I know, I know, my writing has been spotty (at best) for the last couple months. Ironically, this wordless patch hit me near the beginning of my favorite writing month, National Poetry Writing Month, in April. Two years ago, a friend encouraged me to try it, even though I’d never written poetry (or what I had written I had deemed miserably contrived and painful to read).
It was like discovering a new limb. I loved it. I responded to each daily prompt and wrote 30 poems in 30 days. No doubt some of them were contrived and painful, but I surprised myself with how easily I found my voice and my rhythm.
Last year, I wrote 30 again, and I was looking forward to doing the same this year.
Then my words dried up.
I also suddenly found myself unable to get up at my customary 5:20 am for coffee, reading, and writing. No amount of sleep was leaving me rested and refreshed, and when I sat in front of my screen…
I couldn’t pinpoint anything specific going on in my life to cause the disruption. In fact, “life” was going as well as it had ever gone. The usual stressors were there, I still had my “up and down” days, but everything was otherwise very stable and positive.
What was going on?
I’m still not sure, but I feel like it might be coming back. Something is stirring. I am hopeful.
While I continue to let things percolate, I thought I’d show you a little of what I DID do over the last 6-8 weeks of writer’s drought:
I rediscovered the simple joy of coloring.
After initially FIGHTING the occupational therapists when I had my in-patient psych stay in 2018, I eventually gave in to the “art” therapy sessions and found, “Wow. This really works.”
And I am thankful.
If a picture paints a thousand words, this should have me caught up. I know it helped me catch my breath.
I’ll be back with you soon. With words.