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.           

Sourcing Inspiration Pt. 1

In the last week I created oodles of pop art inspired postcards, wrote nearly 15,000 words starting on a new novel, made major breakthroughs on editing issues I had been mulling over on one of the other novels and still found time to actually clean the house, keep up my journal and venture out to enjoy the beautiful weather outside.

When inspiration is hitting you over the head with a mallet, it is hard to believe you were ever sitting at your desk staring at a blank piece of paper like it was the world's shittiest Sudoku puzzle. It seems obvious to me right now to just write every single number on the paper in whatever fashion I like, but I know it is not always that way.

In the spirit of inspiration, and also in the spirit of wanting to get back to getting actual work done, I thought I would start a series of blog posts for things that inspire me. Expect these to pop up from time to time.

Quiet places inspire me.

Pictured is the interior of a small mill in my aunt's backyard, I spent many summers as an adolescent laying across that catwalk with my arms dangling to the lower area writing in my notebooks. The very first novel I ever started had chunks of it written there as did many of my short stories and poems all the way through high school.

Sometimes it feels like all you need to be inspired is to let the words come to you. To sit there and listen for them with nothing better to do. Little ambient noises in the background and familiar little smells. When I look at this picture I can still smell the giant container of goldfish food kept up there.

Museums inspire me.

How are you going to think of anything neat if you never see anything? The brain doesn't magically materialize ideas, it chops apart the ideas you feed it and then reassembles them. I love museums for gathering new information. The words along with the things just delights me.

This picture is from the Museum of Osteology in Oklahoma City. I was absolutely struck by this skeleton that it was one hundred percent belonging to a mermaid. For a second I was going to say I wished we could move to Oklahoma just so I could sit in this museum and draw every skeleton in it with the flesh my imagination thinks it should have.

Growth inspires me.

Seeing new things grow among the old, little trees sprouting up and establishing themselves in a several hundred year old lava flow, in the case of this image, or ivy claiming unloved buildings. Any case of plants creeping in inspires me. The juxtaposition of destruction and regrowth.

I am an avid recycler of ideas that do not quite work so I think of a lot of my writing and artwork like this. Old abandoned canvases or stories I ripped to shreds supplemented by new ideas. It is a sort of depth that makes things stronger and more interesting to me.

Weird signage inspires me.

Really any sign I see can get me wondering "why did they decide they needed to put that up" or "what's the story behind that?"

This one in particular got me because who on earth decided that "do not touch plants" was a confusing enough a concept that they needed to illustrate it? Not to mention the double negative going on here with the red slashed circle underneath the DO NOT. If you see this sign, remember to Do Not Not Poke the Flowers. They're being coy, perhaps, flirting, "oh no don't poke meeee".

Shit this post is getting weird.

Words inspire me. 

In all forms. I like hearing words. I like saying words. Sometimes I write random words down to keep or decide to use them in conversation just for fun. Sometimes I sit at my desk mumbling "schublade" under my breath.

I specifically like disjointed words. No context just the word.

I like seeing people who have single lone words tattooed on them. I like seeing signs that contain just one word. "Dip." "Bump." I like stickers that have seemingly inexplicable words on them. I'm a sucker for the mistranslated sayings that seem to come standard with kawaii stationery.

Don't even need to do anything with all the words. Sometimes just knowing they exist is enough.