There is a song that comes on, and turns my head into a cinema. It starts with pounding drums and a meandering melody. It is by the band Lamb, and it's the opening tune of my movie. It flashes across the screen and shows the slowed down swipes of a solitary person going about the forms of 24-form tai chi. The dance of the moon. Shadow boxing.
Except, of course, I haven't made the movie yet.
It's driving me nuts. I cannot get this story out of my head. It has been growing and breathing and living and demanding its existence for eight years now. No amount of shutting it away in boxes, or ignoring it or telling it to just go away will work. It continues to raise its head and look me deep in the eye. Write me. I am here. Get me out.
And I look away.
Because, frankly, I don't know how to write a book. Or a screenplay. Or anything longer than an article. And this is an ungainly creature with long limbs and an assortment of personalities that ebb and flow. It has no defining shape and no clear message. It is bloody confused.
But it calls out to me...
And when this song came on i-tunes just now, when the slow dance of the drums moved into the air about me, it made me stop. It brought me back instantly to that place that I have created in my mind. That alternate world where words form the buildings and the air and the sky. A place that is born from the depths of dan tien and the imagination. A space of kidney and water essence, the deepest part of my spirit moving into form on the page. Revealing itself.
So I send this plea out to the universe, like the golden arrow shooting out from the fair lady weaving shuttles near the end of the 24 forms: How do I get there? How do I get off my lazy ass and get writing?
Anyone with any ideas on how to kick start the creative process, to get out of the slumber and into action, send 'em my way!
Except, of course, I haven't made the movie yet.
It's driving me nuts. I cannot get this story out of my head. It has been growing and breathing and living and demanding its existence for eight years now. No amount of shutting it away in boxes, or ignoring it or telling it to just go away will work. It continues to raise its head and look me deep in the eye. Write me. I am here. Get me out.
And I look away.
Because, frankly, I don't know how to write a book. Or a screenplay. Or anything longer than an article. And this is an ungainly creature with long limbs and an assortment of personalities that ebb and flow. It has no defining shape and no clear message. It is bloody confused.
But it calls out to me...
And when this song came on i-tunes just now, when the slow dance of the drums moved into the air about me, it made me stop. It brought me back instantly to that place that I have created in my mind. That alternate world where words form the buildings and the air and the sky. A place that is born from the depths of dan tien and the imagination. A space of kidney and water essence, the deepest part of my spirit moving into form on the page. Revealing itself.
So I send this plea out to the universe, like the golden arrow shooting out from the fair lady weaving shuttles near the end of the 24 forms: How do I get there? How do I get off my lazy ass and get writing?
Anyone with any ideas on how to kick start the creative process, to get out of the slumber and into action, send 'em my way!
