Sometimes just engaging that creative power that Joel from Creative ThinkingToday.com is talking about (in his response to my previous blog and on his blog) is the challenge. Remembering that we have that power and then getting in touch with it. For instance, Joel and I were talking about ways to get ourselves to our writing desk. As people interested in the creative process, the conversation turned to a little brainstorming. We decided to challenge each other to keep up a blogging conversation, sort of dueling blogs. Can you hear those banjos tuning up? We weren’t sure exactly how this would work but…hey, that’s the biggest part of the process-trusting it and not being so attached to the outcome.
He had referenced my comment “Stop, look, listen” and I realized how that had taken on new meaning the other morning sitting in Hurricane Irene generated traffic, crawling along at 10 mph. I asked myself “how can my creative power help to make this trip a little better?”
Now I was paying attention. I was fully in the car; not miles ahead where I was late for work; not somewhere behind where I might have chosen a different route. I was fully engaged in the present. I started noticing the sun coming through the windows and warming my shoulder. I marveled at the trees that had made it through the storm and stood so beautiful and strong along the road. I expressed gratitude for the power in my home and sent compassion and prayers to those without electricity. I noticed that listening to news radio had absolutely no uplifting quality for me and switched to classical.
I caught the phrase “singing violin” from the radio announcer. It grabbed my fancy. The idea of a violin or any instrument having an individual voice delighted me. I started playing with the idea. I love words so what better pastime for me than to play with them. Violin strings like a marionette; puppet strings. What could the violin do to me? What if I were the violin? I might be pulling the strings, screaking across the sky in warning, a Valkyrie, passing overhead to select those that would come back to Valhalla with me.
Could I be plaintive and sweet with my little finger curled around the strings of your heart?
Could I run a cord from me to an amp putting bluegrass under your feet and mountain air swirling around your head, getting your blood tapping in your veins?
What would I do with these words and phrases? It really doesn’t matter. They are scraps, like fabric, that will find a place in the patchwork of my writing some day. I collect them and tuck them away. I don’t worry where they will find their usefulness. I enjoy the process, without being attached to the outcome.
My creative power gave me the opportunity to choose how I would feel during this difficult commute, rather than being subject to my automatic response of irritation. I got to choose how I felt. And it was fun! Okay, Joel, how about you? Any recent experience that called for your creative powers?

