Seasons of Creativity

In early-2019, I found myself sitting on the floor in the hallway. I had been walking to the fireplace to burn the novel I had begun before I got sick, but my legs had given out. Again. Unable to move, I dropped the 3-inch binder. It contained my story with its edits, character profiles, phrases and words that I liked, and fun trivia to incorporate.

A PET/CT scan had recently shown mysterious masses throughout my body. I was dodging calls from infectious disease and the oncologist, unwilling to face the prognosis. My doctors seemed to think I was dying, and the physical sensations in my body suggested the same. If I wasn’t long for this world, I didn’t want anyone to stumble across and read my unfinished story. I had no choice but to destroy it.

I had already deleted the digital copy. I now sat on the floor, sobbing and unable to move, ripping to shreds hundreds of pages and hundreds of hours of creative energy. I tend towards calm and calculated behaviors, but the situation called for dramatics.

For three years, my brain had been unwilling or unable to cooperate in my creative endeavors. Now, finally, I had accepted that something was wrong. I was no longer able to tap into my creative energy and that was what was really killing me.

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In 2010, I had participated in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) for the first time, posting my story to an old blog, chapter-by-chapter, over the course of the month. I had participated annually until I became ill in 2015. A mind which had once been surrounded by inspiration and racing with ideas suddenly went quiet. And I had no idea how to cope.

Creativity is a energetically demeaning. Following COVID, many people have experienced aphantasia, where the ability to visualize images and engage in inner monologue disappears. There are threads on Twitter by those who lost the ability to see with their mind’s eye to determine why, as well as others theorizing the reason to be problems with the corpus callosum.

When I close my eyes, my mind’s eye is blind and my inner voice is silent. I recognize now that I am not alone.

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For eight years now, my creativity abilities have been missing in action. How does a formerly-creative person navigate the loss of the ability to ideate and create?

When any of us are faced with fatigue, dispassion, business, and the general stressors of life, how can we get back in touch with our creative nature?

While I haven’t thought about writing fiction in years, I’ve found ways to scratch that itch and imbue meaning and purpose into my life despite the creative drought.

Come join us over at the Heart of the Matter, where I’ll share the tactics I’ve found to help draw out a creativity in small in sustainable ways, despite the limitations of chronic illness, or anything else that may be standing in your way.