What Does Your Creativity Feel Like?

    Mine feels like this, but I also want to hear about yours.  Mine came out as a poem, but that is not required.  Just shoot for as much accuracy as you can.

    Finding my Creativity

    Take all your failures

    Mash them into every urge to screw around anyway

    Throw in a cross-eyed stare

    A stubborn lower lip, a tongue between teeth

    And lay it all out, end to end, in words.

     

    Take all your happiest smiles

    Feel them in your chest

    Exhale fear, then shrug and let it back in.

    Say “who cares?”

    And start.

     

    Think of the least obvious

    The fourth item past the cliché

    Or don’t think

    Pretend you’re not really doing this

    And are actually off doing laundry or washing the floor

    Then hit “Record,” but don’t watch.

     

    Repeat after me:

    It’s okay; it’s okay; it’s okay.

    Then pat yourself on the knee and tell yourself

    You’re a good kid,

    And whatever you put out there today is a fine start.

     

    26 Responses

    1. For me, creativity is contemplation of a word or concept. Exploring by research the word, where more words gather until one idea forms which is usually so far from the original word or concept yet linked in some small way, and a bridge forms or links to the original word or concept. — just thought I’d jump in.

    2. And I want to comment on Ann’s post which kicked this off. I have read it several times, my mind marveling at the creative thoughts woven based upon the writing principles I recall from her BWW class. I think it deserves a wider audience than here, Ann.

    4. As is your custom Jeff, you have stated in a profound and confusing manner the chaos that is your creativity. All I can say is Keep Doing what you are doing because it is, quite often, stunning and magical.

    5. Sometimes

      I awaken in my bed with a startle and listen to the darkness.

      My mind scrapes across its surface like nails across a chalkboard, ice skates across concrete, steel across flint, looking for, needing badly, sometimes crying out like a lost child in a cavern for some spark to ignite my imagination in some thermo-nuclear, blinding light splendor, taking me to a place I have never been, carrying my years like a bag of stones around my neck.

      In fetal surrender, my eyes open as if through multiple lids, and I seek inside me that thought that will tie my nocturnal insanity into some beautiful bouquet which I then must shred leaving human emotions ripped like a feral carcass upon which I feed. A fear from my childhood, a line from Poe, a lustful thought about a girl long forgotten, these scenes merge and twist like snakes breeding in water.

      I let them run their course to exhaustion, and without lifting a finger I draw a picture that does not exist with people never born, doing things sometimes horrific without any idea why. All that is left is to morph these thoughts into pixels and have them make sense to a reader.

      Sometimes.

    6. A pot set on the stove top, filled with water, a pinch of salt and whatever else was sitting among the spices that smelled appropriate for tonights meal. the eye is lit but the water still starts out cold. If I stand by the stove it never heats up, it’s only when I go away, put on a movie or some music or sit down to read that it starts to heat up. When I look back, when I remember that it’s there, it’s at a rolling boil, and I rush over to make sure that I get to work before it boils over, I get the ingredients into the pot and get to work. The trick, one learns through trial and error is knowing when to pull the pot from the heat. You have to be careful not to overcook anything, careful not to let it burn. My creativity is a pot, when watched never boiling, my work, best al dente.

        1. There’s this amazing that that happens when I sit down with the sole intention of creating something… well, to borrow someone elses words

          “Now I’m hunched over a typewriter
          I guess you call that painting in a cave
          And there’s a word I can’t remember
          And a feeling I cannot escape
          And now my ashtray’s overflowing
          I’m still staring at a clean white page
          Oh and morning’s at my window
          She is sending me to bed again ”

          -Bright Eyes, “Another Travelin’ Song”

    7. My creativity has as many different feelings as there are shoelaces at Payless. Suffice to say that the following list of feelings is a token sampling of past experiences which is expanded as each new incidence of creativity occurs.

      My creativity feels like…….

      *An abscessed tooth going on day three. Impossible to ignore and unbearable to endure until it is finally, mercifully yanked out of my head and onto the paper, leaving me numb, with a gaping hole that continues to throb even after the culprit has been extracted.

      *An irrepressible fit of giggles in a solemn setting such as a funeral or an IRS audit. The more I try to control the eruptions, the more insistent they are to fly forward into the moment. Creativity, like inappropriate giggles, loves to do things for the “Shock Value.”

      *The complete satisfaction and serenity of having your puppy snuggled at your side as you both settle in for a long winter’s nap.

      *As explosive as a kernel of corn in a bag of Microwave Popcorn, bursting forth in all its buttery glory to be consumed by a grateful audience.

      *As natural as the color of my eyes, yet as unpredictable as a spastic colon.

      My creativity feels like being gently, but firmly, guided on a trail which will ultimately lead to my Creator.

      1. Peanut,
        Nice work linking creativity to The Creator.
        Got the giggles when I read “spastic colon”
        No wonder your stories are always so complex and entertaining at the same time.
        Thanks for sharing this.

      2. Even with the lighthearted visuals,I think you took the idea to an entirely deeper level. One of your best posts.

    8. Creativity is like a warm spring rain,feeding seeds of a story that where planted by a sight , a smell , a thought. Then grown and burst through on paper to be enjoyed by all. Of course with many corrections and spell checking. Many hours of proof reading and rereading. Till the flower is in full bloom and perfect to the writer’s eye and ear.

    10. Creativity is a volcano brewing inside of me. The pressure builds with anticipation. The ideas ooze from my mind like hot lava. I can’t get the words down on paper fast enough. My thoughts flowing faster than i can write. Some thoughts are forgotten and lost before I can release them onto paper. Damn Alzheimer’s. My muscles tense up and my jaw sets tight. I write and write and write, so furiously that when I go back I can’t read all that I have written in my scribbled handwriting. Finally, exhausted, I set down my pen. My thoughts, like the lave, have hardened. My creativity no longer flowing freely. I am spent. I will wait for the pressure to build, when I can no longer hold in the thoughts and I purge them out once again into my writing.

      2. Carol – I can identify with the emotion in your description, this is a deeper piece to me than perhaps it looks on the surface.

    11. With a nod to the Nailpolishstories website, I am responding to this challenge with a story with exactly 25 words that relate to the Two-Word title.(Title is normally the actual name of a nail polish color):

      CREATIVE GALE
      Challenge read. Ideas form effortlessly. Wait, there will be more. Mornings are best. Here they come. Quickly, get to the keyboard. Aah, here we go.

        1. Thx Peanut, and hat’s off to Jeff for introducing me to Nailpolishstories!
          I’ve submitted 3 to their website this month for consideration. It is a fun and challenging genre.

      2. Yes the 25-words wrapped around a color is a challenge. I ponder in which color palette one would find Creative Gale. I think it would include a sparkly metallic tone.