Today I took the day off, planning to spend it setting up character sheets and an outline for my NaNoWriMo novel. Instead, I spent the day getting age spots lasered off (and thereafter contemplating my bad decision-making), watching a movie, reading a book on biocentricism, and, of course, napping.
Finally finding my way to the novel, I realize that the way I spent the day was healthy, even though it didn't produce any pages. My life is so over-stuffed these days that I view my drive to work as my most contemplative time. (Sorry, fellow drivers.) Downtime, time in which I allow the flow of thought to reverse direction, even stop, is essential to my creativity. All I have done lately is work, worry and watch TV.
I have, secretly, been afraid that I have wrung out the dregs of my creative juice, and that there is nothing left in me but words. My pride in what I have so far been able to write was completely obscured by my fear that it was all I would ever do.
There is no magic today. I don't feel a surge of excitement, I don't have a novel beating its way out of my head. But I have allowed my thoughts to rest, and maybe that's all they need.
For those who are noticing, Maniac with a Knife has won. The thousand worlds of Habitas were just too dim for me to see them, right now, so I will be writing the second novel in a series at the same time--and finishing the first draft before--I even get the first one well started.
Take a day off from your life. Don't do anything important. Rest.