What does it mean to be in “creative flow”? I never understood this until I attempted to write a novel (as you do when you are in your mid-fifties having a mid-life crisis). There were times when I stared at the blank page on my lap top and nothing, NOTHING would come. Then there were days when I would sit, read my previous paragraph and BOOM, a tsunami of syllables would burst forth over my self-doubt defences and wash all over my work in progress.
More recently, I’ve been learning about the benefit of creative prompts to get me into the right headspace. I’ve been resistant - I really have. “I don’t want prompts!!!” I shouted internally. “I just want to write my novel”. But I have persevered and WOW what a revelation. I literally never know what’s going to pop out of this scrambled head of mine - and that in itself is such a joy.
I thought creative flow was about getting mentally prepared to work on a book, a poem or whatever else was required. It had a purpose - an intent. How wrong I was. What I have realised is that creative prompts allow me to go somewhere unplanned. Somewhere I wasn’t expecting. It’s like finding a stunning waterfall after hiking through a forest. It’s a reminder that it’s the journey that matters, not the destination. I am learning to write just for the joy of it and to see what emerges. That is what gets me in the right space to create. I am going with the flow as they say.
Picture: My own. Penmon Lighthouse, Angelsey, Wales
The Flow
Oh, to be in flow
Where the words find me
like an easy hug
A brush through silken hair
No knots or tangles
in these metaphor strands.
Streams of consciousness burst forth with jazz hands
Discordant and alive
Before meandering in melodic thought
A rhythmic, soothing bliss
Words pour from me
A cascade of cadence.
So much music
in this muse of mine
Imagery plays hide and seek in my creative garden
Each word a blossom to garnish the soul
As it gently unfurls behind a lazy leaf
I embellish of course,
Splashing paint on the page,
bringing colour and form with delight and glee
to this chapter, this page, to this book of me.
Oh, to be in flow
With first love passion
An energy that grows and grasps for words
Like stolen kisses
Which I press to the page with a deep longing
Sometimes a tender playfulness arrives
as words spill out
like the giggles of a child climbing into a book
nestled between capital letters and full stops.
There is an invisibility to flow, like water
which is as much heard as seen.
Each word whispers, wonders or roars.
It may join hands with peers or come
alone
At the start
Or end of a sentence.
The ebb
A gentle rolling back
A gush of words
The flow
So glad you have discovered the joy of the unknown!
A gentle rolling back...loved the poem.