Inspiration is a fickle thing. Sometimes I find myself with wondrous idea after idea, tantalizing designs and spectacular art that re-defines the word.
Other days, I find myself near tears as I stare down at that damnably blank piece of paper, where every attempt to draw a line ends in an all encompassing numbness that spreads through my limbs and leaves me unable to move.
Today, I find myself staring. Wishing, hoping, wanting to create but finding my muses have abandoned me.
I attempt once more to bring pen to paper but it falls short. Not one drop of ink touches the page, not one ounce of inspiration can be mustered.
I sigh and carefully set my pen down and stand from my desk. Almost unbidden, I reach out to touch the paper, wondering if maybe my eyes and mind are playing tricks on me, that I have created something but simply can’t see it.
I flip over the paper, but it is blank, cold and empty; devoid of any deformation or marks on its surface. “There’s nothing here.”
The words escape in a soft whisper, painfully empty in the still room. “There’s nothing here.”
I tear myself away from the desk with the intensity of one being burned.
“There’s nothing here.”
Perhaps I am simply burnt out, maybe I just need a break. These sorts of excuses have usually brought me comfort in the past, but they fall hollow now. I would only be burnt out if I have actually been creating lately. Much to my growing dismay and despair, it has been months since my pen graced a page and brought to reality the images in my mind.
I turn to look over my barren inspiration room, clean and tidy and without a speck of dust. My nature refused to let this room fall to decay simply because I was in a creative drought.
I walk out and to my kitchen, where I start a kettle on the stove, musing out loud. “Hmm, perhaps a cup of tea will help.”
I stand there for a moment, watching the blue flames lick the underside of the kettle and, for a moment, I swear I could almost feel… Something.
I stare for a little longer and the almost-feeling passes.
I sigh and amble aimlessly to the front, where the few dresses I have not sold hang. The room is dark, my curtains pulled and the sign up front flipped to ‘closed’. Why bother opening when there is little to be sold, and littler more to be commissioned and created?
I run a hoof over the nearest outfit, a dress I had designed for a spring season I believe. Tears once again sting my eyes, for reasons I am not entirely sure of, and I mutter. “Oh dear, this is nearly three years old now; surely it is far out of season.”
I realize with a start that all the dresses out here are at least one or two years old. “Goodness, has it... has it really been that long?”
My question hangs empty in the boutique. I attempt to bring order to my scrambled thoughts. Let's see, I last sewed for Sweetie Belle’s graduation, and that was only a few months ago wasn’t it? No, it was two years ago, she moved out shortly after. But then, I must have sewn something after she left didn’t I? This dress was a spring gala design for Applebloom, or was it Scootaloo? Silver Spoon perhaps?
Countless fuzzy memories fly by as I try to sort them. Sweetie moved out, Sweetie started dating Silver Spoon, or were they together before graduation? Sweetie went to college, didn’t she? Was that this fall or last fall she was supposed to start? She brought Silver on our trip to Manehatten, when I gave the store to Coco. Or was that Canterlot and I gave the store to Sassy?
The high pitched squeal of a kettle broke my train of thought and I rushed to the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed. “Why, when did I start this? I don’t recall starting any tea.”
I shrug it off. “No matter, there is no bad time for a cup of tea.”
I float over the various ingredients needed, two sugar cubes and a teaspoon of honey find their way into my cup and I stir them with a spoon as I steep my jasmine tea leaves in the kettle.
The front door opens and Sweetie’s voice calls out. Hearing the voice of my darling sister pushes aside any melancholy, especially since I can’t quite recall what had me feeling so down all of a sudden. I shake off the odd sensation and respond with a merry, “I’m in the kitchen Sweetie!”
I smile as her lovely face comes through the doorway, gesturing to the chair across from me. “Marvelous timing Sweetie, I just made some tea.”
I see her look down, a confused look on her face. “Um, sis?”
I start to pour from the kettle into my cup. “Yes?”
“Where’s the water?”
“Hmm?”
I look down, seeing there is indeed a lack of water flowing into my cup. I stare down at the mushy, grain mess of sugar and honey, now decorated with jasmine tea leaves.
I stare at it for ages before finally gasping. “That’s it!”
I rush past Sweetie and to my inspiration room, the first exciting jolt of inspiration rushing through my veins as I run to the desk. I pick up the pen and…
Nothing.
Like a balloon being popped, all my energy leaves me in an instant and whatever grand idea I had is gone. Just like that, I am left standing in front of my desk.
I furrow my brows. “Goodness, whatever am I doing?”
I look between the pen and paper, trying to find some connection between the two. I hadn’t drawn anything for months. Did I maybe have an idea just now?
Behind me, I hear Sweetie say my name and I turn to greet her with a smile. “Oh Sweetie, when did you get here? Oh no matter, I am always glad for a visit from my sister. Come, let me go put on a pot of tea.”
