Wild Woman of Queens: Notes on Urban Creativity from across the East River.

Where There is No Will, There is No Way

I don't understand myself. Full of creative ideas I instead aimlessly spend my time. There is TV to watch. Errands to be done. Let's not forget that the apartment should be cleaned occasionally (I opt for TV instead). I subject myself to a barrage of mindless and unproductive activity instead of doing what I think I want to do. What is going on here?

I am going to admit to utter slugdom. I give up. I do. Despite some feeble intentions I can't move past this malaise of uncreativity. I tried the coffee joint down the block. I thought if I just got out of the house I could move past this inertia. There was Texas style mini-burger with corn chips and salsa, followed by strong coffee and a half of a brownie. There was a bag of interesting books and paper at my feet. But I was so deeply tired. Really tired that I came home and went to bed- to wake three hours later. Some food. Popcorn. Coffee. Finally I sit down to write this blog post that should have been done and posted in the morning.

I would like to give you something. Some wisdom that could kick me and you out of the doldrums. Sorry buddy you are own your own. I got nothing. Zippo. I am as dry as a bone pick cleaned in an Arizona desert. I mean it. Dry.

It took me hours, but I am here. I am withered and barren and looking for creative water to bring me to life. Outside I hear the sounds of laughter and life. The whoosh of cars driving by. The clap of a high heel on concrete echoes down the street. The air has the odd feeling of transition just before the change of season really kicks in. I am humbled and hungry. I feel a certain melancholy. I am of a certain age where like the weather I too am in transition. I remember my past and can see the future. I am sorrowful, missing the opportunities that i rejected when too young to know better. I am constrained by my memories and fearful of the future.

Hmmm... maybe I am not as barren as I thought. Maybe I have just surrendered to a deep fear of living.

Yesterday I discovered a fellow writer living across the street from where I work. We had talked several times but I never knew what she did and she knew me only from my daytime desk job.

When we discovered we were both writers we swirled in a whirlwind of conversation. She full of creative juice, clearly intoxicated, talked about writing in lush descriptions. I just wanted to cleave to her in some vampiric way. Please just a bit of that intoxication. Finally we realized we would have to talk more out of the confines of my office. Writers really do like to talk.

I am not without hope. Even as I sit here with this odd mix of fear and panic- I have a glimmer of hope. I have been here in this dry, forlorn place once or twice. It is like burrowing deep in the dark earth, getting quiet, absorbing the radiant life force of the great mother. And then, I can be born once more.

Next week I have not one, not two, but three coffee and dinner appointments with fellow writers. Keeping myself engaged in the conversation helps. If you are like me- feeling a bit out of sorts take up some creative opportunities. Dinners with your more artistic friends, museum visits, deep reading of some inspriting books. We are all in transition and I am certain there is something worthwhile on the other side.

Sandra Lee Schubert is a creative vagabond, a poet, writer and dabbler in the arts and online entrepreneur. She co-facilitates the Wild Angels Poets and Writers Group at the historic Cathedral Church of Saint John the Divine. She is also the creator of the e-course, Writing for Life: Creating a Story of Your Own. Visit her blog: Email her info@writing4life.com or @writing4life via twitter.