Poof! It's gone.

I rub three time. Nothing. I do it again. Nothing. I whisper a prayer. nothing changes. One more time, to no avail. Wait! I have it somewhere. I’ll look for it. My magic eight ball. I find it and ask it if I will be able to write today? Its reply, “without a doubt.” I do it again and ask the same question. “Outlook not so good.” This is insane! Make up your mind, already. Final time, “will I be able to write, today?” I turn the wicked little thing and get, “Concentrate and ask again.”

Really? If I could concentrate, I’d be writing to begin with, not wasting my time on genies, guardians and toys. But, some days no matter what you do, the focus is temporarily out of service, and the ideas have gone on vacation to Destin, Florida, without me.

It happens. Some days I sit down in my office and stare at the screen, wondering what on earth to talk about. Some days it comes, some days not. Most of my writing, believe it or not, comes while I’m in the bathroom, in the shower. Seems my brain, like an orchid in a dry rainforest, needs water to invigorate itself bring itself back to life. At any rate, it is the one time of day, we can all be assured solitude and privacy. Ok, well there is another time too, but gross. I won’t go there.

Most days I am cool. Body awake, check. Coffee in hand, check. Brain firing on all three cylinders, check. Wait, I’m on two until the third gulp. Those days are magnificent. I pour out thoughts, ideas, feelings through my fingers on the keyboard. Sentences coming faster than I can type.

Then sometimes, I have mornings, where no matter what I do or don’t do, my mind digs in its obstinance, like a two year old refusing to eat his vegetables. Today was not the terrible two’s brain. I was on a roll.

I was writing poetry for a contest, and was liking the work, when the light on the phone comes to life. Son. Okay, he has been dealing with a layoff, recently, so I pick up hoping he’s alright. He regales me with the ongoing saga of the unemployment office dragging its heals on his claim (it’s been two months). I listen, give him advice and suggestions, and we end the call.

I get back to my work, a poem on spring. I was enjoying the writing and the imagery created by words. It was flowing smoothly like water through a straw, perfectly smooth unencumbered. The dream.

Then it happens again. The phone lights up. I should tell you, that I never have my ringer on. I refuse really, unless there is something imminent, and I am worrying that the phone fairy will route the call directly to voicemail, like it usually does, with unnamed callers. But anyway, the screen lights up with son. I again pick up, a little miffed, but I try to suppress it. I love talking to my son. I suck up every word, and when I am not busy or when I am drawing, I have no problems having a long conversation. I can multitask. I am, woman!

He begins telling me the details of the outcome of the suggestions I gave him earlier. By earlier, I mean about fifteen minutes prior to this call. He’s making a short story, long, and I am beginning to get agitated. I am working here!

He and everyone that knows me knows I am incommunicado, when the thought process is in full swing and I am writing, in my zone. But life doesn’t care what I am doing. So, life happens and I get called about it. Normal.

This time, however, my brain checked out. The thesaurus was out of order, and the dictionary had one word. Nope. Brakes, petal to floor, doors slammed shut, and one very upset writer, sitting on writing chair, with nothing running through her mind but, what now.

I was at the tail end of my third poem and I had no clue how to end it. That is exactly why I cocoon myself when I write. Creativity is a delicate and finicky creature. Easily scared off and as difficult to coax back as a feral kitten under a car. It shrinks into the recesses of the catacombs of the artist’s mind and good luck. No treat or kibble will get her out. You just have to wait it out and have patience. Something I do not have in abundance. For real. I would try ti hide that fact but what’s the point. I fully accept my imperfections and flaws. That being said, I sat for a bit, and then decided to have lunch.

After lunch, I returned to my desk and fortunately, brain came to the table. I’ll put that in the win column.

Often times, creativity is stilted. There are many reasons why it stalls out during life. Sometimes, financial crisis, bad relationships, children interruptions or even death can come between the artist and his or her craft. Not the artists death, though yes, that would slow the creative process, just a bit. Every day life and situations can interfere with clear and clean thinking, making focus difficult at best, impossible at worst.

I have learned, over the course of years, that you just have to embrace the unexpected, take care of it and continue on. “Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.’ Giving up is not an option. Every blockade can be run around, every impossibility, made possible. I think that is true in all aspects of life. There is no impossible, no wall too hight to scale.

There is the problem, the outcome, and the journey to get from one to the other. If one thing does not work, find a better route, find the solution, but never stop trying to create. Never let a distraction or interruption, drive you so far off course that you forget where you are going.

Take a pause, map out where you are going, how you are getting there, and when you want to be there. You may have stops along the way, like a needy twenty year old, but you’ll always get back on the road.

Make sure you have a full cup of coffee. You do not want to know what happens when you don’t.