An alien sucking the creative jucies

I feels as though I've had an alien living on the back of my neck for the past seven months sustaining it's life on my creative juices. For the life of me I have not had the energy to sit down and actually devote time to creative outlets, especially my writing.

I've recently moved and it has give me a very welcome change of scenery. I now need to force myself back in to the routine I was working on two and a half years ago. Prior to my divorce I would wake up at five AM and work on my writing. I need to start doing that again. The trick here is forcing myself to do it. That is easier said than done.

This is a test

Of the Emergency Pupcast Network

Late Spring Evening

She lay there, in the soft warm grass, staring up at the stars in the blue-black late spring sky. The night was still clinging to the warm of the day, but a faint breeze would graze her flesh intermittently, kissing off the heat. Everything was calm and quiet, the scent of jasmine filled the air, practically palpable. The only sounds came from the nearby pond. A chorus of frogs, there must have been dozens of them, singing their sweet love songs into the night. A symphony of ethereal music swelling into the dark.

She lay there, drinking in each sensation. The way the dark soil beneath her gave, ever so slightly, under her, and the way it radiated the heat of the day back into the world. The soft blades of grass, thick and flexible under her hands. The warmth of the air and cool of the breeze. The way she could almost feel the jasmine in the air. She closed her eyes, a smile light on her lips, listening to the song of the night.

The sound of frogs in symphony would always remind her of these days. The dreamy, languorous evenings strung between the bitterest colds of winter and the harshest heat of summer. The time when the earth was warming back up, growing again, stretching its legs after a long winter's nap. She loved these nights. It was as though time stood still and nature breathed a sigh of relief.

Everything seemed suspended in the moment.

Suddenly a wriggling ball of fur collided headlong into her stomach, ripping a shriek of laughter from her. The puppy rolled and wiggled and barked small puppy barks as though someone had taken a smallish ball of pure excitement, wrapped it in fur and named it "Puppy". She laughed more and tousled the pup through the grass. The puppy let out another bark and then tore off again into the night.

She laughed as she climbed up out of her reverie, then ran off in hot pursuit of a wriggling ball of excitement.

What Was Awkward Conversation Number Two Hundred and Thirty Three

The screen door opened and closed under its own weight making a jarring metal on metal screech. Peter was leaning against a tree smoking a clove cigarette. Allison walked through the sweet ring of smoke, her boots crunching in the snow.

"I thought you'd be cold so I brought you a jacket." she said.

"Thanks." he said as he took the coat and put it on.

"You sure left in a hurry."

"Let's just say I hate surprises."

"Surprises?" she asked.

He took a long drag on his cigarette "Yep, surprises."

She put her back to the tree and stared down at her feet.

"I told him it was going to be unfair to you."

"Unfair? I think it would be fairer to call it a surgical strike than an unfair situation. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he snapped.

"Believe me I wanted to but Andrew wanted to break it to your entire family up here. He asked me not to. I guess if I had known you were going to storm out on your parents then I would have insisted on telling you earlier."

Peter dropped his butt on the ground and kicked some snow over top of it.

"What is bugging you? I thought you'd be happy I'm marrying your cousin."

The screen door clanged again as someone walked out of the house. Peter took another three cigarettes out of his pack and handed one to Allison lighting it for her. Andrew walked up to them.

"Hey guys. You both made a quick exit."

Peter handed the third clove to his cousin.

"Just needed one of these before your mom went in to one of her speeches."

Andrew took the lighter from Peter. "No complaints from me on that one." The three of them stood silently for a moment. Then Peter grabbed his cousin's hand.

"Dude, I almost forgot congratulations." He pulled Andrew close and gave him a quick hug.

"Have you guys thought about setting a date?"

"We really haven't thought about any of that yet right hon?" Allison said to her fiance. "There are still lots of loose ends to tie up before we can get to the point where we are setting dates and ordering the catering." she said giving Peter a stern look.

"I sense some hostility in the air here. How many of these have you guys gone through?" Andrew asked.

"Oh it's nothing man." Peter replied, "Just shit at work I need to clear up."

"I've told you hundreds of times, get out of there. You can find something better. Shit it is cold out here. I'm going back in doors. 3 below is exactly why I gave this habit up." he said tossing the half smoked clove to the ground. "Come on back inside. Dad's getting a fire going."

Andrew turned and walked back to the house. Allison turned to Peter and slapped him across the face as soon as she heard the metal clang.

Instinctively Peter put his hand up to his face "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," she said "is for being an asshole during the past fifteen minutes."

She placed both hands on his face and pushed his back against the tree. She leaned in close and pressed her lips to his.

"And that," she said slowly pulling away, "is for being an idiot for the past six years."

She turned to head back in towards the house.

"So what are we supposed to do about this?" he asked calling after her.

"There's nothing you can do Peter except chalk this up to awkward conversation number two hundred and thirty four. Finish your smoke and come back inside where it is warm. You know those things will kill you."

Not Cheating

OK, I know codejnki is going to say that this is cheating because he's mean. But he did it, too, so it's only fair. My brain is still too twitchy to really sit still for things like "writing", so please enjoy some seriously emo poetry from back in the day when I wrote seriously emo poetry.

Betcha didn't know I was this emo, did you?


Checkerboard Nightmare

Li...


OK, seriously, I'm sorry. I cannot in good conscience post that. It's embarrassing. The sad thing is that everyone always said how much they loved my poetry, and I always thought it was such crap. But, you know, as an emo Piscean high schooler, I sure did write a lot of it.

I have some better shit in a book at home, so maybe I'll suck it up and share some of that.

Slacker

I know I've been a total slacker here, and I'm sorry.

For some reason, the bulk of my "creativity" got put down earlier this year and I've had a really damn hard time picking it back up.

I've tried a couple of times to get it kick started, but, so far, nothing seems to have stuck.

I do know that it's time to get back into the swing of things. I promise, I do.

In the next few days I plan on getting started again and making this more of a ritual. I have no idea what to do with it, though, and that's kind of intimidating. While I've never "finished" any writing I get started on, I still don't consider myself a short-story writer.

So what the hell am I doing here?

Well, the bonus of getting started with the getting started is that you kind of get to help shape how things shake out.

I have no idea what that means for me or for CreativelyChallenged. But I can't wait to find out.

Procrastination

“Procrastination is the spontaneous reorganization of my priorities.” – Codejnki

I have a slight problem and that’s that I don’t make enough time to actually sit down and write. I barely take time to write my thoughts on my blog. When I was in college my biggest goal and dream was to become a film maker and make an independent film. Ten years later that goal and dream is still there in the back of my mind, but I’ve done very little to work on it. I don’t even take time to sit down and actually write creatively either.

During my college days I carried a yellow legal pad around with me everywhere I went. I had short stories, dialog snippets, or any other random creative thought I had written down. I stopped carrying one with me when I accidentally left notebook with my most complete short story somewhere, to be lost forever. The wind had been knocked out of me.

This site is dedicated to the memory of that notebook, something that I can stare at in the hopes that it will draw creative nuggets back to the surface. Will it succeed? I don’t know.