The creative muse

I seem to have lost my ability to write good.

I read over stories I’ve created in the past and am often surprised that I wrote them. They are quite good. The storylines may be a bit boring, or the ending a bit twee, but the writing itself is good. But now I don’t seem to be able to get that flow. That rhythm. That interesting way of representing the world with words.

Is it partly because I don’t write as often, or as deeply? By ‘deeply’, I mean I don’t immerse myself in it. Oh, I might sit at the computer or the notepad for four hours ‘working’ on a piece. But I check my emails and facebook. I people watch if I’m in a café. I plan dinner, I organize my office, I worry about work, I …

You get the idea.

Is it partly because, for some reason, I’ve lost belief in myself, despite past evidence that I have talent? I can’t seem to turn off my inner critic, that voice that constantly judges, constantly compares, constantly finds fault in a first draft.

Is it partly because creative writing seems frivolous when I should be hunting up work to buy my food, my shelter, my future in this bleak Joe Hockey era of cuts against the elderly? And yes, it does seem frivolous by comparison because I enjoy it so much.

Even as recently as last year I was able to write a good story. An award-winning story, yet. It flows. It brings the imaginary world to life. And I wrote it almost in one hit. It just came to me and I virtually transcribed it. Well, that’s how it felt, anyway.

I was a conduit.

I’m happy to see my creativity as a thing apart from me, as Elizabeth Gilbert pleads in her fabulous and oft-watched TED talk. It’s a must-watch for creative types. Her external ‘creative genius’ – something like a genie that magically imparts creative objects to somewhat hapless artists – helps to ease the burden of trying to be creative and also the hubris that can come from successful creativity.

But the problem is that if I perceive this ‘genius’ as something apart from me, something that speaks through me at its pleasure, how do I lure it back? Gilbert says to just let it go and enjoy the moments it chooses you. But that’s not good enough. I have this need within me to express something intangible and share it in the tangible form of words. If I don’t have the ‘genius’ to harness the words, I’m just left impotent and frustrated.

Any suggestions for teasing the beast out of hiding?