As artists, we often complain about our inability to begin. If only I had the nerve to start X-- a novel, a short story, the rewrite on our play, the photo series we're "thinking" of. I would like to suggest that you start somewhere else-- start with finishing something.
There must be some obscure law of physics that revs into action when artists finish something. And that something can be reorganizing the medicine cabinet, cleaning out the glove compartment, or folding and putting away the laundry. The moment we finish something, we get a sort of celestial pat-- sometimes even a shove-- a small booster rocket of energy to be applied elsewhere.
When we want to grease the creative wheels, we do very well to muster a little elbow grease elsewhere. Mend the trousers. Hang the curtains. Sort a bookshelf. Finishing almost anything creates both order and an inner order: "Now, start something," finishing something says.