Thursday! 3-24: The State of the Brain is...
I3, E24
My head is full of pollen and uselessness.
That sounds like the opening line of a poem1, but I assure you it is the absolute truth. Not just the truth and certainly not “my” truth, whatever the heck that actually means these days. No, no! That sentence contains as much truth as one could possibly stuff into a sentence and not have it explode in a detonation so large it would consume the universe!
I know what you’re thinking right now2, “Jimmie,” your brain is saying to itself, “Your head can’t possibly be full of those things. Your head contains your brain, a skull, and other useful head-related fluids. Possibly a steel plate! I don’t know your history, but since you write like a man who has landed on his head a few too many times, it seems a solid guess.” Normally, you’d be right, about everything except the steel plate3, but not today! At some point over the past couple evenings, being or beings unknown emptied my head of its normal human contents and packed it full of pollen and uselessness. Now, we are here, with me trying to write a useful few paragraphs about creativity or writing or something and you wondering when the heck I’m going to get to something that will resemble a cogent point.
Right.
The thing is, I might not get there this week. Truth be told, the turn of weather is playing havoc with my head. I’m also not feeling confident at all about my creative prospects lately. Both of these things are temporary, or so that’s my hope, but they’re also real and I’m left with a choice. I can either sit down and let the current contents of my head determine what I do or I can…not. If I sit down, I won’t create anything. I’ll wallow in self-pity and frustration over parts of my creative career I can’t control. I’ll get more depressed and more tired. I’ll take ideas that might be worthwhile and throw them out because when I get frustrated, I get impatient and angry with myself and everything I touch. On the other hand, if I don’t sit down and wallow in my own crapulence4 , there’s a chance I’ll make something cool, which might be what cracks my career stagnation5 wide open. Or not.
As I’ve said in Thursday! many times before, I can’t win unless I get into the game.
So here I am, being in the game. This week’s newsletter certainly isn’t a gem of wisdom, like most of what I’m seeing in my Notes feed, but it’s better than the nothingburger I was prepared to serve you this morning.
And there are poems!
What, though, does this have to do with you? I mean, sure, you’re reading this right now, a fact for which I am most grateful, but that’s never good enough for us, is it? You’re not here just to hear about me6 and I’m not here to write just about me. Here's the deal. If you are an artist, even a little bit, most of your days will not be full of white-hot creative fire. Just the opposite . The world, and most of the people in it, does not care about your art -- or you -- at all. The pollen doesn't care. Depression doesn't care. Impostor syndrome doesn't care. The mass art market doesn't care. Big publishers don't care. Snarky culture gatekeepers don't care. Censorious busybodies don't care. Those lazy rich dudes pushing piles of cash toward AI instead of living, breathing artists don't care.
You care, though. If you’re lucky and diligent, you’ve also found a few other people who care. They are the ones who get your art — the good stuff and the silly, pointless stuff you make when your head isn’t in the game because it’s been filled with nonsense and tree sex.
Like you, here, now. You care. And you get my art. Aren’t you lucky?
Well, yeah. I think you are. And that’ll do just fine until who, or what, ever stole my brain puts it back all safe and sound.
What I Wrote Last Week
Fancy more stories and poetry? Read all you want at JimmieWrites.
Buy my picture book of poems about werewolves and atomic monsters!
Read “The Paper Swans of Ellendell” in Postcards from Mars!
ONE LAST THING! See the buttons down there? Click them and join in the shenanigans and tomfoolery. If you only want a little, click the heart. But if you click the comment button, you might find yourself adding real value to this crazy little community we’re building here, and wouldn’t that be grand?
If only we had a poet nearby! Oh, well.
I really don’t, but let’s run with it for now.
I’m including the shots to the head thing, too. I’ve had a couple or three youthful concussions. Maybe four. All minor, so far as I know, but…SQUIRREL!
What? It’s a word! Like “cromulent” and “embiggen”!
Or at least my career slowness to become what I want it to be right now.
Right? Surely, you’re not here for just that??
It's okay to have downswings. The pollen isn't forever. I believe in you.
Brains have the terrible habit of leaving at the most inconvenient times. Don't worry, it'll be back. Might have to dust off some pollen though. They collect weird things as they go off frolicking...