One of the reasons I went to London was to shake things up a bit. I needed to break out of my routine and give my creativity a jolt. New surroundings along with a temporary shift in my every day life seemed like the perfect way to see things from a new perspective and possibly find new inspiration. The muse is more likely to sing when she’s given something unexpected to ponder.
I expected my muse to get the same jolt with a Wreck This Journal page that literally gives instructions to make an unpredictable move. I was wrong on so many levels, but ultimately for the best. When I first encountered this page, I hesitated and started to do what I always do when given a task . . . I made plans. About two seconds and three plans later, I realized that I was not following directions. Nor could I even argue I was interpreting them in my own way, for there’s no such thing as planning an unpredictable move. So, I closed the journal and put it aside.
A few days later, a random moment struck and I picked up my journal. Without thinking, I flung it into the kitchen and watched it crash against a wall and ricochet off the laundry room door. The movement was violent and incredibly irresponsible as I could have broken a couple glasses that were sitting on the counter. Regardless, I found the whole process exhilarating even though it disrupted my peaceful home and self. I may have been looking to shake up my muse, but the moment rattled something else entirely. That flying book made me wonder what kind of writer was hiding underneath the fear created by my inner critic.
Too often, I let my inner critic decide the strength of a piece or whether I will allow anyone to read my work. The choice should really be my own and I should be making that decision with more confidence. Perhaps, I need to stop over thinking and just start believing. Who knew flinging a book across the room could lead to such an epiphany?
I documented the event by drawing my journal’s trajectory through the air as it flew into the kitchen. The book took a few hits, but doesn’t that always happen during a brave and bold move? I’m bound to sustain a few bruises after deciding my novel deserves to do more than just collect dust on my desk. New readers are on the horizon and the search for an agent is about to begin.
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Previous Wreck This Journal Posts:
c.b. 2011
C.B. Wentworth 