A few weeks ago, an Englishman musician reached out for me to write a bio. It sounded exciting. I got all worked up and prepped, and then I didn't hear back. Annoyed, I had made three attempts for an interview, and I felt ignored. Two of the appointments he had either "worked" or "slept" through. I was starting to feel I was a character on the Catfish television show. But, I had left a voicemail, and the Englishman on the voicemail was him. But, the voicemail was full, so that was troubling. It was a lot harder to think about being inspired to write someone's bio when you are not feeling like your time matters. But, what I realized was that I was lumping this experience in with other poor creative experiences. I was burned out. I lost my why. About a year ago, a musician I adore asked if he "Could just have a file of all of the photos I've taken of him for the last five years." He said, "Don't you just have a file?" Somethi