The Makers


 They are most often conceived in that hour between morning and night, between light and dark, between rational and ecstasy. With a soft moan they spring forth from other dimensions where time, money, talent and energy are of no concern. They come from the land of flying boats, winged fairies, feasts, muses, mermaids and poetry, from a faraway place where everything is possible and nothing can stand in your path. They begin to stir and expand, grow and divide as you step in the shower. The water washes away the last traces of fear and trepidation leaving courage, resolution and clarity. You step out, dry off, double check the positive sign, dress for expansion put a secret smile on your face and a bounce in your step. There is an idea growing beneath your heart in your root chakra. Such is the quest of the entrepreneur, such is the joy of an artist, such are the stories of a writer ..and then morning sickness sets in.


Weeks become months and the incubating idea begins to stir, to quicken, to expand, to show. It keeps you awake at night. You toss and turn and switch on the light. It is harder to conceal. Hastily written post-it notes and embryonic drawings on napkins become paragraphs and blueprints, sketches evolve to renderings, renderings to realities. And the ideas must be fed. A lot. Midnight cravings for capital. Searching the kitchen for words. Heartburn. Friends begin asking about due dates. Worries mount of bringing it to fruition. Showers of advice from relatives. Nesting. Advertising. Hiring. Firing. Deadlines. Rewrites. Redraws. Re-dos. Kicking. Hormonal imbalance. Breakdowns. Building. New life.


 And then the contractions begin, subtlety at first, just a tightening. Headaches. Backaches. There is no backing out. They become more regular, contractors, contracts, connections, canvases. Call the midwife. Breathe in, breathe out, focus. We are getting nowhere. Permits. Inspections. Revisions. Proofs. We need more money; always more money….it will make the pain go away. What the hell were you thinking? Damn Muses. Nails dig into the flesh. Doulas speaking firmly, you can do this. Critical voices in the background….no you can’t! The pain is much more intense now. Push, push, finally progress, a soft opening, a first printing, an art show. Blood, sweat, tears, one final push. Birth. A company. A restaurant, A book. A painting. Completion. Creation. Smiles. Joy.



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1 Response to The Makers

  1. Tiffany Opheikens says:

    How beautiful. The whole process, I felt like i was apart it all sitting here in my house in North Carolina. Your writing took me on the journey. Now i want a sandwich, where is it?

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