I'm a bit bitter these days.
A little salty.
A smidgen of angry.
Why?
Because Creativity is dead.
Well, at least for me.
Why?
One word: school.
This doctoral program is a full-time job. It can take upwards of 40 hours a week (more once you start researching for papers and projects beyond the required "in class" work) to do all the reading and preparing to be brilliant in the classroom. And it's not a 9 to 5 job where you do work that doesn't tax your mind, therefore, leaving you feeling energetic and refreshed and ready to conquer the world creatively.
Oftentimes, in fact, I'm mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted and want nothing to do but some mindless activity or sleep (which is a rarity in itself).
This is not me complaining, mind you. I accept what is necessary to do. As I've stated numerous times throughout this blog, it was my destiny to be here, and because of my pact with God, I'm in it to win it.
That being said, it doesn't mean I won't get tired or irritated with it all sometimes. I'm human. It's what I do.
And having said this, I actually love being here - in Lubbock and in the program. I missed being an academic. I adore books and knowledge and developing new ways to see things. All of that pumps me up in ways I can't fully explain.
But I tell you one place where I'm hurting.
My creativity.
Writing is my bloodline. I know God put me here [on Earth] to write, to share my words, to move and entertain and inspire others. Have known it since I was about 8 - made moves to do something about it since I was ten and started writing scripts for The Guiding Light in a 25-cent green leather diary my mom bought me at a flea market.
Since I've been in Lubbock, however, no creativity has come forth. In fact, I'm not sure how to actually get my mind to be creative to actually write.
I'm still editing others' works, but that is a job to me now, and so I'm able to move from one job (student) to another (editor). Moving to writer - which I have yet to see as a job because it is my passion - is difficult.
Just before I came to Lubbock, I finished the outline for a screenplay that is quite different from anything I've written. Was excited, thinking I'd have time to write while here, but I have yet to find the time or the creative inclination TO write.
And it FEELS like the time to do so. Been getting some reads of scripts I've already written, and a part of me knows that if I can get this one written, someone will take notice.
I know what some of you might be thinking, and no, this isn't fear keeping me from writing -- except for the fear of taking away time from school, which can directly hurt me in the classroom if I come in unprepared.
For the last month, I hadn't thought much about any of these...FEELINGS...because I'd been in the mad rush to read, respond, and stay on pace.
A little salty.
A smidgen of angry.
Why?
Because Creativity is dead.
Well, at least for me.
Why?
One word: school.
This doctoral program is a full-time job. It can take upwards of 40 hours a week (more once you start researching for papers and projects beyond the required "in class" work) to do all the reading and preparing to be brilliant in the classroom. And it's not a 9 to 5 job where you do work that doesn't tax your mind, therefore, leaving you feeling energetic and refreshed and ready to conquer the world creatively.
Oftentimes, in fact, I'm mentally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually exhausted and want nothing to do but some mindless activity or sleep (which is a rarity in itself).
This is not me complaining, mind you. I accept what is necessary to do. As I've stated numerous times throughout this blog, it was my destiny to be here, and because of my pact with God, I'm in it to win it.
That being said, it doesn't mean I won't get tired or irritated with it all sometimes. I'm human. It's what I do.
And having said this, I actually love being here - in Lubbock and in the program. I missed being an academic. I adore books and knowledge and developing new ways to see things. All of that pumps me up in ways I can't fully explain.
But I tell you one place where I'm hurting.
My creativity.
Writing is my bloodline. I know God put me here [on Earth] to write, to share my words, to move and entertain and inspire others. Have known it since I was about 8 - made moves to do something about it since I was ten and started writing scripts for The Guiding Light in a 25-cent green leather diary my mom bought me at a flea market.
Since I've been in Lubbock, however, no creativity has come forth. In fact, I'm not sure how to actually get my mind to be creative to actually write.
I'm still editing others' works, but that is a job to me now, and so I'm able to move from one job (student) to another (editor). Moving to writer - which I have yet to see as a job because it is my passion - is difficult.
Just before I came to Lubbock, I finished the outline for a screenplay that is quite different from anything I've written. Was excited, thinking I'd have time to write while here, but I have yet to find the time or the creative inclination TO write.
And it FEELS like the time to do so. Been getting some reads of scripts I've already written, and a part of me knows that if I can get this one written, someone will take notice.
I know what some of you might be thinking, and no, this isn't fear keeping me from writing -- except for the fear of taking away time from school, which can directly hurt me in the classroom if I come in unprepared.
For the last month, I hadn't thought much about any of these...FEELINGS...because I'd been in the mad rush to read, respond, and stay on pace.
And then yesterday came.
Yesterday, I was tired. Beyond tired. Slept two-and-a-half hours Friday night. Stayed up late Saturday, going to library for hours then coming home and reading. My goal Sunday was to take time to pray and meditate in the morning and be a slave to reading for the rest of the day.
But I got up and felt off. Felt sad. Felt disoriented. Felt out of touch with me. And that scared me a bit.
I prayed and talked with God, and that allowed some of my frustration, my irritation of losing a part of myself - my creative part - to come to the surface.
And then a fellow chica fellow (love writing that - lol) posted a link to Randy Pausch's "Last Lecture: Achieving Your Childhood Dreams" from YouTube, and I took the time (plus one hour) to watch it.
And it moved me. Not just because Pausch was a brilliant man and professor who wanted to live life to the fullest. But because Pausch DID live life to the fullest, connecting with all of his passions and his desire to help others and his love for his family before he was taken too soon by pancreatic cancer.
I watched it, and I cried.
I finished watching it, and I cried more.
I walked around my apartment, head killing me, snot running, as I sobbed (wailed actually), and at the time, I wasn't sure what exactly I was wailing about. I just knew I felt distraught and empty, and tired and confused, and wanting and distracted, and (enter any adjective because it would fit, assuredly).
I grabbed a blanket, fell onto the sofa, and continued to cry as random thoughts came to me. I missed my mom. I missed my siblings. I missed talking to my girlfriends every day because I had the time to do so. I missed my boyfriend. I missed watching TV and actually JUST. WATCHING. TV with no expectation of having to do it quickly because I had 50-11 other things to do. I missed thinking about my life in the future (because lately, it's just been about WHAT'S DUE TOMORROW. WHAT'S DUE NEXT DAY. WHAT'S DUE DAY AFTER NEXT...not months from now thoughts).
And just as important as all those "misses," I missed creativity. I missed daydreaming about characters and stories. I missed falling asleep and having a great idea come to me and waking up to jot it down. I missed talking to friends and colleagues about short stories, novels, screenplays, poetry. I missed placing fingers upon keys and bringing words to life.
I was...and am missing a huge part of what makes me who I am.
And I knew that within all my "misses," this was the one miss which I had taken NO part in within the last six weeks. I hadn't opened my script's outline and reread it. I didn't attempt to write a page. I didn't talk long about writing (unless it had to do with clients' works). Every time I allowed myself these flights of fancy, I admonished myself, saying, "You don't have time for THAT. Get to the real work."
But you know what? Writing is my real work. It's my REAL me. Without it, Shon is a very dull, very sad little girl.
And so I guess the point of this long winded entry is to say that my creativity is dead, and I miss it.
And if I'm going to be productive - in whatever fashion that productivity comes - I will have to resurrect my creativity and embed it into my life because a Shon without Creativity, much like faith without works, is dead.
Yesterday, I was tired. Beyond tired. Slept two-and-a-half hours Friday night. Stayed up late Saturday, going to library for hours then coming home and reading. My goal Sunday was to take time to pray and meditate in the morning and be a slave to reading for the rest of the day.
But I got up and felt off. Felt sad. Felt disoriented. Felt out of touch with me. And that scared me a bit.
I prayed and talked with God, and that allowed some of my frustration, my irritation of losing a part of myself - my creative part - to come to the surface.
And then a fellow chica fellow (love writing that - lol) posted a link to Randy Pausch's "Last Lecture: Achieving Your Childhood Dreams" from YouTube, and I took the time (plus one hour) to watch it.
And it moved me. Not just because Pausch was a brilliant man and professor who wanted to live life to the fullest. But because Pausch DID live life to the fullest, connecting with all of his passions and his desire to help others and his love for his family before he was taken too soon by pancreatic cancer.
I watched it, and I cried.
I finished watching it, and I cried more.
I walked around my apartment, head killing me, snot running, as I sobbed (wailed actually), and at the time, I wasn't sure what exactly I was wailing about. I just knew I felt distraught and empty, and tired and confused, and wanting and distracted, and (enter any adjective because it would fit, assuredly).
I grabbed a blanket, fell onto the sofa, and continued to cry as random thoughts came to me. I missed my mom. I missed my siblings. I missed talking to my girlfriends every day because I had the time to do so. I missed my boyfriend. I missed watching TV and actually JUST. WATCHING. TV with no expectation of having to do it quickly because I had 50-11 other things to do. I missed thinking about my life in the future (because lately, it's just been about WHAT'S DUE TOMORROW. WHAT'S DUE NEXT DAY. WHAT'S DUE DAY AFTER NEXT...not months from now thoughts).
And just as important as all those "misses," I missed creativity. I missed daydreaming about characters and stories. I missed falling asleep and having a great idea come to me and waking up to jot it down. I missed talking to friends and colleagues about short stories, novels, screenplays, poetry. I missed placing fingers upon keys and bringing words to life.
I was...and am missing a huge part of what makes me who I am.
And I knew that within all my "misses," this was the one miss which I had taken NO part in within the last six weeks. I hadn't opened my script's outline and reread it. I didn't attempt to write a page. I didn't talk long about writing (unless it had to do with clients' works). Every time I allowed myself these flights of fancy, I admonished myself, saying, "You don't have time for THAT. Get to the real work."
But you know what? Writing is my real work. It's my REAL me. Without it, Shon is a very dull, very sad little girl.
And so I guess the point of this long winded entry is to say that my creativity is dead, and I miss it.
And if I'm going to be productive - in whatever fashion that productivity comes - I will have to resurrect my creativity and embed it into my life because a Shon without Creativity, much like faith without works, is dead.
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