Sourcing Inspiration pt. 2

Way back before I had a 15 year old (so about 6 months ago) I wrote a post about sourcing inspiration because at that particular moment I was so incredibly inspired and had so many irons in the fire creatively, it seemed obvious to enthuse about my inspiration.

Today I want to go back and punch that smug asshole in the face.

It's not that I am struggling for inspiration, it's that that post reads like so many books I have read on writing where the author is talking about how whenever she needs inspiration she just pisses off to her cabin in the woods and consults her zen master and rides her bicycle to the cafe to have conversations with biker gangs about how she's writing and how she's struggling to find the time to really write anymore because once a week she has to teach an hour long class on underwater basket weaving to the local animal shelter which she has been thinking of canceling but you know, think of the kittens.

Like, that's great for you, lady, but I got these weird humans stinking up the house asking about dinner and laundry and haircuts before they go to school/ have an interview. Unless my zen master wants to come sit at my kitchen table and talk to me while I make these 96 zucchini muffins because my relatives sent me home with more zucchini than they stock at the farmer's market, I think we're going to have to rain check.

My life right now feels less about sourcing inspiration and more about scheduling inspiration. Which looks like a lot of half jotted down thoughts, a lot of artwork that feels tedious, but is necessary, "write" and "paint" listed in my to-do lists in my planner along with "laundry", "kitchen", "start the kombucha" and "eat".

Anyhow here are five small things that inspire me.

Ridiculous moments (and all the other moments)

One of the most common things that gets me stuck in writing especially, but art and correspondence as well, is that I start to take my work and myself too seriously. 

Life is ridiculous. Life is making a petty as fuck art display out of the mess your husband leaves on the counter daily and your kid coming into the kitchen, pointing at the squashes, asking "is this a squash?" and then giving an awkward thumbs up before running away. Even the most serious moments are ridiculous. There's snot and awkward laughter and bad ringtones at worse times. 

If I feel like I've been stuck on a scene or whatever, I let something ridiculous happen. I let the characters be human, accidentally laugh, mispronounce a word, throw a cup dramatically across the room only for it to not break. It brings it back down to human again and makes it less intimidating.

Limiting myself (fridge poems)

Sometimes creating just seems overwhelming. I have to think of a subject, a composition, a style, a theme, and a million other details with a billion choices each. 

When this happens, I take away some options. 

I sit down in front of the fridge and compose poems using only the power ballad themed set of word magnets. I limit color scheme or pick just one medium. Sometimes I give myself time restraints, whatever I can do in 45 minutes. Taking away the options that don't matter leave more room to focus on the ones that do. 

Bric Bracs

Likely pretty self explanatory. I keep a lot of little objects around the house, sentimental shit, stuff people send me, souvenirs, things that seemingly magically appear. Asides from collecting dust, they are always an endless source for something to draw or something to describe or to write the real (or fake) story of.  

Retelling the same stories (again and again)

I have my go-tos. For art, it is hands right now. For writing, it is one period of time I lived with my sister. 

(and had a haircut like a tropical bird)

If I am stuck, I can always draw a hand or write that same story. Sometimes something new comes up, some little unexpected snippet, other times it just gets me comfortable enough to spring off into a new direction that hasn't been done to death. They are spring boards, the same trail head for a mountain with infinite trails. 

The mundane (many balconies.)

Life is ridiculous, it is also a lot of quiet little moments. 

Not getting caught up on not having big things to write about (especially in regards to correspondence or blogging or whatever) can be incredibly difficult, but your mundane is often someone else's novelty. 

Like my house, where we have a porch and two balconies, one of which is so small you can hardly walk on it. I've been here long enough I have gotten used to it, but when I tell people about it or we have someone over who has not seen all the balconies, there are always giggles. Because who designed this house? It looks like something I'd design in the sims. 

Mundane is in the eye of the person who lives there.             
           
I started drafting this post back in September and just now got around to finishing it. In case anyone was wondering where the hell I got zucchini in November. But hey, blog posts two weeks in a row? tight.