Just put pen to paper and see what happens!

Sometimes, you might feel like you don’t have it in you to be creative. But if you don’t bother showing up to the keyboard / notepad, then how do you know for certain?

This morning, one sentence fell into my head and I immediately began to analyse it. Deeming it to be rubbish, I ignored it for a few minutes, but it kept on floating around my mind, so I decided to jot it down as a meagre starting point for later.

However, as I wrote it down, something amazing happened. What I wrote immediately transformed into something better and I channeled down more words with great ease. That is the true alchemy and wonder of creating! Often it takes just one little nudge to start an avalanche.

So if you’re struggling to be creative, then don’t lose heart, for the slightest little thing could ignite you again. Be open to anything that motivates you, especially those thoughts that are inspired. Just go with your intuition, put pen to paper, and see what happens!

Casper’s Children

Casper Walsh caused yet another media uproar at the premiere of his latest film. Stood on the red carpet, surrounded by screaming fans and flashing cameras, he announced to the world that he was going to set up his own sperm bank.

‘I just want to give something back to the fans, you know. A piece of me – something personal –’

A reporter from Showbiz Weekly ambushed him with a microphone. ‘Sounds amazing, Casper. To be a patron for such a worthwhile cause – you will be helping so many women who are struggling to have children.’

‘Absolutely,’ said Casper, as he flashed his award-winning smile. ‘But I think you’re missing the point – the only donor at the clinic will be myself –’

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by frenzied screaming from the fans and desperate cries from photographers who were trying to get his attention. ‘Casper! Casper – over here!’

Casper stood there in his tailored suit and waited patiently for the furore to die down. His eyes were concealed beneath dark shades.

‘It will be an honour to help those struggling to conceive,’ he went on. ‘For any who are interested, my juices will be available to the public from Monday onwards – hope you enjoy the movie!’

And so the film premiere began. But all that any of the critics and other celebrities could think about as they watched the screening was the idea of Casper Walsh wanking into a test tube.

Over the following few days, the internet and news channels exploded with fierce debate over Casper’s announcement. Some thought he had completely lost his mind, while others commended his generosity and willingness to donate something so personal. Teenage girls hijacked Twitter with the hashtag #daddycasper, each of them fighting over who would get to marry him.

‘It’s what we’re here for, you know – to spread our seed and procreate,’ said Casper, during a follow-up interview. ‘I want an army of little Caspers running around, writing emails to their famous daddy, fighting over my millions once I’m gone. Won’t that be amazing?’

Casper’s insemination clinic allegedly received over ten thousand applications in the first forty-eight hours. Some critics wondered whether Casper could keep up with the demand.

‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that – I have plenty to give!’ Casper assured everyone. ‘I’ve been hard at work so that my clinic will be well-stocked.’

Women of all ages camped outside the insemination clinic, waiting for the doors to open, hopeful that they could jump ahead on the waiting list. Some were confident that they could cut out the middle-man entirely and convince Casper Walsh to impregnate them through direct means.

‘This is just the beginning,’ one young girl told Channel 6 News. ‘Once I give birth to Casper Junior, I’ll take him to meet his daddy and then he’ll propose to me and it’ll be so romantic. This is all I’ve ever wanted.’

‘My biological clock’s ticking,’ remarked a woman in her late forties. ‘And there’s no man on the scene either, so the thought of having that gorgeous hunk as the father of my child – it sends shivers right through me!’

Such was the hysteria of these fans that there were genuine concerns that they might try to steal the specimen jars.

‘Yeah, we’ve had to step up security,’ Casper admitted, on the eve of the grand opening. ‘But everyone will just have to wait their turn. We have a system, you know. There’s a plan – a natural order that we must follow –’

When Monday morning came, the doors of the clinic opened and the first set of women were inseminated. The crowd of fans outside the building were disappointed to find that they could not jump the queue, but they began screaming when Casper Walsh showed up.

‘The first seeds have been sown!’ he declared. ‘Do not lose heart, for you shall all bear my fruit! Make sure you’ve booked an appointment and you will be invited to the clinic as soon we can fit you in.’

The doctors in the clinic worked diligently over the next few weeks, slowly getting through their long list of appointments. At one point, they had to turn away a man who disguised himself as a female.

‘Please – just try it!’ he begged. ‘Casper is my idol – it might actually work! Humour me, will you?’

The oldest woman to be inseminated was seventy-two, while the youngest had just turned eighteen on the very morning of her appointment. The receptionists made sure to triple-check the identification of the younger girls, for fear that they were underage and carried fake documents. At the end of the first month, five hundred women had been inseminated, with many more scheduled appointments to follow.

‘They’ll make a movie about it one day,’ said Casper dreamily, as he lounged in an armchair during a late-night TV show. ‘Casper’s children – the greatest bunch of kids that America’s ever seen. And the world will be a better place for it. Such paradise – such joy – won’t it be wonderful?’

Rod Rage

The No. 53 bus shunted along as a young boy crouched on all fours, sifting through a pile of crumpled tickets, with tears leaking from his eyes. Rod the bus driver watched him with a rush of satisfaction.

‘Have you found it yet?’ he called out. ‘Can’t stay on without your ticket – shouldn’t have thrown it in the bin, should you?’

‘But you saw me buy one!’ the young boy piped up.

‘Doesn’t matter. Could lose my job if an inspector comes on,’ Rod retorted. ‘Now find your bloody ticket or get off my bus.’ 

Making the young boy search for his discarded ticket gave Rod an untold amount of enjoyment. He drove along and whistled to himself, ignoring the general sense of hostility that radiated from some of his passengers. New people coming on to the bus were baffled at the sight of the young boy sniffling beside the ticket bin.

Eventually, the young lad presented him with a crumpled ticket, confident that he had found the right one. Rod snatched it from his hand and examined it at great length. ‘That’s not it – you got on three minutes after this –’

‘Oh, for God’s sake – you cruel man!’ someone exclaimed. An elderly woman shuffled up to Rod’s cabin and glowered at him as she reached into her purse. ‘I’ll get him a new one – you should be absolutely ashamed of yourself.’

Rod took the money from her, annoyed that she had brought an end to his fun. As she went to sit down, followed by the young boy, Rod sped up the bus so that they both stumbled. To his delight, the old woman lost her footing and fell over. 

A few minutes later, a spotty teenager stepped onto the bus with an out-of-date bus pass. Rod swiped it from the boy’s unsuspecting hands. ‘Aha! This is two days out of date!’

‘I was on my way to renew it –’

‘Yeah – likely story,’ said Rod, as he pocketed the confiscated pass. ‘You know, it’s folk like you that are the scourge of our society. These bus passes put food on my family’s table, you know.’  

The spotty teenager was horrified. ‘Honestly, I was going to –’

‘Clear off!’ Rod yelled. ‘You’re a criminal and nothing less!’

The teenager cursed and slunk away. Rod shook his head and put his foot down on the accelerator, grumbling to himself as he drove off.

Later on that day, Rod’s bus was caught in terrible traffic and his mood blackened considerably. He ended up beeping his horn at every red light, as if each one was deliberately trying to ruin his day.

‘Bloody traffic,’ he grumbled. ‘Shouldn’t be allowed – shouldn’t be legal!’

He then encountered a very unwelcome sight in Harris Street’s bus bay. To his utmost horror, he saw that a taxi was parked there.

‘I don’t believe this,’ he muttered, slowing down the bus as he approached the bay. He hammered his horn, but the taxi did not move.

‘Get out the way!’

The taxi driver was busy helping someone take their shopping out of his boot. He completely ignored Rod’s demands. 

Rod gritted his teeth and snarled. His hands gripped the steering wheel and red hot anger rose within him. He hated it when people got in his way.

‘Right,’ he growled. ‘I’ve had it!’

Leaping out of his cockpit, he marched over to the taxi driver and gestured at the troublesome vehicle with animated exasperation.

‘Can’t park here, you idiot! What the hell are you playing at?’

The taxi driver chuckled. ‘All right, baldie. Calm down.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ Rod fumed. He took a step closer to the taxi driver and puffed up his chest, but the taxi driver was at least a foot taller than him. ‘You’d better move, or else I’ll – I’ll smash your bloody face in!’

To Rod’s bemusement, half of his passengers were clearly laughing at him. The taxi driver shared in their humour.

‘Get out my hair, baldie. No need to cause a kerfuffle – I’ll get moving now.’

‘Yeah, you better had do!’

The taxi driver threw back his head and guffawed, not in the least bit threatened by Rod. He cooly climbed into his taxi and cruised out of the bus bay, leaving Rod as red as a lobster. 

After that, every little thing irritated Rod and he drove like an absolute lunatic. His passengers held on for dear life as the bus thundered along, fuelled by his uncontrollable rage.

‘Sorry about this,’ he called out to his passengers. ‘I’m doing this for your safety – there’s some right idiots on the road!’

A large car cut in front of him and he beeped his horn. He caught up with the vehicle at some traffic lights and wound down his window, shouting down to a mother and her two startled children.

‘You silly cow! Are you crazy? Do you realise you’ve just endangered the lives of my passengers?’

‘And do you realise that you’re upsetting my children?’ the woman retorted.

Rod was so outraged that he slammed down on the accelerator and drove straight through a red light, going well beyond the speed limit. Some of his passengers began to scream.

‘Oy – can you slow down a bit, mate?’

‘Excuse me, driver – you’re going too fast!’

Rod slammed on the brakes and brought the bus to an abrupt halt. ‘Everyone get off! I’ve had enough!’

The shocked passengers took a moment to register. Slowly, they began to stand up and exit the bus. Most of them were a delicate shade of green. 

‘I’m suing for whiplash,’ a frail old woman complained.

‘Yeah, you do that, love.’

Once all the passengers had disembarked, Rod continued on his way, driving aimlessly around the streets of his dull town. He caught the eye of several people who were clearly confused as to why the No. 53 had gone rogue.

Before long, Rod realised that he was being pursued by two police cars. They indicated for him to pull over the vehicle, but Rod was too afraid to do so.

‘What do they want?’ he cried. ‘I haven’t done owt wrong, have I?’

As he sped up the bus, he pondered bitterly over the day’s events. It seemed that everyone had been out to get him.

Loud sirens pierced his thoughts. ‘Christ, I can’t have any peace!’

Rod was driving so fast that he did not have time to slow down at the upcoming roundabout and hurtled straight across the grassy island. He heard cars screech and collide in his wake, yet the police cars still pursued him. Up above, a helicopter joined the hunt.

‘What the devil will Shirley think of me?’ Rod wondered, giving some thought to his wife. A grim smile crept across his face. ‘She won’t be best pleased, the silly old –’

Something splattered across the windscreen. Rod yelped, fumbling with the steering wheel as he tried to see through the explosion of white feathers. He slammed on the brakes and attempted to regain control of his vehicle, but it crashed through a hedgerow and capsized, skidding through a ploughed field and spewing up great clods of earth, finally coming to a jerky halt.

When Rod came to his senses, he realised that he was in the middle of a potato field. His body ached all over and he tried to climb out of his overturned cockpit, but he could not find the strength to lift himself out. His concentration was shattered by the shrill sound of approaching police sirens.

Several patrol cars raced onto the field and circled around the capsized bus. The police officers sprang forth from their vehicles and approached with great caution, but they soon realised that Rod posed no threat. To Rod’s embarrassment, they tried and failed to extricate him from the bus, and eventually had to summon the fire brigade. Once he had been hoisted out, he was handcuffed by a stony-faced policeman.

‘It’s been a terrible day, officers – you’ve got to believe me –’

‘Save it for the station, sir. You’ve got a lot to answer for.’

And so Rod ended up in prison for dangerous driving and also had his license revoked. He often grumbled to the other inmates about how his passengers and fellow motorists had pushed him to one moment of madness, but never – not for one second – did he think that he was to blame for any of it.

The Subtle Language of the Cosmos

Struggling to find inspiration? Just take a look all around you! There are so many things going on that can fuel your creative cogs. Life is unfolding and manifesting in a countless number of ways, so learn to read the subtle language of the cosmos.

Sometimes, it is almost as if the universe is speaking directly to you. Not with words, but through signs and circumstances, using a language that deeply resonates with your soul. Keep a lookout for these cosmic messages.

Whether it be the way a person smiles, getting caught out in the rain or seeing a piece of rubbish blow across the street, there is a whole multitude of different things that might speak to you. Creative people pay attention to such things and are often keen observers of the world around them, watching the strange dance of life as they express themselves through it. Everyone reads things in a different way and that’s what gives each of us our own unique expression.

I’m a firm believer that we channel down our creativity from somewhere higher – from somewhere beyond the mind. Creating is effortless when you surrender to the flow of life, as opposed to trying to create things forcefully. The creation process is so much more enjoyable when you have fun with it and let the magic unfold quite organically.

So learn to speak fluently in the subtle language of the cosmos. Watch life with a keen eye and you may be surprised by what is revealed to you! Good luck, my fellow creators. May it be that you successfully tune in to the cosmic radio station and receive its bountiful transmission!