On Slow-Filling Aquifiers
I have a blog post mostly written, which I was going to post yesterday. I got distracted before finishing it, thank goodness. When I went back to finish it, I realized that it was not so much a blog post as it was a message. Sent from my subconscious to my waking mind, I needed a little time and distance to recognize it as such. I shelved that post and wrote this one instead.
What was the message? It's best interpreted as, "Stop trying to be a writer. Either BE a writer or give it up entirely and move on to other pursuits."
My writing is on hiatus for a while. Attentive readers of this blog (if any still exist) will note that my blogging is, too. With NaNoWriMo looming on the horizon, I'm left to wonder if that's exactly the kind of kickstart I need, or if it's only another gasp of onanistic futility.
The truth is that I've got nothing. I can tell you what I'm thinking and feeling at any given moment, but it seems I've completely misplaced my ability to make up things about people and places that don't exist. With that absence of ability comes, not just a reluctance to once again stare at a blank screen, but a fearful recoiling from the writing process.
Everything besides writing feels more relaxing, more pleasurable. What gives me pause (and what makes me continue to hope I might one day be able to write again) is that few other things are more satisfying, or give me anything close to the sense of accomplishment. After fighting this hiatus, this down time, this forced literary layoff, I've decided to give into it and take rest from it. Willfully eating lotuses? Perhaps, but I find myself on an island where lotuses are the only things to eat.
Why so dry, guy? It's possible that my aquifer is just slow in refilling, but it's also possible that my life has too many fresh wells drawing too much water. For that, I have to wait for the world to turn and turn and turn again before I can again take up my pen.
||| Comments are welcome |||
Help keep the words flowing.
Landless by Tony Noland. If you like the blog, try one of the books.
What was the message? It's best interpreted as, "Stop trying to be a writer. Either BE a writer or give it up entirely and move on to other pursuits."
My writing is on hiatus for a while. Attentive readers of this blog (if any still exist) will note that my blogging is, too. With NaNoWriMo looming on the horizon, I'm left to wonder if that's exactly the kind of kickstart I need, or if it's only another gasp of onanistic futility.
The truth is that I've got nothing. I can tell you what I'm thinking and feeling at any given moment, but it seems I've completely misplaced my ability to make up things about people and places that don't exist. With that absence of ability comes, not just a reluctance to once again stare at a blank screen, but a fearful recoiling from the writing process. Everything besides writing feels more relaxing, more pleasurable. What gives me pause (and what makes me continue to hope I might one day be able to write again) is that few other things are more satisfying, or give me anything close to the sense of accomplishment. After fighting this hiatus, this down time, this forced literary layoff, I've decided to give into it and take rest from it. Willfully eating lotuses? Perhaps, but I find myself on an island where lotuses are the only things to eat.
Why so dry, guy? It's possible that my aquifer is just slow in refilling, but it's also possible that my life has too many fresh wells drawing too much water. For that, I have to wait for the world to turn and turn and turn again before I can again take up my pen.
||| Comments are welcome |||
Help keep the words flowing.
Landless by Tony Noland. If you like the blog, try one of the books.
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