Do you ever have this feeling inside you that makes you want to go do something beautiful? Like write something wildly brilliant or draw something deliciously impossible. Something that’s sparkly and fluffy. Not literally, but that feels that way. But you have no idea where to start, or what to do. And so you sit down with a blank sheet of paper, and wait. But nothing comes. Then instead of feeling happy like you did a moment ago you feel depressed, like any creativity you once had has been eaten by the giant called “growing up.” When I was a kid, my creativity seemed alive and well and endless, and the stories I created were original and fascinating. Now all that comes out is reused bits from this story and that, nothing new, only old worn-out remnants of beautiful things.
What do you do when this mood strikes you? Do you ever feel this way? What does it mean?