Saturday, 7 February 2015

Feast or Famine..

If writer's block is the absence of being able to let your creativity flow out onto the page, what would the opposite be?


There was a time when I would sit down at a blank page and the words would just flow, seeminly effortlessly onto the page.  I'd joke about how I didn't even have to think about what I was going to write, it would just fall out of my head onto the page.  

Back in grade school, I'd always loved creative writing. In later years, I'd write poetry like it was going out of style.  Looking back at it now, there were a few quality pieces, but the phase where I forced everything to rhyme..  well let's just say that it's a good thing that some things get left in the past.  

In high school I joined the high school paper as part of my journalism class, and that is where my love of writing really took a hold of me.  Growing up in Vancouver, the idealistic dreams of coming "all the way to Ottawa" to attend Carleton University.. I might as well have been plotting to go to the moon.  

How shortsighted we were as teens.  I looked around my group of friends and thought that if so many of them wanted to pursue journalism that out in the "big bad world," I could multiply that exponentially.  A few of us got talking about how much 'better' it might be to get into broadcasting, but before long I found myself in the same boat there.  It's rather sad to think of how many big ideas I talked myself out of before I'd even started. 


From the time we open our eyes, til the time we put our heads back to the pillow we're plugged in, in one form or another.  In the course of a day, so many little sparks dance in my head waiting for their chance to make a fire. 

I remember fondly the hours I'd spent writing. I had a few favourite spots I'd drive to and just write the afternoon away.  It just didn't get much better than that!  

How did I get from there to a place where day is done and nothing seems to have transferred to the page.  So many sparks lying in wait in a dusty draft folder. Going back finds outdated posts that no longer seem relavent, and cobwebs I was only starting to unravel..  

Such is the way of the world, I suppose...  oh wait, I hear the dryer calling me. 

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