With a quick snip of the scissors and a fast, light-blue bicycle, my 8-year-old self would gracefully make off with a few of my neighbor’s precious flowers. I would bring them back to our home where a brick fireplace jutted out from the side. With a rock and the brick as my mortar and pestle, I would grind the petals to create a “floral-inspired perfume”.
I had a bit of creative slump for the past week or so (maybe two weeks, if I am being completely honest). Words weren’t coming to me, I found myself in that lovely spiral between getting lost in the internet, compulsively cleaning the house, and watching reruns of The Office. I can see it coming like a screeching-loud train, ready to put my ideas to a complete halt.