I’m tormented by my obsession to be creative, despite a lack of inspiration.
Feeling called to write, choreograph, perform––do something;
Not because I want to cross something off a list, but rather to stay active on my artistic journey.
Sometimes doing “nothing” is really doing something;
The stillness gives me a space to breathe, and then suddenly––out of nowhere––my soul is revived.
I spent the past two years working on my new book;
brainstorming, outlining, contemplating, writing, rewriting, and gathering with my writing group to share and rethink––finally finishing my 1st draft.
Now, I wait. The agony of releasing my work into the hands of capable colleagues, who may not have the emotional attachment I have with my “book baby.”
I’ve poured my heart onto the page, now I have to move on.
I gave myself the space to rest––two months is plenty of time, right?
The idea of staring at a blank screen is daunting, but the vast emptiness that I feel when I’m not creating is excruciating.
So, back into the sea I go, not at all prepared for the storm that’s sure to hit, for now I’ll just focus on getting past the break and pray for a lifeboat when I need it.
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