Yesterday I was struggling to create a concept for a client. Nothing I came up with was moving or funny or unique or good.
What if I couldn’t produce anything? What if my clients didn’t like my work? What if my boss gave up on me, thinking my initial creativity an offshoot, a one off?
(Shudder) What if I’m not as good as I think I am?
I sighed. I browsed the Inter Webs. I walked around the office, only to find that everyone else was Very Busy and therefore Not Interested in talking about my concept ideas.
I sighed again. I walked back to my desk and thought about Yosemite. I checked some of my favorite blogs (I’m getting to a blogroll, I promise). I ate some pretzels. I thought about Bishop.
And then it hit me.
It was good enough to write down, and as I stared at it in written form, removing words, rearranging sentences, I decided that it might be good enough to present to my boss.
And then I remembered this:
How Poetry Comes to Me
By Gary Snyder
It comes blundering over the
Boulders at night, it stays
Frightened outside the
Range of my campfire
I go to meet it at the
Edge of the light
I have to remember that; the words, concepts, ideas are there, just beyond my reach, waiting.
It takes effort. Time.