After some thorough (questionable), thought-provoking (REALLY questionable) self-analysis (narcissism), I have come to the conclusion that the creative mind (or this one, at least) has a few different easily-distinguishable stages that it goes through on a regular basis. There are gray, in-between areas, but these are the more common moments.
Now, get comfy people. Dr Trixie is here to help.
Stage 1: Unmotivated, and guilty. This stage involves a lot of self-recrimination, because you have TIME to do things. A valuable commodity, time can be rare. And having time to do something, well. That's about as frequent as the whole blue moon, pig-flying phenomenon. But you don't feel like doing anything. Either you just can't be bothered, or your head is emptier than... something really empty. Cue the guilt.
Stage 2: Over-motivated. You have ideas. You have hundreds of ideas. And ALL OF THEM WILL BE AWESOME. But there comes the problem - what do you do first? You may go to start one project, and then realise that something else would be more timely to make. So you start that. And think about the other equally timely project you could be working on. And you work yourself into a state of stillness and confusion, simply because there are so many things to start, and you are only one person. Is the world really ready for that much awesomeness?
Stage 3: Creative on crack. This is the most productive of the three stages, because the ideas are there. The motivation is there. You might even have time to get things done. Everything somehow magically aligns, and you are fuelling yourself with caffeine (or your addiction of choice) and crafting like a person possessed.
After a few weeks of swinging between Stage 1 and Stage 2, I hit Stage 3 the other day. And it was good. So good.
I'm going back to Sydney in a week, and I had a list of projects that I wanted to get finished before I went. I had my doubts as to whether I'd even finish the first project I was working on before I went.
After seeing a rad scarf in Frankie magazine, I thought, I can make that. So I picked up a crochet hook, pretended that I knew what I was doing, and started a scarf.
Then the crack stage kicked in. I finished the scarf. I altered a dress. I made a new handbag. I altered another dress. I bought wool to start making another scarf. I drank a lot of coffee.
And soon, I was sitting amidst the debris of fabric scraps, stray pieces of cotton, and machinery, looking at my broken overlocker needle, and dizzily wondering what the hell had just happened.
Stage 3, my friends. She is a hard but fair task-mistress.