Is there such a thing as creative freedom?
I ask myself this question as I sit here a bundle of fresh and raw nerves. I haven’t written in days. I haven’t painted or drawn. I’m overworked. Under-appreciated. Looked down upon. Underestimated.
I’ve had enough.
I did get some time out in the woods, breathing the fresh and crisp air that Fall offers. It temporarily put my mood in order. And yet, here I sit, still wondering what has me so… anxious.
Writing. Or lack-there-of. The time away from my worlds. The suspense left open and begging to be closed. I need them, my world, my characters. It’s my freedom for the chaos of reality, the soul-sucking dilemmas we constantly fight to survive, to breath one more lung full of air before we’re crippled with responsibility of daily tasks.
This isn’t what my worlds offer me, what my books present to nourish my soul. My writing is my escape, my breath of fresh air, my meditation. I make the rules and break them at the same time. I build a Colosseum just to burn it down. My characters fall for another and find their inner peace while I find mine in making it so. They’re me. I am them. They’re my escape.
So with these thoughts I leave you pondering what you have in this world to set your creativity free.
What reaches inside you and wraps invisible fingers around your soul, a vice, for a moment of irresistible creative freedom?