On writing just to be writing

I’ve been listening to one of my favorite band’s new tracks, in anticipation of their new album. It’s making me dream things I would not have expected, and remember those dreams vividly, which is a rare thing for me. It still strikes me how much it makes me think of the people in my life that are also connected to that band, even though this is completely new material. Certain intense moments of art, music, film, whatever they may be, stick with you and really resonate when you have shared them with someone else. I had a very similar conversation about a film based on a childhood favorite book (Prince Caspian) recently, and it just struck me that those pieces of art are valuable to me in new ways now, because of the shared love of that work with a friend or loved one. I think it’s one of the reasons I want to create art in the first place. As the artist, you share that connection with everyone who experiences and appreciates your work, and that’s an incredibly exhilarating and heady feeling. It has long been my belief, since seeing said band live for the first time, that that is what we, as an evolved and self aware species, are supposed to be doing with the gift of reason, creating things bigger and better than ourselves that improve our world, that make others happy and comfortable and excited all at the same time. So I need to flex the writing muscles a bit, and perhaps try to start something new, though that tends to be where I get tripped up. It’s time to stare down the blank white page once again, and hopefully not let my fear of it get the best of me, again.