What? Me, Creative?

During a chat with Rhonda yesterday, I got to thinking about why I stopped writing creatively.

I have ideas constantly running through my head. And I come up with great beginnings all the time -- usually while driving to/from work or on the treadmill.

But I haven't put much effort into writing beyond that initial idea or opening paragraph. I used to feel compelled to write. And to compose anything: bad poetry, those openings that would go nowhere, commentaries. What happened to my impetus to publish? When did I stop wanting to write?

Sure, I had to write in college as a journalism major and be creative as the opinion editor for the college newspaper. And I was part of a critique group in my 20s, so I had deadlines to meet and others to answer to when I didn't do my work. The only book I've written resulted from my critique group's deadlines.

Which leads me to wonder whether I'm so lazy that I can't write unless I'm forced to do so. And if that's true, then one could conclude that I'm not really a writer at all. Not like I was before I turned 30 or so. Somewhere along the way, I became so wrapped up in career and house that I lost my creativity.

So, as a result of my chat with Rhonda, I started a new blog. One that forces me to think differently. It's a bit of stretch: I've absolutely lost my ability to write humorously. But it's gotten the creative juices shifting, if not flowing, again.