way I see it, the more I type here, the better chance I have of gaining momentum. Of reminding myself that Pieces of Eight, the working title to the sequel to Bloodlines, is a good, quality, engaging story that must be told.

That it must be finished.

And edited.

I’m a writer.

I write.

I dream.

I write some more.

But sometimes, the tank is empty.

Sometimes, I’ve got nothing to offer.

Sometimes, the words just aren’t there.

This isn’t something new, thankfully.

I go through these periods.

Dry spells.

The doldrums.

And when I do, I rely upon my trusted and true remedies.

Making homemade, hot soup.

Listening to inspiring music.

Reading a good book.

Taking a walk with my dog.

Playing a video game.

Watching a movie involving one of my on-screen heroes.

Hugging my wife and kids.

Laughing with friends.

Eating a favorite meal.

Or writing a blog about blogging my way back to you, babe.