I’ve come to realize, creativity behaves like a sponge.
In between uses, while I’m immersed in beautiful literature, the sponge becomes saturated. It drips. Yearns to be squeezed. Then, I get writing, squeezing every last drop until the sponge is a desert. Through its face, what starts to build, are chasms. Creativity temporarily dried, I spend hours looking at the screen, writing nothing.
How do I refill the sponge of creativity? Easy. I spend time immersed in beautiful literature, resting my brain, learning new ways words can be used. However, recently I’ve noticed there’s a catch. Before I started writing, my creativity, ideas, would flood every aspect of my life. But the more I write, the less I enjoy stories, as my brain is analyzing text, rather than simply sitting back and enjoying.
“AHHHH!” I scream. Of course, silently. My sponge is dried! I need a bucket to refill! But it feels like every bucket I find is filled with sand. Perhaps some time away from writing may help. However, the fear of losing motivation to write keeps me glued to my story.
Writing is a drug. An addiction. The cure to my soul’s aches and pains. The solution to life problems. But also, the ticket to insanity. Thus, I sit here, sponge dried, lapping up the rain of sand. “What should I do next?” I ask myself. I don’t know… I guess I’ll go back to writing. Or perhaps sleep, drink coffee. Or maybe I should finally finish reading The Way of Kings–I’m almost there. But if I start reading the book, I’d need to find a new door stopper. 🙂
Thank you for reading. Have a great weekend!
-Thomas J. Benedict