Sunday, 16 June 2013

Feeding the Tiger

"The world is but a canvas to your imagination." (Henry Thoreau)

A sphere of infinite possibility orbits beneath your feet. An endless stream of nighttime stars and distant galaxies conduct orchestras of light and unknown echoes deep beyond the blackness. 


Yet you sit here stuck searching for a story. Something to anchor your creative potential; a bone to chew; something to get the creative juices flowing. 


You wish to salivate upon the empty page until it is soaked with your shine. Yet all that emerges is a stuttering dribble;a jagged rimless vessel of jerky words. Where no sense wished to emerge. 


You look to the moon, gibbous and gorgeous in the corner of the western sky.
And it smiles silver,
a friendly fang incising the dark. 

You are distracted by non flow. Confused by the conflict between the desire to create and the thickness of your fingers that wait for download. They are hungry to pounce across the qwerty map, devour vowels and consonants. But no you still dribble. 


You dally around the flashing cursor as if some lightening strike of inspiration may at any moment tremble through you.

And still nothing. 

You shut your eyes take deep breaths ...'dream me up a story' your mantra...dreaming a starting line. 'Give me a place to start on this canvas of possibility.'
 The harder you try to focus the more restricted your creative tendons feel.
Your mind has become your Achilles heel.
 

Aaah and now your fingers are loosening up and there seems to be a slight swell of excitement. Like  the tide is about to change. Like the moon is about to tip some magic dust your way. A shovel full of wonder to twinkle over you.

In the absence of outstanding literary endeavour you pick up your pen. You choose to use this empty moment to develop characters. They're as boring as the blank page. You put down the pen in disgust and restlessness begins to pinch you.

You return to the keyboard hoping, praying for something to emerge, something, anything...and you wait. You keep the words flowing, that's what they tell you to do. 


Don't stop not now ... Keep going , just keep doing that... Aaarrrgghh like chasing the elusive orgasm. You know it's there but nothing seems to free it. Nothing seems to get you to the  point of no return. 

The sweep subsides it was just a tease. 

The mind returns chuckling at your foolishness and the fact that you thought you could just make a start and the rest would simply flow. 

Come on where are you. Impatience arrives. Not welcome but there nevertheless. You cast it a cursory glance but decide to truck on. Adrenalin begins to kick in. The race has started. Dopamine enlivens the neurotransmitters and the thrill of the hunt starts to bubble through your limbs. You can feel it. Searching, seeking, chasing that elusive tale, prose or bombshell thrilling creative moment. 


You crouch in the shade of the human brain panting, waiting, knowing it won't be long now and soon yes very soon all will be revealed.
The thunderous crack and roll of outstanding creative delight will pour through you, your veins will tingle and the tiger will be set free. 

The tiger will run from stand still into sleek speedy pursuit of the unsuspecting story line. You'll catch it by the tail, bite its neck, bring it to the ground and devour it. Belly first. The guts of the game. 


Blood and gore of unsuspecting bright pink flesh will burst and splatter across the page and you will shiver with delight. You will have conquered the drought. The famine will be broken,  the gods happy and the writer fed again.