Inspiration comes in fits and starts and lately it’s been all fits — sputtering, screaming, whining, sobbing, wailing, grumbling, sighing, blinking, scowling, pounding fits — and I can’t help but try to imagine that this ongoing ennui is going to give birth to a bouncing baby something. I’m just not sure what.
And that’s okay. If I’m sure of nothing else in my life, I can at least take comfort in knowing that this is how I do it. This is how I live. Up and down and up and down and there is a pattern to it and it will fix itself and then destroy itself and fix itself again. At least there is movement.
Sidney Sheldon once wrote: “A blank piece of paper is God’s way of telling us how hard it to be God.”
And he came up with I Dream of Jeannie, ripping off Bewitched.