Back to the Creativity Gym
It’s not a creative drought. It’s creative atrophy. My brain has not seen a bench press in months. It has been binge eating current affairs and trashy Netflix shows.
Malnourished and lethargic, I can only blame my perceived creativity drought on myself.
I strain muscles reaching for vocabulary. I tear ligaments stitching sentences together. I read a paragraph and decide it’s time for a well-earned snooze.
Anyone else feeling the same? Stiff, sore and slow.
The pandemic has been a glorious rush of creativity for some. Time freed by restrictions allowed art to ooze out of previously plugged pores. A torrent of small businesses splashed across social selling resin and concrete trinkets. A downpour of novels were finished, published and sold. A rainbow of artists displayed their work in online marketplaces. Musicians and actors rose to the occasion and a deluge of digital performance overwhelmed our screens.
I am sure I wasn’t alone while standing in the shelter. Burying my head in the stability and certainty of work rather than taking my passions for a slow jog through the local park.
I think it’s time for a new meal plan and fresh workout schedule.
Books are on the menu. Now that it’s back, maybe even a little munch at a titbit of live theatre. Cultural articles too. Current affairs are well and good, but vaccine schedules only prove so inspiring.
For workout: writing. Every day. A commitment of at least 1 hour to start. Baby steps. Some 500g weights to help. A jar of words for randomised inspiration.
None of the algorithmic fad fitness. Authenticity or spontaneity only. If my squats aren’t deep enough, I’m sorry, I’m not focusing on my glutes today.
My gym gear is freshly ironed. It’s time to get ripped. Anyone with me?