In my freshmen year of college I took a creative writing
course. The professor, a woman I would describe as Woodstock Affected, opened
the class with this phrase: “Creativity cannot be taught.”
My first thought: "There’s
a credit down the crapper."
My second thought: "Should
I really listen to a woman wearing Birkies and tube socks?"
Fashion calamity aside, Professor X knew her stuff. Her
method was a tad unorthodox, and I shudder at the memory of the pop-writing
prompts: “You are Joan of Arc, fire
engulfs your flesh, describe the smell?" (My “bacon with a hint of released
bowels” received a C.)
From Professor X I took away two valuable lessons. First,
creative is a highly subjective term - one person’s storytelling skill is
another’s cry for psychiatric help. Second, no matter where your writing path
meanders, a sure way to spark creative juices is through a side trip outside
your comfort zone.
Huh? Here’s what I mean.
I’m blocked, (not in a needs more fiber way), every writer’s
worst nightmare, right? I’ve researched, re-written, revised, revamped and reconsidered
careers – and still, nuthin’ - but last
week something sparked a memory of Professor X and her suggestion to channel
creative juices AWAY from writing during a block to rejuvenate the
muse.
After a few days of puttering around the house, re-arranging
furniture, planting a few flowers, attempting (and failing) recipes – still –
the juices - NOT flowing. I was maple syrup in the Arctic. Desperate, I decided
to go for a hike (I’m not a hiker – I’m directionally inept and hate bugs.) So,
I dig under my bed for the hiking boots I bought years back in a “really, I’ll
do this” moment and stumbled upon a long forgotten box of costume jewelry from
my Great Aunt Ruth.
Ruth was…hmmm, what’s the term….lovingly eccentric. I adore
all the eclectic scarves, jewelry and utterly outrageous knickknacks I inherited
after her passing. A few seconds into the box of treasures…
BAM! (Was that too Emeril?) Creativity hit!
Rummaging through the countless odd beads and bangles – I began
stringing together strand after strand of re-purposed jewels; both physical and mental. With each new bauble - a plot twist surfaced. With each new design - character motive went from murky to perky. (OK – that’s silly – but it’s all
I got!)
Moral of the story – find your hidden gem and the muse will
find you.
