I’ve been writing. I’ve been writing web copy. I’ve been writing articles. I’ve been writing Christmas cards and scrapbook captions. I’ve been writing blog posts.
I’ve also been drawing and I’ve been painting. I’ve been snapping photographs. I’ve been creating. And, this is good. Creativity, I believe, breeds more creativity. But, you still can grow weary. I realize I reached my “creative cliff” if you will, when last night even my dreams ran out of steam.
I’ve been hearing a lot about dreams lately – my sister-in-law at www.yourmomisstrange.blogspot.com has been keeping a dream diary chronically some psychic phenomenon. My friend Maria Wulf has been writing about dreams as part of a healing, soul retrieval process you can read more about at www.fullmoonfiberart.com. My dreams, on the other hand, have become utterly mundane. They need no interpretation. Worried about a looming article, I dream of handing it in paragraph by paragraph to an editor who not only rips it apart, but demands more. Anxious about meeting a friend I have not seen in awhile, I dreamed that I was late for our appointment. Wow, how inspiring is this?
Tonight I had plans to write my annual Pugdom Christmas letter chronicling the comings and goings of the pugs at my friend Joan’s home and post it here, but the words alluded me. They’ve all scattered to the far corners of my mind where they play a scribe’s game of hide n’ seek. I’m left with an empty page like an empty room and I’d probably call it a day and sit and watch the X-factor, but I’m determined to at least put something on the page. This is it. Tonight I may dream about having to post on the blog and having nothing to say, but maybe not. This is the season of magic and mystery, where sugar plum fairies dance in our heads. So 1-2-3- elusive words and deeper meanings – ready or not here I come.