Channeling this Creative Kick

It is May 2011, I am 24, turning 25 in four months,I am restless and feel like time is running out. 
I'm anxious to create something big, something amazing, something epic and I still don't know what it is. 


I'm sure a lot of people can relate to this: that feeling deep inside your gut that resembles butterflies but has nothing to do with the excitement of a lover, it is completely internal, completely your own and it is busting at the seams of your pores to get out and expose it's glory to the world. It's madness! 
My ears, eyes, lips and fingers tingle at the very thought of what I could create. 


Let me summarize...


So far, I have spent this year acting in a British play, as a small role in a Hollywood film, as lead roles in two indie short films (one of which I produced) as well as the bogus hosting/modelling job here and there to make the evil necessities ($). 
And I am NOWHERE NEAR satisfied. How could I be? None of those things were really my own.


Why haven't I started yet? Because I feel the motivation is definitely there, but the inspiration is a little lacking. I just need some kind of oomph to get started. But I just wanted the world to know and feel my excitement because it, whatever it is, be it a play, a musical, a film, a song or a script, is going to be EPIC. 




And I end this entry with a very special poem my dad left with me before passing... it is so perfectly relevant:


If by Rudyard Kipling


IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:



If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:


If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!