Here’s the thing about fancying yourself “creative”. As long as you have some sort of prohibitive factor in your life (say, your full-time job, your full-time relationship, your charity work with learning-disabled orphans that you'll really commit yourself to once your schedule clears) you can pretend that, and that alone, is the reason for your lack of fame, or worse, lack of daily greatness. I mean, it’s been working for me for over a quarter-century now.
But when you’re given the opportunity to showcase what it is, as the kids say, what you’re made of, and you can’t exactly produce it, this is where the trouble begins.
My full-time job, however glamorous and full of wine, has an end in sight. I knew this. We all did. But like the inevitable end of Titanic, didn’t you just hope there would be a Hail Mary pass that changed the outcome of history? I did. And that magic day, dear friends, has yet to come.
So there comes then that opportunity we were talking about, you and I, that free-as-a-bird, show-me-how-you think dare. From someone damn important. And you have forty other deadlines to meet. And your (my) brain freezes. It’s not used to being addressed to directly.*
So you shoot off a thought and you see if it sticks, and if it doesn’t, well, then it’s back to the drawing board to wonder why it's so hard to capture creative flow.
*Would-be employers, can’t you mar up this request by adding that I need to make a thousand copies? My best thoughts come to me during the abysmal tedium of everyday entry life, I swear!