I have a problem and it’s with my creative fires. I look through the bits of fiction I’ve written, my old journals, or even stuff I’ve made in Photoshop and most of the time I can’t recognize it. I know I created it, but it doesn’t sound like me. Maybe it’s how my brain changes directions so often, but it seems like I’m inspired with creativity at odd intervals in life.
I can remember a time when I was very into photography. I never really produced anything that amazed me but I was experiencing creativity at some level. I remember looking at objects and trying to find the best way to convey it to my viewers. As with everything I had the flawed underlying belief that my level of progression came from the quality of the tool I used. When my hard earned $$ went into good equipment and the output didn’t increase accordingly, I bailed out of the hobby. I still sort of regret that.
I also remember being consumed by music, I had a palpable hunger for new music. I loved going to concerts, I was pumped by new albums, I basked in the joy of a new band. I became obsessed with Coheed and Cambria, they literally swept me off my feet when I started to listen to them. Such talent, not just in the instruments, but the lyrics; an amazing combination of darkness, evil, melody, and yet somehow poppy. Coheed took me away to a place I had never been taken by a band before. I suddenly understood why people got band tattoos, and I have their Keywork symbol inked between my shoulder blades to prove it. I literally hung on every word that Claudio wrote, I felt every beat of Josh’s drum, my heart quivered with the thump of Mike’s bass, my brain screamed with every riff that Travis laid down, every nuance of their music spoke to me. Where did that go? I still love them more than any other band I’ve ever heard so I can assume it’s not all gone, but it’s just a shadow of what it used to be.
Maybe that doesn’t technically have anything to do with creativity, but I think it does. The brain needs outside stimulation to be creative but mine sits numb these days regardless of what I throw at it.
Something inside of me wants to be creative, I know this. I love notebooks and paper, I have 2 drawers in my desk that are full of empty notebooks that I bought when the paper spoke to me. I have a ton of different pens and a rainbow of ink, yet when I’m faced with the blank page, I can’t come up with anything. Is it fear? Am I forcing something that doesn’t exist? Surely I’m not attracted to the blank page for naught?
So how do you spark creativity? Give me some ideas on how to stoke the tiny little embers smoldering inside my brain. At this point, I’m willing to try anything.