Creativity

CREATIVITY

There was so much he wanted to say and write. He had so many ideas he wanted to share with the world, so many stories he needed to tell, deep feelings he wanted to explore and express.  And also, it would be a first, wouldn’t it, someone like him writing a book? It had probably never been done before, and that in itself would merit some column inches. He knew you should write for yourself, and not for the acclaim, but nobody could deny that the prospect of being “a first” in your chosen field of endeavour wasn’t a tantalising and motivating badge of honour to work towards.  He wanted to say that every fibre, and every cell of his being vibrated with creative talent and fluency, but there in lay the problem. There was no every, other than he, for that is what he was- a single cell: watery, pale and entirely invisible to all other than the electronic eye.

                He knew that he was but some microscopic part of a larger body, what or who, he knew not, and was no wiser as to whether he crept along the bottom of the ocean bed, or stood wilting out of a suburban window box, or silently growled and grew in the frozen darkness of the woodshed. All he knew was that he had at least one great novel inside him.

                And then, before he so much as thought through the opening sentence, it happened. ...continue