We’ve all been there…
Brain turned to lukewarm, lumpy potato slop, thoughts dribbling through your mental colander like sad, watery starch.
You’re staring at a blank page that’s staring back with all the silent judgment of a disappointed parent.
The cursor blinks. And blinks. And blinks.
And you? You got nothing.
The brain tank is empty.
That well of creativity doesn’t exist anymore. Well for today at least.
We always talk about muse around these parts and how it’s not true.
But in this case. Your muse? She’s in Tahiti with your ex and they’re laughing at you.
Now usually this is the part where you’ll drown your sorrows in strong coffee or any of your favourite alcoholic beverages of choice…
(Kavalan Ex Sherry Oak Single Malt Whisky anyone?)
But the brain isn’t broken. It’s just temporarily stuck in potato state.
When this happens to me, and sweet crispy Christ, it happens a lot.
I don’t try to force anything from the mashed potato. It’s kind of like trying to squeeze blood from a turnip or whatever the saying is and now you’ve just got turnip mush all over your hands and that’s worse.
But I’ve got this unholy trinity of brain-de-potatoization that works pretty well:
GET WEIRD INPUT: Read something so far outside your comfort zone it makes you itchy. Taxidermy manuals. Medieval cookbooks. Technical documents about sewer systems. The stranger, the better. Your brain needs to be ambushed by weirdness.
NOTICE THE FUCKED UP DETAILS: That weird stain on your ceiling? The way your neighbour always walks their dog at precisely 4:17 PM? The inexplicable noises your refrigerator makes at 2 AM? PAY ATTENTION.
RAID YOUR PAST SELF: Dig through your old notes. Your past self might have had better ideas than potato-you. Steal from that smarter version of yourself shamelessly…
And if you’re like me who likes truth that is wrapped in bacon and deep fried?
Originality is mostly bullshit. Everything’s been done. What makes your work yours is the unique clusterfuck of influences you’ve absorbed and how your particular brain vomits them back out onto the page.
There’s no need to wait around for the perfect idea to descend from the heavens like some divine turd of inspiration. Feed your brain weird shit. Notice weird shit. Remember weird shit you already thought of.
Then write. Even if it’s garbage. Especially if it’s garbage.
Garbage can be composted. Mashed potatoes just congeal.
And now we go write some more, damn it.
Here’s what you can read to level up your weird when your brain isn’t doing the thing…
Stephen Walker