The Writer and the Phoenix

I'm one of those writers that has long periods where I write nothing at all, staring at a blank screen, biting my lip and wondering why I bother trying to tell stories at all.  I sink into deep bouts of discouragement where I can't escape apathy, dragged into a mood where I simply don't care about the words I create, I can't get a grip on my ideas, my characters, my prose, and I feel them slipping out of my mind into that black space at the back of your existence where all dead thoughts go.
At these points, I begin to question myself, I ask, "What if I'm not really meant to write at all?"  Because can you stink so low there is a point of no return?  I always ask myself -- though, for a 15-year-old to ask such questions of himself is indeed quite silly -- the terrifying question, "What if I have nothing left to say?  What if I have told all I have to tell?  What if no one ever did care or ever will care?"
But then, deep in my heart, something unfolds.  A match is lit, a spark ignites, a light erupts.  And suddenly bursting, bubbling up like volcanic lava, are my words.  And I realize they were always there, just out of reach, but still present in my being, like always.  My fingers fly over the keyboard as I write, desperate to get everything out of me.  I am filled with a wonderful, irresistible love for writing, and I must write every second I can.
During these times I can never understand how, just a few days ago, or in some cases mere hours ago I thought I could never write again.  During these times I feel like a writer, I feel some paragon emotion .  I desire an eternal circle of nothing but this feeling.
Yet, as I rise higher into that glorious writer's emotion, I fall again.  I am back to staring at a blank screen, biting my lip and wondering why I bother trying to tell stories at all... and worse, I think that if I only get such brief bursts of true love for writing, I'm clearly not a true writer.
But, again, a match, a spark, a light.  I'm up again into the world of my words, loving every second my mind is spilling them out onto paper.
Call me genius, I think I've discovered a pattern.

While I do believe every writer is different concerning the creative process, I think a lot of people go through the same vicious, glorious cycle I go through.  Writing doldrums to writing ecstasy, writing doldrums to writing ecstasy, writing doldrums to writing ecstasy.  And I think that's just the way it goes.
I think a writer is like the Phoenix of mythology.  The Phoenix is a bird of fire, and it obtains life by rising from the ashes of it's predecessor.  First it rises in a spectacular burst of flame and vitality and heat, and then it dies, sinking into ash and death.  And yet, it rises again, just as spectacular, and then sinks to ash again.  And it rises again.  And it sinks again.  It's a beautiful rebirth cycle, and I have found it to be an accurate metaphor for the way I process my creativity.
I think the thing to remember is the Phoenix always rises again.  It's a cycle, a process, and you can't have both  at once.  Fire cannot exist without ash, nor can ash exist without fire.  Out of our writing doldrums will erupt a great cascade of words, and that too dies, but to be replaced with a new waterfall of stories.  Sometimes the period of ash will stretch on for months, a bleak, ravaged landscapes that come with much pain and discouragement, and sometimes the period of flames and words only lasts an hour -- but it will always come again.
So, if you haven't written anything for months.  If you feel like I have, doubting yourself and your writing, just remember one thing.  One very important fact you must never forget. 
You will rise again.

            


Post Script - An Infinite Creative Journey
I mentioned this concept briefly in Discouragement and Creativity but I thought I'd expand upon it here.  
I imagine creativity like a road, an infinite journey.  A circle, if you will.  I'm one of those writers with the unfortunate tendency to compare myself with other authors -- "They write prose so much better than me," "Their plot is so much more development than mine," "Their characters are more likable," "How do they produce such beautiful words?"  However, not only is this unhealthy, it is unnecessary.  If you think of creativity as an infinite line of good ideas, bad ideas, words, pictures, underdeveloped concepts, developed concepts, over-developed concepts, a soup of brilliance and enlightenment, failures and shortcomings, then no matter where you are on that line it doesn't really matter.  As long as your engaged in active, raw creativity you are behind, ahead, and right beside your fellow artists.  This doesn't mean you don't have to learn the tools and tricks of your craft, but so do we all.  You mustn't judge yourself on where someone else is placed on an infinite line.   
I think that's a really beautiful concept, and one I find encouraging.  As writers, we're on a never-ending journey, so don't bother glancing over your shoulder at what other people are doing.
You're doing just fine where you are.