The mythology surrounding the creative process is tangled and dense. Even in a time when it is common to publicly share self-generated narratives, the highly curated stories that we see till make it tempting to imagine that art emerges from strokes of inspiration or by way of special gifts or fully formed ideas. The truth is that there are times when this feels like it could be true, a sense of rightness and flow when the hand and mind and heart align. But much of the time, at least in my experience, what is happening is a parallel to what happens in life: we make attempts, we move forward, we stumble and fail, we reevaluate and collect ourselves for the next attempt. Putting physical evidence of fits and starts out for others to see is always an exercise in vulnerability and an invitation for self-critique. But this time I've resolved to stand back enough to see things more gently, to see the importance of words in all of this, and to let it compost for future work.
