Loved by your words
So much is made of the pain that accompanies creation. What if the essence of creativity was love?
I know myself that as compelling as the image is, the reality of setting out to make a work of the imagination, to tease the fluid ingredients from your mind and hold them still enough that they can be bound with the tools of your craft, is challenging and often the catalyst for huge frustration.
Does it mean though that frustration is the only milieux that we can work in? What do we make of the artist who paints peacefully each day, making pretty canvasses? Is that somehow not art? The poet who creates loose, friendly rhymes, using words that hang out at the edge of no meaning?
I want to be embraced by the words that I type. I want to capture the images that are vivid in my imagination. I want to say something that impresses my reader as deeply as it impresses me. I want my reader to be able to tell me something that I didn’t know, that I missed in what I was seeing, because I had done such a good job of honestly showing them what I could.
Take that as your chore: be kind to yourself, friendly to the reader, patient with your imagination, dogged with your words. Look for the moment of embrace, when the words lift up to you, and fall into it, like a child falls into a mother’s unalloyed love.