I've been in a creative funk lately. One of my lovely readers, Hannah - whose blog, The Storialist, is absolutely delightful - commented on my last post and voiced a niggling feeling I had been having: "There will always be more creativity. Scribble and out it will come." So, I took her quite literally today. I pulled out a sketchbook and a trusty black felt tip pen and scribbled. I didn't produce anything earth-shattering, but it was a good feeling to be creative, to fill pages with doodles and sketches and, well, scribbles. It's been seriously weird the last couple weeks. I've felt as if my skeleton has been pulled from my body. Just limp and lifeless. The only time I've felt really whole has been when I've been immersed in a good book (still working my way through Sylvia Plath's journals and loving it). It's nice to get a bit of creative spark back and begin to feel more solid once again.
