Is this thing on?

Oh to cleverly conjour a quirky opener and boot piffling introductory waffle off the page and into the garbage where it belongs. Yes, garbage. Trash. Wheelie bin. Waste paper basket. Not the recycling. ....what would you like to see piffling introductory waffle come back as? Piffling introductory waffle is no good for anything. Not even removing evidence of gastric flu.

.......Or maybe piffle makes the world go round and we bin the quirky openers?

Like a beer gut gone AWOL as its master sleeps, I'm exhaling. Hanging out. Exploring what happens when I keep the corner of my eye fixed on what lumber jacks deep in the forest like to refer to, in reverential whispers, as 'my creative self'.

Those lumber jacks - aside from their crazy shirts and groovy signature tune - are on to something. The problem is the volume. Creativity is a roar, not a whisper. We've got to push it through so much shit to safely make its way into the world. That's just the way it is. The amount of shit (texture, weight and depth) depends on our approach: we either stop at the first whiff of trouble and look for piffle to help us wipe our asses, or we grab the nearest peg and keep on pushing.

Creativity is work. Its incredible, awe inspiring, mountain moving stuff, but its still work. Eye meet needle meet drive, instinct, passion and perseverence.

Think of the lumber jack taking off-cuts of wood home to carve itty bitty figurines so spectacular in their detail, it defies belief. He doesn't have a five year plan on how many itty bitty figurines he needs to make before he'll be ready to turn a profit. He hasn't googled every other itty bitty figurine maker to compare himself with. And I bet you on more than one occasion he's felt a little silly and muttered, "Itty bitty figurines? Why can't I make itty bitty power tools?"

Every mean thing someone ever said to you, about you, about someone else doing something similar to what you're doing is going to dance about madly in front of you, beside you and its up to you how distracted you get. Stare at these pranksters long enough and you start dressing them in different outfits or, bottom of the barrel, you actually start making requests and getting involved with this tripe as some form of reality. You do not remember what your mobile number is, but you can remember the smell of the horrid music teacher when you were ten (oops, did I say that out loud)

In case you're tempted to wonder about balance and the whole yin/yang thing, it works just as shittily in the other direction because every wonderful thing someone said about someone else doing what you're doing which makes it impossible for you to continue because hey, you're crap is going to be doing the dance of joy inside your head cheering you on to putting down your pen, paintbrush, lino cutting tool or carving knife.

Basically these critters are there to distract, deter and dance you away from any kind of creative endeavour.

Our figurine carving lumber jack hears the voices alright. He sees the little bastards dancing. The trick is not to pay any attention. Seriously. Because that particular voice belongs to the teacher who picked on you, the deranged school bully, everything that ever hurt your feelings or freaked you out (clowns, stuffed teddy bears....oops sorry, my stuff) and all other warty beings who thought it sporting to make your life a misery.

Why would you listen to someone you don't respect?

Maybe its because everyone you do respect was lifted up on high, carefully and reverentially set upon a spectacular pedestal which looks fancy but does nothing to amplify, inspire or promote the 'creative self' of the person on the ground.

To 'be creative' you need to kick ass, get everything down off the shelf and - horrors - risk your precious cargo getting a little bumped and smudged by enthusiastic enquiring minds. We're not here to sit pretty and not get dirty. We're here to experience everything. Get our hands dirty. Roll up our sleeves. Work a good old sweat. Risk something - anything!

I think I can safely handle my creative lumberjacking self and not drop it on the floor. I can't guarantee anything but a life spent dusting some efigy of a creative genius from the past tucked away high on a shelf doesn't appeal to me. I'm sure Austen and Shakespeare didn't aspire to a legacy of being gazed at, analysed and dusted every once and a while. Seems to me they did what they did to escape the threat of gathering dust. And whatever 'legacy' they aspired to was perhaps overtaken by the drive of their own creativity.

Imagine being 'taken over' by something so wilful, honest, courageous and completely and utterly untrainable, uncontrollable and unquantifiable?

Now imagine trying to stifle all that into a neatly ordered existance. The need for high shelves out of the reach of prying hands, eyes and minds makes sense. But how is that a life?

And, just when you thought this was going to be a lumber jack's tale of woe......enter Belief and Faith stage right. These righteous sisters form the strongest allies we could ever dream of. All we need to do is ..... you got it, and they'll show up each and every time.

She may have been tiny, but Mother Theresa kicked ass. This was a woman who went out and did what she believed in. Sure we emphasise her incredible goodness and humility however at the same time we must acknowledge the strong foundation of practicality fuelling her endeavours.

Mother Theresa and Nelson Mandela weren't asking permission from anyone to do what they did. Can you imagine them listening to all the shouting and dancing going on inside their heads? They just went off and did it. Bugger the consequences. They believed in what they were doing.

Until you do, no one will.

As Mother Theresa said: Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.

Lets take these bastions of brilliance off the shelves and put them firmly in our eye line where they belong. Person to person.

Enjoy the huge grin stretching across your face.

Feels good that we're equal, doesn't it?