Okay. I'll admit it . I'm feeling a bit lost. The holidays
ended and winter quarter began. The skies are gray and the days are cold. I've
got another miserable cold I can't seem to beat, but what I don't have is a
story. I'm not writing. There, I said it. I'm not writing. Sure, I'm reading
and thinking. I'm tippy-toeing around the periphery of faded memory, but I
haven't found the door yet. I haven't entered, and I haven't discovered the
story that lies within.
Is this what some refer to as writers' block? Or, am I just
tired, bored, lazy? Or perhaps Pretense finally caught up with me, now tapping
a gnarled finger on my forehead repeating: "You can't write. You have
nothing to say. Just give it up and go watch the Seahawks game or a Hallmark
movie."
Don't get me wrong. I have nothing against the Seahawks and
Hallmark brings back warm memories of watching with my mother, explaining the
simple plot lines to a brain befuddled by dementia. But neither Seahawks nor
Hallmark, teaching myself to sketch nor learning what I can about marketing, or
even repotting house plants and dreaming of future home remodels should pull me
away from the writing. They never have before.
I've lived through a lifetime of gray, depressing Seattle
winters. I've started a good ninety new college terms in my long career, and
I've dealt with more head colds and sinus infections than reasonable for a
healthy woman. So what gives? Why am I struggling with this story? Why can't I
find it?
The thing about writing memoir, about muddling around in the
past, is that sometimes it hurts. Sometimes we just don't want to go there and
our brain and body put up every roadblock imaginable to avoid it. Some folks
manage to navigate through life with little more than a glance over the
shoulder. Others spend large chunks of time examining the past, trying to make
sense of life lived, decisions made, people and places experienced. Unless life
has been fairytale-perfect, that examination can be tough. We go through life
hearing things life "you think too much" or "you're too
self-absorbed" or "it's not your problem." Maybe all of that's
true. Maybe it's not. Maybe we're memoirists and we have stories to tell.
So why am I struggling to find that story? Why the
avoidance? Maybe I'm just a lazy sod who wants nothing more than a snorkeling
vacation in Hawaii or the Bahamas. But as I read the signs and examine the more
recent years - the last thirteen since I began writing by penning my first
memoir - I know this is just a phase. I need to trust the process. That same
process that has given me other stories. I need to put pen to paper for thirty
minutes every morning and see what shows up on the page. The story will emerge
if I trust the process. The alternative? Toss pen and notebook in the trash and
walk away. But I know where that would lead me and it's not a pretty place.
4 comments:
I'm also having trouble getting back into the swing of things. I think it's just a post holiday slump. My advice is not to worry about it! Your muse will return! Best, Jan
Thanks, Jan. I'm sure you're absolutely right. Happy writing!
And just when I felt I was the only one (duh) feeling this way. Thanks Arleen. You said it, "put pen to paper for 30 minutes." Results be damned!
Nope. Not alone! Thanks for reading (and writing), Amy.
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