creative energy

A couple of weeks ago I was having breakfast with some colleagues at work.  I was showing them my memoir and YA novel, but I was talking about needing to spend more time alone.  “My friends are such high achievers,” I explained.  “I can’t be around them without feeling compelled to reach, and dream, and build myself!”  Ever since the release of Bird (recently included in the CCBC’s “best books” guide!), I’ve been out of the house more than at any other point in the past five years.  Normally I’d say I spend 80% of my time alone, but lately that ratio has flipped–hardly a week goes by that I don’t give a presentation or lead a workshop or talk to someone somewhere about my work.  And that’s a good thing; when you know you have reclusive tendencies, it’s good to find ways to get out of your head (and your cozy apartment).  Last week, however, I crashed.  I was all set to enjoy dinner with three fabulous women artists when my shoulders started to ache…then my spine; I put my head down on the desk for a moment, and then moved over to the couch.  And then–I bailed.  Friends who have known me a long time know that I’m prone to disappear every once in a while.  If I’m writing, or in a funk (often the prelude to writing), it can be hard to reach me sometimes.  I apologized to my three artist friends, and knew I may have burned a few bridges.  These were new friends, not folks who were already accustomed to my sudden Scorpio ways.  But what followed that “crash” was a week of solitude.  And this week things opened up unexpectedly: snow day on Monday, sick day on Tuesday, and my Friday morning workshop was canceled.  What that meant was that I had lots of time to DREAM…I went to the garden twice on Wednesday, I wrote a couple of haiku, I went to see Coraline, and then I started to think up a new story.  Yesterday I went to lunch with two other artist friends, Shadra Strickland and Taeeun Yoo.  They asked what I thought about Coraline, and instead I launched into a lengthy “summary” of my latest story idea.  Suddenly all three of us were brainstorming, refining my rough ideas into a believable, functional storyline.  After lunch, I went to Barnes & Noble and looked up several picture books both women had recommended.  I bought Tae’s lovely book, The Little Red Fish, and came home–forcing myself to grade papers on the train.  But as soon as I got inside my apartment, the REAL work began.  I’ve got 6 pages of a new story!  And woke up at dawn this morning, thinking of all the details I’ve yet to add…over the years I’ve learned to trust myself when it comes to my writing; people think I’m so prolific, but the truth is, I don’t write all the time.  In fact, I tend to write quite quickly, so projects begin and end often in a matter of days.  And then there’s the interminable stretch of time in between those projects, agonizing weeks and months when you wonder if your best work is behind you; will I ever write again?  Have I lost my “gift”?  Hopefully, the answer to that question is NO–once I have the story in a more polished state, I’ll post an excerpt in here to get your response.  THIS is what solitude–and the support of other artists–can do…