I have been writing in one form or another for almost all my life - my Nanny Gillam gave me my first journal, a puffy plastic covered white one with a pink flamingo on the front with a lock you could pick with a bobby pin, when I was just in the 4th grade. And I wrote the shit out of it! And then got another, and another, and another - when I didnt have a fancy one - I used a scribbler (<- one of my favorite words in the english language BTW) - or just blank paper and put them in a box. I wrote about my day, my feelings, my crushes, my parents, my pets - I wrote poetry, copied down the lyrics to my fave songs, drew pictures, and stuck in magazine pictures that I loved - I did it all. And I have kept all of these things to remind me of how my priorities and view of things have changed and how incredibly silly (and sometimes clever) I was, even as a kid.
But, as of late - the thoughts haven't been coming together for me as clearly - writers block in the truest form. And not just writers block - almost complete creativity shut down. Unfinished canvas litter the sun room upstairs, a journal with only a few pages filled out in it, boxes of pictures and envelopes filled with travel stuff dying to be organized stacked in the spare room, no new recipes have been tried, and a blog with fewer entries in it than ever.
What is happening to me? Is this what comes with age? Complete lack of imagination and creative drive? I can only hope not. This entry is purely an attempt at getting the juices flowing again - waking up the right side of my brain.
Here is hoping.
