Today I can find nothing to say. I keep circling every part of this cave that is my soul, only to come back empty. Something beckons from deep within, but it stays just outside the circle of light cast by my flashlight. The words that I want to write flit away like bats. I wish they would let me see them. If only they knew that I want to bring them back to the light of day, where they can live warmly on the pages of my journal. But they are happier in the dark; they want to stay in this dripping place that houses my darkest secrets and my deepest insecurities. Some days, all it takes is some gentle coaxing to bring the words to light; on others, it takes every ounce of strength I have to drag them out. Even as I wonder where they are, my flashlight catches one and it flutters to the ground. I approach it quietly, as if my kindness will make it more compliant. But it dies in my arms, still elusive even in the holding. The others keep carefully out of my way. They seem to ignore my request to play. I want them to come join me in the light; but it is no use. They are chained by fear, apathy, and distraction to the walls of my soul and they could not venture forth even if they wanted to.
Thursday, July 30, 2015
I Hate Writer's Block
Charles Bukowski says that “writing about writer's block is better than not writing at all." So, here are the words I'll write about not having words to write.
Today I can find nothing to say. I keep circling every part of this cave that is my soul, only to come back empty. Something beckons from deep within, but it stays just outside the circle of light cast by my flashlight. The words that I want to write flit away like bats. I wish they would let me see them. If only they knew that I want to bring them back to the light of day, where they can live warmly on the pages of my journal. But they are happier in the dark; they want to stay in this dripping place that houses my darkest secrets and my deepest insecurities. Some days, all it takes is some gentle coaxing to bring the words to light; on others, it takes every ounce of strength I have to drag them out. Even as I wonder where they are, my flashlight catches one and it flutters to the ground. I approach it quietly, as if my kindness will make it more compliant. But it dies in my arms, still elusive even in the holding. The others keep carefully out of my way. They seem to ignore my request to play. I want them to come join me in the light; but it is no use. They are chained by fear, apathy, and distraction to the walls of my soul and they could not venture forth even if they wanted to.
Today I can find nothing to say. I keep circling every part of this cave that is my soul, only to come back empty. Something beckons from deep within, but it stays just outside the circle of light cast by my flashlight. The words that I want to write flit away like bats. I wish they would let me see them. If only they knew that I want to bring them back to the light of day, where they can live warmly on the pages of my journal. But they are happier in the dark; they want to stay in this dripping place that houses my darkest secrets and my deepest insecurities. Some days, all it takes is some gentle coaxing to bring the words to light; on others, it takes every ounce of strength I have to drag them out. Even as I wonder where they are, my flashlight catches one and it flutters to the ground. I approach it quietly, as if my kindness will make it more compliant. But it dies in my arms, still elusive even in the holding. The others keep carefully out of my way. They seem to ignore my request to play. I want them to come join me in the light; but it is no use. They are chained by fear, apathy, and distraction to the walls of my soul and they could not venture forth even if they wanted to.
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