One of my favorite things about the creative process is that creativity begets creativity.  It’s sort of like cellular division.  First you have one glob of something creative.  Then you have two.  Then four.  Then eight.  Then sixteen.  Before you know it, your world is covered in metaphorical creative goo.  You’re finding new solutions to everything, turning shoeboxes into divided organizers and hats into flowerpots.  Misread words stir up stories in your head, and margins are fertile beds for gardens of doodles.

I love it.  It’s a part of all this that I tend to forget about, and when I get going again on a project it’s a happy and magical surprise.  In my bedroom is a gigantic bulletin board, upon which are pinned numerous  bits of paper, all sizes.  The notes on them are sometimes clear, sometimes cryptic, and the spacial organization of the thing is known only to me.   There are two novels in the works on this board, waiting to gather enough pieces that I can thread them together.  There are scenes, and character sketches, and names of fictional businesses.  It’s the sort of thing that, if my life were an episode of Law & Order, the detectives would look at and think I was a little crazy.  I love it.  If you ask me, it’s the most beautiful thing on my walls.  It’s my creative process, right there in front of me, right where I need it.  It’s fertilizer and flower, all in one.

Writer’s block can be frustrating.  If you’re going through it, put down the pen or the laptop and go make something.  Paint a rock, fold some origami, make a snowman.  Then make something else.  Then something else.  At some point, your creative pathways will be clear again, and you’ll be ready to write again.

I’ve gotta say: creativity is one of my favorite things about being human.  Seriously.