Here I am sitting in line at the car wash
feeling guilty for not writing.
In fact, it’s much more than that.
I haven’t submitted anything so far this year.
As many of you know, it’s a long waiting game,
and not submitting makes the waiting all
that much longer. However, I also need to remind
myself that while writing I need to remember to live.
And it’s OK to take time for both.
Soon the submitting will begin again.
It’s what writers do.
My published work:
Sometimes I don’t want to write
and I do anyway
The voices are different
The walls are the same
and not, too
Doesn’t much matter
I’ll always write
and the walls
will always be there
Not long ago someone recommended I write a particular story
about an idea they had.
It doesn’t work like that for me.
I told them, no thanks.
I write about what sinks into me.
I need to know it. To feel it.
It could be a story about a piece of wood.
Or even about a dog who only ran sideways.
But I’d need to know the wood and the dog.
It’s possible I could write the story for them, but
it’d never be mine and I would feel detached.
Even if it was my own father, and it was.
It just doesn’t work like that for me.
I’ve literally been ‘given’ lines of poetry in my dreams. I wake up, do my job, and write them down. -M. Taggart
This thought was spurred into being by an intriguing post written by Angel Zuma. It appears that Angel is a relatively new blogger.
Please, let’s flood Angel’s blog with support! Visit Angel’s post here:
I like my morning.
It’s crisp with a rawness from the approaching storm.
Sleet, ice, some snow and rain
are in the mix for the next 24 hours. So they say.
I watched, as Megan walked Gavin down our driveway
to wait for his bus. If the storm is bad in the afternoon,
we’ll jump in the truck and pick Gavin up at his school.
I like to do that for the bus driver on bad weather days.
We live on the side of a mountain and the road is steep.
Megan has the day off.
I don’t know what we’ll do today, but clearly, I’m already
ignoring ‘work’ and writing about simple things instead.
I like simple things. Maybe we’ll go to the movies, a simple
and random thing to do on a Monday.
And maybe we’ll go for a drive on a dirt road and listen
to the sound of the sleet as it pangs off the windshield.
Maybe I’ll take a photo to share, something rustic and wild.
That’s the thing about being a self taught writer/poet-
It’s All poetry to me. The waiting for the bus, the watching
out the window, noticing a slight breeze, the thinking of what to do,
the enjoyment of the matrix of life. It’s all right there,
in front of me, waiting to be seen.
A thought is like a ship at sea.
Some of them never come back.
No matter how hard you try,
the words aren’t the same,
and they’re gone forever.
“I woke up in a bedroom not mine.”
buahha…Megan read that and said, “It sounds like you were in a bedroom you shouldn’t have been in.”
Let me clarify, for anyone who may have had a, WTH moment of thought, concerning this line. A bedroom not mine, was actually, our spare bedroom. I was so clogged up from the cold that I kept Megan awake the previous night. So! After the Celtics lost, out of consideration for Megan’s sleeping needs, I slept in the spare bedroom where I could cough all night without disturbing Megan 🙂 There you have it. I just like to play with words and ‘I slept in a bedroom not my own’ was much more entertaining for me to write rather than a standard line of blobityblip.
I hope everyone is ready for the weekend!
I’m almost ready to write.
It’s a strange feeling knowing that I’m putting if off.
A purposeful thing found in the back of a thought,
lingering, like a vibrating sponge left on the beach
just out of reach of the waves.
Soon though, I will.
Maybe I’ll remember some of it.
Being a writer doesn’t mean
you need to write about rainbows and pretty things
Nah, there’s a lot of anger and there’s nothing wrong with that
there’s nothing wrong with any of it
The envious horizon of the gorgeous sunset
It’s not about right, or wrong, it just is
Recently, multiple people have contacted me concerning their blockage of writing. Here are my thoughts on this- Give yourself permission to write. Especially, give yourself permission to write what you aren’t allowing yourself to write and write all of it. Then, trim away.
If someone in your life is causing you to pause, or even controlling your writing, write it anyway. You don’t need permission to live your life. Live it, write it.
In my opinion it’s very unlikely a blockage is anything other than a block put in place by yourself, or someone next to you. Fear. You already know what to do. Do it. Even if the writing isn’t perfect, timeless, or up to your standards. It doesn’t matter. Not doing it at all is the only true failure.
Best of luck and cheers,