Tired. Feeling a bit drained. I haven’t spotted a single Womble or talking bear for ages. Otherwise, I’ve had a good week, ideas-wise, but not a great deal of output word-wise. I know you’re all devastated to hear this.
I often wonder whether there’s a limit to how creative you can be – in a day, a week etc. I appreciate that it takes a certain amount of energy to run your brain at that kind of level and so on a basic physiological level you can’t fire the neurons at the same rate for extended periods, but is it really true that you have a finite number of (good) ideas per week? I guess it’s re-stating writer’s block as ‘units of creativity’ or something.
Some days I know I’m on a roll, and to an extent I was on one earlier, but I can’t help feeling that I tend to get to a point and think ‘there, I’ve banked my ideas for the day’ and switch off. Like I do in so many things (running, particularly) I don’t always push myself as much as I should do, relying on external influences (guilt triggers mainly) to get me to ‘perform’.
Sigh. On the fun side, the chiddlers playing in the park outside the flat have been tormenting each other with made up versions of the Harry Potter ending. Which amuses me. And on occasions, disturbs me (Ron marries Harry?). But not as much as the pre-tween (girl) voice singing ‘My humps’ that never ceases to amuse me. Life ‘s so much simpler without post-modernism. Or the post. Or, in fact, the word ‘or’. That’s surely one of the beauties of childhood – the reduction of choice.
Oh. My. God. I’ve turned tweed. And twee. Mourning the fact that I’ve got choices and I haven’t written as much tiddlypoms as I should have. Idiot.
But still. What does a unit of creativity look like? And does it have a glycemic index?