Who among us writers, performers and creative thinkers/doers alike hasn’t hit that “wall”? Sometimes its stucco, peals back easily, but other times it’s brick and breaks your face. No matter what it’s made of (Aka long term or short) the result is the same: Suck.
It sucks to hit a creative wall. To be blocked and feel the very sinew and marrow in your bones building up without release. You want it, but you doubt it. Your brain says no but your heart says yes please. Who do you listen to? What do you listen to?
You can’t just follow your heart when your mind doesn’t work and what is art without the H and E? This (The creative) is body and soul, it’s not one part or another. It’s you. It makes you and therefore can break you.
So what do you do? Everyday, every hour it can change. Mood to mood. Yet no groove. I myself have hit two major brick sh** houses face first full force in my career. My first was when I was young, I was getting sick (chronically ill, something that would affect me for the next seven years physically and mentally.) however I was felling right and strong in my skill. I was ready to take on a huge pinnacle of my then career.
It was a huge write up. A battle already TBMed (Stunted and performed in my method of choices’ glory) and ready for its write. Everything felt right. That is until it didn’t.
Crashing down like a lightning bolt from the hand of Zeus himself it hit. I was laying on the living room floor starting to write, just on the brink of the possibilities of my pens ability to translate when some words were exchanged with a careless person and my mind went numb.
Like a light switch, so easily flipped. All because of one persons careless observations of my being I just closed my notebook. It would not be reopened with any success for at least a year.
Not for lack of trying on my part mind you, I re-did that battle, yet could never get it right. I racked my brain trying to remember what I had said, what I had performed what I had done, and how it all went. I desperately sought to relive it, but I couldn’t. Only the comparison for all memory and mind were lost.
My heart as well as my mind were broken. All I wanted was my characters to make me feel safe again, right again, happy again. I wanted it so badly yet I could not possess it. Worse seemed physically incapable of reclaiming something that was rightfully my own.
Why does this happen? Why do we do this to ourselves? Why is the thing that we love most the thing that can destroy all happiness? Worst of all why can’t others seem to understand that it’s never quite as simple as a choice. Never quite as easy as it is to treat so callously.
What was said was thoughtless. Me passionately talking about my revisions and a word of thoughtless negativity about the reflection of my art broke me. Why such power if said in such ignorance?
I see now that it’s so much deeper then what they’re say, deeper then critique, for when someone judges you from an uninformed position it is merely a reflection that they mock yet this reflection is you, your creative is you and how the world perceives both is important.
It’s important that you and your art are not misinterpreted or warped to be something so far from the truth. Because if it is, you are, and vice-verse.
Now for round two:
Again it was started when someone used a twisted version of my art to hurt me. My mind went numb. Exposed and vulnerable but made to feel my representation was something so far from true and so far from self.
I felt doubt in my ability, in my talents and in my happiness. I could not believe in me because it seemed as though no one else could. How do you believe in something you thought existed but were shown to be so wrong? That what you thought and believed is not what you are representing. Is it all then a lie?
Doubt is a monster that erodes. It can weigh so heavy and hard. One can feel so numb to existence. Torture for I could dream, think, even act upon my creative, but when it came to shearing I would revert into a cocoon.
What does one do then? If you can’t believe in yourself you can’t expect others to. I am not one to “Fake it.” I like to enjoy it well I make it, but also to know I’m making a difference, if only in my own life. Not just doing something because I can, because it’s there, because it’s a check mark in a list of to do. I want to be doing it for something. I need to believe in it.
That’s the hardest thing about the “wall” the doubt that creeps in and squeezes your heart with every pump. We all want to know we are doing what we do for something. Towards something. When doubt makes it hard to justify, hard to see the “why” well that’s what makes it become hard to do. Why should I? What’s the difference? What does it matter anyway? Doubt is the demon of disbelieving. The monster under the bed that can kill the dream.
When it comes right down to it at one point or another we all need a champion, someone to believe for us, in us. Well all need a hero once in a while. We all need a fan and that something, or someone to do it for.
(*Taken from a previous publication)