Rus Articles Journal

How to fight against torments of creativity

the Most sweet torments on Earth is a torment of creativity. The creative person is doomed to tortures. No matter, that you create: new submarine, opera or novel. The main thing that to you nothing similar was and you are the first. You are pervoprokhodimets (the pioneer wanted to write, but the hand itself output this term - decided to leave) ready to reap monasteries as soon as they appear. By the way, creation similar can hardly be considered as creativity. It is more likely an instinct.

I suffered the second week. The desire to write the new story broke off total absence of a plot. To write without plot - all the same what is without salt. In a disgusting way to impossibility.

And happened, you go down the street. Here in the head something pereklinit. Time - two, and a plot in a pocket. You rush home to the computer - you hold a pocket that did not drop out.

However, so far almost do not print. Not the genius, speak. So geniuses only after death publish. Otherwise, what he is a genius if receives the royalties and in French riviera with two wives and three mistresses has a rest. Leave it to us, simple writers. Let after death nobody will read, but we will live thoroughly.

Something I distracted. So, jammed the head. Nothing climbs. The reason that week I do not drink anything can is stronger than some tomato juice? Or ate something not that.

I go on the apartment - I think. Time two o`clock in the morning. The TV - and that was chopped off. Though the muse some would visit. From department of detectives. Or from a fantasy.

Got into the refrigerator - I look: vodka between pelmeni hid. Same I did a grist. I think: to drink or at first to warm a little, and then to drink. Here from a chair sounded:

- What to think here - that. Take two shot glasses and pour.

Was taken aback, of course. I become straight, I look - the old woman. Terrible such, with a club. Toothless besides.

- You who, grandmother?

- Who, who. Winnie - down in a coat. He - he. The muse I is yours. Caused?

- The muse, the grandmother, is such beautiful woman. Easy and air. Besides it cannot be caused. Itself appears in any the moment, convenient for it, - I unpacked a bottle. - On small?

The old woman got up from a chair and approached a window.

- All sleep. Our time. That beautiful and air that you naplet now, are, of course, in our department. But they not about you will be. All of them vip. That is for geniuses. Last time such to Dovlatov was. Happens, - the old woman passed to whisper and began to look back nervously. - Happens, they even live together.

- As together, - I with horror looked at the old hag.

- As, as. As man and woman. But you be not afraid. It does not threaten you. It only for the elite. And you who are? Graphomaniac. Tell still thank you that I was sent. Much of yours even applications do not consider.

- Thanks, of course. And what you can?

- All. Within the Russian publishing ideology. You want to be printed, for dull (what here to palter) work to receive money. Women beautiful to dance in foreign countries. - I will not lie. I want.

- Then pour. Without this business the spirit will not appear, without this business only the production novel can be composed times of a sotsrealizm.

We drank and have a snack on a salty cucumber, got lost at the bottom of the refrigerator. Inside became warmer. In the head the empty seat sharply appeared. The old woman grunted, got from where - that the Havana cigar. Lit.

- Write.

Over houses, in the sparkling morning veil, there was a sun, striking with the first beams of janitors, drunkards, bandits and puteysky workers. Boomingly doors of entrances began to clap, seeing off the prostitutes dispersing after work. Having angry fallen a cropper, the well-known fountain at the Bolshoi Theatre gave the first portion of water, and the transparent rainbow which rose over the city connected for a while the rich center to poor suburbs...

Wrote. Well, further. And I went. Today three more calls. And all the course. Travel cards for us, pensioners, and those cancelled. Here about what though somebody would write.

By the way if now you do not mess up, next time more young me will send you Can slowly and on the VIP will leave. If you are not afraid, of course. He, he.