when a moulting fool lays an egg

on creative lows and clucking your way to a feathery future

The hens have been quite productive.

On our counter there sits an egg spiral.

That spiral contains three dozen eggs.

I’m told that the meal worms are a big part of why the laydies have continued to bring forth their bounty despite the frigid temperatures.

Well…

That was the case until today.

Today was the first day that I checked the coop to find no eggs.

My disappointment was inevitable.

Hens only lay all winter if you jack them up with very expensive artificial lighting.

The Foolsletter?

It’s gotten like the hens.

Many of my posts recently have been akin to rancid eggs.

Bereft of humour, this levity infused creativity exploration has been anything but.

It’s like I tell my former clients about their ‘creative adaptations’ or what other therapists would call neurotic adjustments - It works until it doesn’t.

The inspiration, elan and motivation that I had when I set out have been drained from me like the reproductive abilities of a moulting hen.

I’ve been failing everywhere - as a parent, provider, writer and fool.

How, does a fool fail at foolishness?

What an obtuse question…

One without any seeming answer or sense to make of it.

The result?

What was once a thriving little following with a very high ‘open rate’ has slowly done the opposite of what it should - the more people have gotten to know this fool, the more quickly they have left.

The reason?

I’ve been caught up in myself instead of imaging what you dear reader are interested in.

In fact?

I’ve been a bit of a troll.

Always have been. Always loved being shocking or at least offensive for its own sake.

That of course is a boorish and obnoxious tendency.

And?

It’s how I’ve always hidden and tried to keep myself safe.

When you believe that people won’t like you or what you have to offer before you even begin, it’s too damn easy to prove yourself correct.

This last year has been a huge low for me.

I’ve dumped long time ‘friends’ because of my rage and resentment.

My world has been shrinking, circles collapsing on themselves.

And yet?

Even a fool imploding with all of the joy of a black hole, the universe loves to fuck with the fuckery of it all.

Yesterday?

A former client reached out.

They told me that I saved their job, marriage and relationship with their children.

And that I had really really helped their friend as well.

As we spoke, I choked back my tears.

Feeling worthless and sad, it meant so much to hear that I’ve had some purpose, some impact on the world.

It was just what this moulting rooster needed to warm his cold and shrunken heart.

It was just the ticket I needed to keep me going through these dark times while waiting for my feathers to grow back.

So enough of my pissing and moaning. Let’s cluck back to the point of the foolsletter - the creative process…

if you’re stuck in a rut and you feel as barren and uncreative as a moulting hen in February.

Don’t worry.

The feathers will be back soon.

And just maybe,

When you lay an egg?

Some fool will find it delightful.