Sitting at the kitchen table, sipping ginger tea. Tomorrow will be different. I won't do that thing I've been doing all week: Writing. Another thing I won't do: Criticize. Because I'm not the same person I was 8 days ago...I've written the first rough draft of a script.
Months of writers block...a little thing I've come to identify as FEAR, has kept me from doing the only thing I want to do most. No amount of study, research, or character development, can substitute for, "words on paper."
How did I do it? Permission for heart, not head.
You don't know what you're doing? Good. You don't have the story yet? Great. You've never done this before? Even better. Just write. Just do the thing. Start. Because if you don't do the thing, you never will. The only reason you want to do the thing is because it's inside you...so use what's inside and go. Go heart, go.
An author I met in NYC said, "98% of writers aren't published." I believe that. I've been frozen for months working so hard and going no where. Why? I only discovered as I wrote....
I am afraid to see what I don't have, what won't come, and what I'm not. Now beginning, middle, end...and the term, "screenwriting," no longer means day dreaming but hours at a desk, head to fist, hand to pad. Reality.
Today is the hardest day of all. I can't judge whatever's on those pages. It's taking ALL my energy. If I pass this test I will have taken a solid swing at perfectionism. I need to do the next 8 days the way I did the last, give myself enough love, grace and room for error to, "Do the thing..." The more I do, the less practical that paranoid phrase will become that says, "you can't", because, you are.
Here's to first steps, and dreams becoming reality.
Monday, April 15, 2013
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Why
Ripped a page out of my journal this a.m., scribbled, "I LOVE STORIES," stumbled to my wall and nailed the glaring letters above my desk. This is what its come to. Months of writing, emotional roller coasters, sleepless nights, and questions, lots of questions that need an answer if I expect to keep going...
Why am I in the woods?
Why is my laptop in front of me again?
Why have I been looking at these blank pages for hours?
Why the last three years?
Why the 1,000's of pages of rough drafts and deleted scenes?
Why am I doing this to myself?
Why me?
because... "I LOVE STORIES." for the sake of it, for the love of the action, the love of the expression, my own heart flowing onto a page.
Today, as the cycle continues, and I find my mind racing between the pages, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the project, I go back to what made me start. I love stories, because I love life and life flows out of me when I write.
What makes life flow out of you? Before you start anything, nail down your why, maybe literally to your wall. If it's real enough, honest enough, living inside you, it will sustain you.
Love it. Respect it. At the very least give it a chance. Your why is meant to change you.
Why am I in the woods?
Why is my laptop in front of me again?
Why have I been looking at these blank pages for hours?
Why the last three years?
Why the 1,000's of pages of rough drafts and deleted scenes?
Why am I doing this to myself?
Why me?
because... "I LOVE STORIES." for the sake of it, for the love of the action, the love of the expression, my own heart flowing onto a page.
Today, as the cycle continues, and I find my mind racing between the pages, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the project, I go back to what made me start. I love stories, because I love life and life flows out of me when I write.
What makes life flow out of you? Before you start anything, nail down your why, maybe literally to your wall. If it's real enough, honest enough, living inside you, it will sustain you.
Love it. Respect it. At the very least give it a chance. Your why is meant to change you.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
Beginning the Creative Journey...
It's been a year since I've posted and almost that long since I've thought to look at my blog. Sometimes life gets away from me, or maybe the better way to put it is, I get away from life.
It's thanksgiving today. Instead of being with my family I'm in the North Carolina mountains, screenplay writing...
Short Story: I asked the Lord what I should do after ministry school January 2009 and woke up with the answer March 2009. Write screenplays. I'd never considered it before but I self-studied for half a year, until I got a phone call from a friend. She knows an author looking for a good script for his book and said maybe this is what I'm studying for...three years later and several accomplishments under my belt (none of which are writing) I've finally decided to go after what has become a dream, no, a passion of mine. Not just film, but film with meaning, life.
This blog is dedicated to my muse and now that I'm writing full-time it seems the stars have aligned and I'll finally be able to use it the way I intended, as a public platform for my creative process.
This is my 2nd month of writing. What I have learned so far:
1. Writing blocks are real. They are not who we are, they are where we are and no writer should feel ashamed that their brain can't crap gold nuggets of inspiration on command.
2. Respect the process. I've become a friend of Donkey Kong and, "creative dates," with friends who are also on a creative process. Recently discovered a friend who is writing a book on creativity. (she's been a God-sent, for real) and I can write for days after meeting with her to just talk and hang-out
3. Keep going....always...no matter how slow...no matter how much you hate your own work...keep going.
4. Love, understand, forgive and accept yourself. This isn't about what you have to say, this is about what you have to learn. When it changes you, it will be ready to change the world.
5. Fear NOTHING.
*these are all important but #5 is the most crippling, and it's taken me a long time to get. If your writing, if your doing anything that requires a piece of who you are, learn this one first. I suggest putting yourself in whatever situation your afraid of. exposure works.
....That's all for today. I'm about to sit down to a thanksgiving with a wonderful family letting me live with them in these mountains. Good luck in all your creative adventures.
Thursday, October 6, 2011
Creativity Dream
I dream a lot. Anyone that knows me, knows this. As weird as it sounds I pay attention to my dreams because, occasionally, I believe the Lord speaks through them.
If you believe a dream can be any kind of credible source of information continue reading, if not, I wouldn't bother as this will only take you into, the complicated "inner workings of Brianna's subconscious.".
Oct. 7, 2010
Two couples stand by dusty train tracks in France, wearing ball gowns and tuxedos. The first couple, a dark haired talented man, the kind prone to be introverted and relatively unsocial, stands beside his beautiful wife, holding conversation with the other couple. The other couple, myself and the beautiful woman's brother converse in fluent French. (in real life, I don't know French)
It's evening. Several flights of steps lead to a palace balcony. The outer darkness overshadows all the sides of the castle so I can't tell how far it stretches. I stand in the center of a balcony, who's distance must be the size of several houses strung together. One large table fills the center surrounded by lights, suspended on nothing but air. Dozens of people flood the balcony and take their seats at the table. The couple from the train tracks sit across from myself and the beautiful woman's brother.
The room is formal. I sit quietly, nervous.
...An old, small man, enters and everyone falls silent. He is ancient but age-less. He is kindly but everyone sits in awe and fear of him, including myself. I determine that I must like him because he isn't pompous like I'd expect a man to be that owns a palace but I'm afraid because I don't know why he would invite someone like me to dinner. He sits down quiet, at the end of the table, as our host to join us.
As dinner is served a guest pulls the straw out of her drink and stands. She puts it to her lips and plays it like a flute. I marvel, as it sounds exactly like a real flute. She is light hearted, having fun at the table. Our host accompanies her, without any objects, the sound of an entire orchestra comes from his presence. I marvel again as I realize our hosts demeanor and his power, confirming my suspicion, he is God. The mood of the room because cheerful, completely absorbed in the music he makes.
As the woman finishes and sits down I notice the couple across the table from myself. The talented man seems frustrated and mutters something negative about the party to his wife. Reluctantly she joins him in leaving the table. I watch them descend the outside steps into darkness. I am confused about why he is upset and wonder if I should also leave the table.
As I think these thoughts the voice of the host, though he isn't speaking to me, and is sitting at the other end of the table, fills my mind. His voice echoes, "A la parle." and I wake.
.............................................................................................
The craziest part of this dream is, I don't speak any French. When I woke up it took me several minutes to realize the phrase that hung in my ears. I googled, "A la parle"...it means, "I am also speaking."
Why did the host tell me he was also speaking? ... What was keeping me from hearing him? Why was the simplicity of playing with the Lord through a straw upsetting the creative genius at the table?
Today my English professor said of poet's, "Do you need to be an addict, suicidal, depressed or manic to be creative?" ...To that I'd answer, "Well, we need to be out of our minds, that's for sure. From there it's a matter of direction." We can explore darkness, then again, He is also speaking.
Creativity always conveys a message. Who do you want to control of that message? If He is, "ALSO speaking," who else is speaking?
I believe we are beginning to hit the frontier of God inspired creativity. It's an opportunity for any willing to sit at the kings table.
Let go enough to discover. Partner with, instead of force and have fun.
If you believe a dream can be any kind of credible source of information continue reading, if not, I wouldn't bother as this will only take you into, the complicated "inner workings of Brianna's subconscious.".
Oct. 7, 2010
Two couples stand by dusty train tracks in France, wearing ball gowns and tuxedos. The first couple, a dark haired talented man, the kind prone to be introverted and relatively unsocial, stands beside his beautiful wife, holding conversation with the other couple. The other couple, myself and the beautiful woman's brother converse in fluent French. (in real life, I don't know French)
It's evening. Several flights of steps lead to a palace balcony. The outer darkness overshadows all the sides of the castle so I can't tell how far it stretches. I stand in the center of a balcony, who's distance must be the size of several houses strung together. One large table fills the center surrounded by lights, suspended on nothing but air. Dozens of people flood the balcony and take their seats at the table. The couple from the train tracks sit across from myself and the beautiful woman's brother.
The room is formal. I sit quietly, nervous.
...An old, small man, enters and everyone falls silent. He is ancient but age-less. He is kindly but everyone sits in awe and fear of him, including myself. I determine that I must like him because he isn't pompous like I'd expect a man to be that owns a palace but I'm afraid because I don't know why he would invite someone like me to dinner. He sits down quiet, at the end of the table, as our host to join us.
As dinner is served a guest pulls the straw out of her drink and stands. She puts it to her lips and plays it like a flute. I marvel, as it sounds exactly like a real flute. She is light hearted, having fun at the table. Our host accompanies her, without any objects, the sound of an entire orchestra comes from his presence. I marvel again as I realize our hosts demeanor and his power, confirming my suspicion, he is God. The mood of the room because cheerful, completely absorbed in the music he makes.
As the woman finishes and sits down I notice the couple across the table from myself. The talented man seems frustrated and mutters something negative about the party to his wife. Reluctantly she joins him in leaving the table. I watch them descend the outside steps into darkness. I am confused about why he is upset and wonder if I should also leave the table.
As I think these thoughts the voice of the host, though he isn't speaking to me, and is sitting at the other end of the table, fills my mind. His voice echoes, "A la parle." and I wake.
.............................................................................................
The craziest part of this dream is, I don't speak any French. When I woke up it took me several minutes to realize the phrase that hung in my ears. I googled, "A la parle"...it means, "I am also speaking."
Why did the host tell me he was also speaking? ... What was keeping me from hearing him? Why was the simplicity of playing with the Lord through a straw upsetting the creative genius at the table?
Today my English professor said of poet's, "Do you need to be an addict, suicidal, depressed or manic to be creative?" ...To that I'd answer, "Well, we need to be out of our minds, that's for sure. From there it's a matter of direction." We can explore darkness, then again, He is also speaking.
Creativity always conveys a message. Who do you want to control of that message? If He is, "ALSO speaking," who else is speaking?
I believe we are beginning to hit the frontier of God inspired creativity. It's an opportunity for any willing to sit at the kings table.
Let go enough to discover. Partner with, instead of force and have fun.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Dengue Fever
I'm sitting at my community college looking over the balcony at blood drive sign-ups. I've just evaded a semi-embarrassing run-in with the overzealous petitioners of this event, who chase down any unsuspecting student, calling out, "Won't you donate to the blood drive? Please sign up for the blood drive. Are you interested in the blood drive?" Apparently I have the face of a persuadable victim. As soon as I hit the lobby I was singled out and berated by the same questions, to which I called back, "Sorry, I can't. I caught dengue fever." Definitely the most fun I've had so far today. The guys face dropped. I waved good-bye as he waved back with a blank stare as unto the walking dead. He didn't know a person can donate blood 4 weeks after recovering from dengue. He probably just knows what I know after looking up symptoms online, "The bone breaker illness," whose victims experience bone crushing pain, intense pain behind eyes, blackouts, fever, rashes, and possibe bleeding from ever orphace of the body before impending death. The internet covers it all and then some. It's true what they say about self-diagnosing, never do it...Unless you find yourself in my situation.
This story testifies to the creative, kind nature of God who, I'm convinced, doesn't use this life as the end all but, through it, prepares us for a reality of life in His love for us that can be experienced now and in life after death.
JULY 2010- Myself, several youth advisors, and a significantly sized group of youth left for an outreach to Haiti. We prayed over one overwhelming concern from parents, "What if something happens to my kid?" When we reached base several of the staff and other teams had caught illnesses. Probability was against us, however we left with no issue. Houses were built, people were saved, healed, and we overcame significant spiritual attack from the local witch doctor. (I could, should and maybe will write about that another day.) I was so thankful when we got off that bus with every kid accounted for and every limb attached. We all went home and I thought the trip was over...
Several nights later I had a dream. In the dream I was sleeping in PA with all the youth that went to Haiti. There was a spider/mosquito with a deadly illness in the room. No one could find it. I was trying to protect the kids, then I felt something bite me. I threw off my covers and it was sucking my blood. I ripped it off and chased it across the room but it got away. I stood in the room wondering if I got the disease. Then I woke up. I thought, "huh," wrote the dream in my dream journal and went to the gym.
Several hours later I came home and walked to the refrigerator, my legs almost gave out, as I reached to get a glass of water I felt like a 90 year old woman. Thinking I had just worked out too hard I crawled to my room, yes, I crawled. I fell face down on the bed and woke up several hours later, still in my work out clothes, moaning, sweating and in serious pain and with another dream...
This time I was in a dark room, had a serious illness and was in a lot of pain. Voices were around me telling me, "The Lord doesn't heal, obviously, look at you. If he loved you he would heal you. Wouldn't he? God hates you. Everything you've ever seen about the Lord's goodness you've made up." It went on until I was rocking back and forth crying. My friend, Ashlea, walked up to me in the dream and sat down in front of me. She said, "Brianna, I believe the Lord wants to heal you. His heart for you is love and he doesn't desire you to be in this place. Can I pray for you?" I said, "yes." She hugged me, prayed for me and...I woke up.
As I wrote that dream down I saw the dream I wrote down that morning. I thought, "What? Do I have dengue or malaria?" Then the, "rational," side of me kicked in and said, "What are the chances?" (the rational side of me is what usually makes me look like an idiot after the Lord speaks) I continued with my day but got worse. I was in a daze. My eyes hurt too much to open and my body felt like it was breaking. I crawled in bed early that night and the thoughts came.... "The Lord doesn't love you, has no intention to and never will heal, your alone...etc." and I started crying. I've never felt so hopeless. Then, hopefully you know by now what happened next.... my friend Ashlea called me....and you already know what she's going to say.... I did.
She said, "Brianna, I believe the Lord wants to heal you. He loves you very much. Can I pray for you?" I said, "yes." She prayed for me. And I cried again, this time for a totally different reason.
Not only did the Lord warn me that I was going to get sick and the type of illness but he warned me a second time about the spiritual attack I'd be facing that night. Whose God does that for them? Only mine, Jesus.
The next morning I had to share about all the miracles the Lord did in Haiti at church. I walked up to the mic. still feeling horrible and testified to the Lord's desire/ability to heal, I ended with the story I'm posting now and what the Lord taught me."
"Our truth is not determined by our experience, but by the Bible. We press into the truth of the Bible until it becomes our reality and until that point...we continue to press in. If our past experiences determine our future experiences we will never see our new reality."
I never got to follow up with the church about what happened after that morning. If you go to Willow Street Mennonite you can pass this on. Several days later I got better. I never bleed out off my mouth and immidiantely after I shared Sunday morning I started to feel better. I still went to the doctor anyway and had my blood tested. The results came back several days later and they couldn't believe it, I had dengue fever. haha.Who knew?
A few months later the National Department of Health called my house to see if I was dead. They had seen my dengue fever lab test and were taking a death toll for dengue in the states. My mom answered the phone, and I'm grateful she was able to say I'm alive.
This story testifies to the creative, kind nature of God who, I'm convinced, doesn't use this life as the end all but, through it, prepares us for a reality of life in His love for us that can be experienced now and in life after death.
JULY 2010- Myself, several youth advisors, and a significantly sized group of youth left for an outreach to Haiti. We prayed over one overwhelming concern from parents, "What if something happens to my kid?" When we reached base several of the staff and other teams had caught illnesses. Probability was against us, however we left with no issue. Houses were built, people were saved, healed, and we overcame significant spiritual attack from the local witch doctor. (I could, should and maybe will write about that another day.) I was so thankful when we got off that bus with every kid accounted for and every limb attached. We all went home and I thought the trip was over...
Several nights later I had a dream. In the dream I was sleeping in PA with all the youth that went to Haiti. There was a spider/mosquito with a deadly illness in the room. No one could find it. I was trying to protect the kids, then I felt something bite me. I threw off my covers and it was sucking my blood. I ripped it off and chased it across the room but it got away. I stood in the room wondering if I got the disease. Then I woke up. I thought, "huh," wrote the dream in my dream journal and went to the gym.
Several hours later I came home and walked to the refrigerator, my legs almost gave out, as I reached to get a glass of water I felt like a 90 year old woman. Thinking I had just worked out too hard I crawled to my room, yes, I crawled. I fell face down on the bed and woke up several hours later, still in my work out clothes, moaning, sweating and in serious pain and with another dream...
This time I was in a dark room, had a serious illness and was in a lot of pain. Voices were around me telling me, "The Lord doesn't heal, obviously, look at you. If he loved you he would heal you. Wouldn't he? God hates you. Everything you've ever seen about the Lord's goodness you've made up." It went on until I was rocking back and forth crying. My friend, Ashlea, walked up to me in the dream and sat down in front of me. She said, "Brianna, I believe the Lord wants to heal you. His heart for you is love and he doesn't desire you to be in this place. Can I pray for you?" I said, "yes." She hugged me, prayed for me and...I woke up.
As I wrote that dream down I saw the dream I wrote down that morning. I thought, "What? Do I have dengue or malaria?" Then the, "rational," side of me kicked in and said, "What are the chances?" (the rational side of me is what usually makes me look like an idiot after the Lord speaks) I continued with my day but got worse. I was in a daze. My eyes hurt too much to open and my body felt like it was breaking. I crawled in bed early that night and the thoughts came.... "The Lord doesn't love you, has no intention to and never will heal, your alone...etc." and I started crying. I've never felt so hopeless. Then, hopefully you know by now what happened next.... my friend Ashlea called me....and you already know what she's going to say.... I did.
She said, "Brianna, I believe the Lord wants to heal you. He loves you very much. Can I pray for you?" I said, "yes." She prayed for me. And I cried again, this time for a totally different reason.
Not only did the Lord warn me that I was going to get sick and the type of illness but he warned me a second time about the spiritual attack I'd be facing that night. Whose God does that for them? Only mine, Jesus.
The next morning I had to share about all the miracles the Lord did in Haiti at church. I walked up to the mic. still feeling horrible and testified to the Lord's desire/ability to heal, I ended with the story I'm posting now and what the Lord taught me."
"Our truth is not determined by our experience, but by the Bible. We press into the truth of the Bible until it becomes our reality and until that point...we continue to press in. If our past experiences determine our future experiences we will never see our new reality."
I never got to follow up with the church about what happened after that morning. If you go to Willow Street Mennonite you can pass this on. Several days later I got better. I never bleed out off my mouth and immidiantely after I shared Sunday morning I started to feel better. I still went to the doctor anyway and had my blood tested. The results came back several days later and they couldn't believe it, I had dengue fever. haha.Who knew?
A few months later the National Department of Health called my house to see if I was dead. They had seen my dengue fever lab test and were taking a death toll for dengue in the states. My mom answered the phone, and I'm grateful she was able to say I'm alive.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
February 12
I have to write today. This is one of my favorite day's of the year. Today is Abraham Lincolns birthday. Yes, for those of you who don't know already, I'm a little bit of the nerd, minus the computer smarts, math smarts, and pocket protectors ...when it comes to words, and those who use them well, I am hopeless enthralled. That is why today is my favorite day.
My intern instructor told us several years ago, on Lincolns birthday, that Abe Lincoln had one major fear that drove his life. He was afraid that he'd miss his calling, that his opportunity to change the world would pass without him seizing it and he would never make the most of his life. He was, above all, afraid of living a worthless life. I remember sitting stunned in my chair.
That day Abe became my hero, not because we share the exact same fear, but because he utilized his fear instead of being paralyzed by it.
Now I read his quotes, read his books, whenever I can get a hold of them. I even read a collection of letters to his wife, intriguing though I'm not striving to get hitched to someone debatabely insane. I've heard Abe might have been a little mentally unstable himself. My abnormal psych teacher just told us, "If you're wondering why your always dating crazy people, there may be a reason." But then the contradiction that comes to my mind is that an extraordinary person couldn't be extraordinary, if they were ordinary. Ah, alas, it matters little and even less since I'm trying to think constructively past midnight and I've crossed into another day. Oh no, it's February 13th... I'll leave with these quotes from Lincoln himself:
"Always bear in mind that your own resolution to succeed is more important than anyone thing."
"And in the end, its not the years in your life that count, its the life in your years."
"Whenever I hear anyone arguing for slavery, I feel a strong impulse to see it tried on him personally."
You cannot escape the responsibility of tomorrow by evading it today.
Die when I may, I want it said by those who knew me best, that I always plucked a thistle and planted a flower where I thought a flower would grow."
Nothing will divert me from my purpose. purpose.
— Abraham Lincoln
— Abraham Lincoln
Saturday, February 5, 2011
To my muse...
This is the first post of many on blogger.com. I felt like the first article I write should be my reason. It's my greatest hope that this blog will be the haven of my deepest thoughts and public stage for creative processing.
That these articles with be a place of rest for my words and inspiration for anyone who reads them. This is my goal....right about now you should be saying to yourself, "Wow, this girls full of it if she's claiming this as her public stage to inspire me. The audacity. Only a published, award winning writer has that kind of confidence...and even then." But I am. I'm claiming every bit of the audacity above and this is how...
Have you ever heard someone say, "He/she's a creative genius." This title is given to anyone that produces an outstanding original work, of any kind. If I compose a new song, write a new book, choreograph a new dance, I am a creative genius. And if I fail...I'm a moron. But creativity hasn't always been viewed in these terms of ownership.
Back in the day, medieval day, people credited Muses. Muses where the source of creative genius and when they visited a person, that person became the outlet of the Muses work. The Muse was the divine inspiration. If the work of a person sucked, they had a bad muse. If not, the muse was to be thanked. Our, "creative geniuses, " of today were only credited with sensitivity to hear the muse and follow the muse to the completion of the muses intention for a certain work. That was all. No pressure because it wasn't really them anyway.
My friend sent me a link a few months ago to a great podcast by Elizabeth Gilbert. I would attach it to this article but I don't know how. I just got a blog today, baby steps. Ms. Gilbert wrote the book, "Eat, Pray, Love," which I haven't read and have no intention of reading. In the podcast she talked about Muses and the pressure, if our culture could accept it, divine inspiration could take off the shoulders of our, "creative geniuses." She did not say this but implied it would also make room for even greater works, because everyone knows creativity doesn't thrive under pressure.
Discovering my muse has been my journey for over a year now. In my attempts at writing and I've had many, I've run into all kinds of set-backs, workaholism, laziness, burn out, writers block etc. All seem to stem from a common issue. Me. I can not sustain the pressure of producing and maintains great works. I've come to believe I was not meant to.
I am fortunate to already believe in the divine and the source of divinity for all inspiration. I have felt creative inspiration come over me, if only for brief moments when I look on a page and see that I could have never come up with the things I've written. This is how I know the idea of a muse is real. But I have only one muse and he has been so good to me. He has taken me over a year of self-discovery, mainly discovering what I am not, and showing me what I can be because of him. He is my creative genius and this is why I dedicate this blog to him, with all of my inspired gratitude. I am thankful for whatever good thing may come out of all my writings and I know it is possible that very great things may come. Now writing has become the skill of listening. I can finally enjoy my work and boast in what I can't accomplish on my own and appreciate without jealously everything my muse is doing through anyone listening to him. Not only has he become the way I work, he is the reason I work. It is a great feeling. I mean it is a really really great feeling and I am only at the beginning of appreciation.
I know there are many, "gifted" people reading this blog. Don't ever give up doing what the muse has sent you to do. You CAN'T do it, so stop worrying :) He can. I will be one of the many waiting to see what he does through you. I will be one of the few knowing the source of your genius. Just remember, the greatness of the finished work is meant to be a reflection of how you got there. And I think that's all I have to say about that for today...
With Gratitude,
Brianna
That these articles with be a place of rest for my words and inspiration for anyone who reads them. This is my goal....right about now you should be saying to yourself, "Wow, this girls full of it if she's claiming this as her public stage to inspire me. The audacity. Only a published, award winning writer has that kind of confidence...and even then." But I am. I'm claiming every bit of the audacity above and this is how...
Have you ever heard someone say, "He/she's a creative genius." This title is given to anyone that produces an outstanding original work, of any kind. If I compose a new song, write a new book, choreograph a new dance, I am a creative genius. And if I fail...I'm a moron. But creativity hasn't always been viewed in these terms of ownership.
Back in the day, medieval day, people credited Muses. Muses where the source of creative genius and when they visited a person, that person became the outlet of the Muses work. The Muse was the divine inspiration. If the work of a person sucked, they had a bad muse. If not, the muse was to be thanked. Our, "creative geniuses, " of today were only credited with sensitivity to hear the muse and follow the muse to the completion of the muses intention for a certain work. That was all. No pressure because it wasn't really them anyway.
My friend sent me a link a few months ago to a great podcast by Elizabeth Gilbert. I would attach it to this article but I don't know how. I just got a blog today, baby steps. Ms. Gilbert wrote the book, "Eat, Pray, Love," which I haven't read and have no intention of reading. In the podcast she talked about Muses and the pressure, if our culture could accept it, divine inspiration could take off the shoulders of our, "creative geniuses." She did not say this but implied it would also make room for even greater works, because everyone knows creativity doesn't thrive under pressure.
Discovering my muse has been my journey for over a year now. In my attempts at writing and I've had many, I've run into all kinds of set-backs, workaholism, laziness, burn out, writers block etc. All seem to stem from a common issue. Me. I can not sustain the pressure of producing and maintains great works. I've come to believe I was not meant to.
I am fortunate to already believe in the divine and the source of divinity for all inspiration. I have felt creative inspiration come over me, if only for brief moments when I look on a page and see that I could have never come up with the things I've written. This is how I know the idea of a muse is real. But I have only one muse and he has been so good to me. He has taken me over a year of self-discovery, mainly discovering what I am not, and showing me what I can be because of him. He is my creative genius and this is why I dedicate this blog to him, with all of my inspired gratitude. I am thankful for whatever good thing may come out of all my writings and I know it is possible that very great things may come. Now writing has become the skill of listening. I can finally enjoy my work and boast in what I can't accomplish on my own and appreciate without jealously everything my muse is doing through anyone listening to him. Not only has he become the way I work, he is the reason I work. It is a great feeling. I mean it is a really really great feeling and I am only at the beginning of appreciation.
I know there are many, "gifted" people reading this blog. Don't ever give up doing what the muse has sent you to do. You CAN'T do it, so stop worrying :) He can. I will be one of the many waiting to see what he does through you. I will be one of the few knowing the source of your genius. Just remember, the greatness of the finished work is meant to be a reflection of how you got there. And I think that's all I have to say about that for today...
With Gratitude,
Brianna
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