I seem to be passed that particular issue, for the moment (just finished a draft of a commission for a church in New Jersey for Christmas, I've got to let it sit at least overnight before I come back to it tomorrow).
At last week's magician's conference, we talked a lot about creativity. Nurturing it; being a "midwife" to a work of art being born, treating it gently in its freshly-born state. And, more important for me, what to do when creativity seems to not want to hang with you.
Last year, a wise woman said that "one cannot command the Muse, but one can create an inviting place for it to alight." This year, one of the best pieces of advice I got was "If the Muse does not wish to alight... tend to her perch."
When the creative fires are raging, I feel as though (forgive the mixed metaphor, but this is how it feels) like whitewater rapids of energy coursing through me, rushing to become manifest. For quite a while, not only have I not been surging with white water, but the river has been pretty much bone dry.
Someone reminded me of the old saying, "You can't step into the same river twice." Perhaps...
But you can stay wet.
So the rapids aren't surging, the way they used to, summoned by little more than the snap of the fingers. Perhaps when that happens, rather than wait for the torrents to hurtle down from the heavens, I should just sit in the shallows and enjoy what water there is. Just write something, and don't worry whether it's good or not. And certainly, don't stop, simply because the flow isn't torrential.
It's interesting... I accept not being able to walk or drive much more easily than I accept having troubles creating.
Attachment is a slippery devil, isn't it?