So I dare to ask, where is your creative genius hiding in?

Elizabeth Gilbert once said that she has to write everyday, in order to see if she magically comes up with something worth writing about.

That it’s more like work for her, and at times the creative genius comes out to work with her too, and other times it doesn’t.

I’m bored. I’ve probably been bored all day just trying to think of what to write, and how to write it. Actually, I’ve just been waiting for something to just fall into my lap – to write about.

I think I’ve had years of writer’s block.

Sometimes I get lucky, and either once a year or hopefully more than once, I have this sweet dream that just makes me feel again. Like what inspiration feels like ,excitement, peaceful happiness, or something worth staying in bed a few minutes longer to review the details in that dream.

I literally dream about dreaming like that again.

I try to track all my steps on how I got to that point in my life. What did I do before bed? Eat less? Exercise more? Meditate? Read something I enjoyed? What did I do to stir up this type of dream of a dream? I’ll try anything twice.

All I know, is that I wish so badly to have not fallen into this curse of a life with no good dreams, and nothing worth writing about.

So I write now. To just open up the door and invite the creative genius that is willing to meet me up on our next adventure.

Or are past unfinished stories what need to get finished? Does the curse of the forsaken Mercury Retrograde grant me a wish to expose any of my past unfinished, and just merely thought upon stories? Which shall it be? Bethany, the hopeless romantic, walking along downtown streets as she leaves work one rainy cold Autumn day, and instead of passing by the town’s mystical and herb shop ran by an older woman who read tarot cards to help people find their way in life. Or there’s a 33-something man who feels there’s a part of him that is indifferent than his current life is leading him to belief. He’s always had this strange feeling that he has been apart of this world, and something is holding him back from moving forward in life. Where on this random road trip an hour north of the town he’s lived almost all his life, he has this strange feeling like he knows this place. He’s familiar to it, and most importantly he is most familiar with a past naval base on the shores of the beach. Standing on the sand of the shores, he has glimpses of visions of being there before – as a naval soldier in the late 1950’s or 1960’s. He was quiet, timid, and even though he had an honorable position in the naval base, a beautiful wife and family, he never felt quite at home in this world. Depression led to his taking of his own life then, and on those shores he knew that if he didn’t change his way of thinking and living, he would repeat the same cycle twice. That he would take yet again, another life for granted.

I think someone once said it’s easier to write about the things that interest you. Maybe I’ve been circling around the same topics, been around the same people, and viewing the same walls for way too long to believe there is even something new out there. Kind of like that saying, “You can’t expect to meet someone staying at home the entire time.” Just like that, you can’t expect for your creative genius to come over and show you a new great thing to be excited about, to express, or to write about.

Or maybe it has, and you keep swatting it away and call it crazy to be bothering you right now during your moment of slumping in your bad moods, and unfulfilled-feeling life. We all know we choose it. We get to choose the way we feel, and God-willing the way we express ourselves.

So I dare to ask, where is your creative genius hiding in? What’s your next obsession? Also, do you really need to release in order to move on? Also also, do you really need to find something new to replace the past – especially when all you focus on is the last passion project? Because I feel like my creative genius has abandoned me and has stayed in my last passion project. The one that still haunts me almost daily, and the one that still has no ending. Shit, it barely has a meaty middle story. It’s just sitting in that state of incomplete process of a wish, a hope, a glimmer glimpse of an idea. Almost like it makes no sense, but could be read upon for hours. This, this is where my mind, soul, heart, and creative genius lies. It doesn’t want to leave this town either. A town that someone once said “in between”, like “in the air”. And I knew exactly what he meant there. It’s like I am in-between not only times, yet realities too. And maybe I don’t know how to get down from this cloud. It’s cool here too. I never thought I’d be around a place like this before, and yet you can just read and see and feel everything here, without physically being here. This must be where writes live. Because I sure can sit here and write poetry for hours. Some good, some weak, some blah. But I sure can write words of feelings here. It’s actually all I do here. Just think about feelings. And sometimes the places that could be. But I feel like I am waiting around here for someone else to respond back. Like I’m waiting for my creative genius to finish playing baseball all summer long from being off of school. Like I’m it’s mother just waiting around after dark with the park’s stadium’s lights on and they’re just playing and playing. My creative genius, and the lost soul that could never be caught. They smile, laugh, play, and the lost soul teaches the creative genius even some new techniques and moves, and I just sit and wait. Waiting for the lost soul to give me a glimpse of viewing, and for my creative genius to come back home so I can get the creative genius fed and washed up, and off to bed. Then I rest and think to myself, yup yet another lonely night. Where I would have liked to have come home with grand stories of love and excitement, but instead it was my young creative genius that got all fun. I was happy for ’em, but still had no clue how to go along this world yet again, another night alone.