Snatches of old familiar hymns go through my head when I come to the page... "I come to the garden alone, while the dew is still on the roses."
It does feel awfully alone, to come to a blank page with a story to tell and only have words to tell it with..."What a friend we have in Jesus."
Though I feel so alone, I am hoping the muse visits and brings ease and clarity and some sort of magic that will sweep me up in its folds and lead me down the paths of genius... "And, He walks with me and He talks with me."
Instead, I often find work, real work, hard work, not aways profitable work, the actual work of creating when there is no tempra paint or silly string or steel guitar in sight, just me and the page... "Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee."
By the time I have been at my desk for two hours and mangaged to write a dozen emails, read a dozen more, check facebook about four times, and do a google image search for an obscure skin rash I am sure I have, there are no more hymns running through my head, but instead a series of curse words for the time I am wasting... "no need to print them here for you know what they are."
So I open iTunes and find the song and hit the play button and put my fingers on the keyboard and let the work actually begin while Def Leppard clears the air and gives me hope... "Pour some sugar on me."