I do believe that being a creator means being a conduit between yourself and that other mysterious place from whence ideas come. In my experience, you can’t so much reach inside yourself to pull forth – by force of will – your stories and images, as you must instead make yourself available to the stories and images that already exist inside you.

It all sounds a bit woo-woo and I’m not actually big on magical thinking, but, hey – that’s the way it seems to work.

Unfortunately for me, my conduit to the Place of Ideas has been all static lately. I’m not even having any good Shower Thoughts. I just stand there thinking about how much I need to scrub the mildew out of the tile grout. That’s not inspiration.

However, I feel like I have to write something, even if it’s the worst thing, just to keep myself open, just a crack, to something new. It doesn’t make for scintillating reading, I know.

There’s this thing that happens to autistic people, when sometimes a special interest dries up – or worse, all of them do. Sometimes they come back, other times they don’t and you find another one. But when that fire is out, there’s nothing you can consciously do to kindle it back up or start a new fire. Much like with creative inspiration, you kind of just have to wait for an interest to find you.

I think I’m in that icky state when I have no special interest for a time. I feel simultaneously dull, bored, and restless. Nothing excites me very much, but it’s also hard to just relax. I crave that feeling of deep focus, but I haven’t sunk into it in some time.  I try to read a book but it doesn’t grab me. I try to write but nothing’s there. I can’t even think of what to eat half the time.

I hope it passes soon.

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