Do you ever start to feel itchy when you haven’t had a chance to write?
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Tags: not writing
Heck if I know! Not writing, or it feels like I haven’t been writing.
But I have been cooking. This morning, it was brunch.
It’s been a busy week, what with waiting for snow and watching the snow and working from home and bouncing around for shopping and cocktails. All very festive.
Or anxious doldrums?
Last night, and again this morning, I’ve been haunted by a nagging disappointment, a sense of expectations not met.
After I returned home from class and helped fix a light supper, I sat down at my computer—and I was surprised when nothing happened. I couldn’t get purchase on any ideas, couldn’t find a way to dig in and start.
That isn’t unusual. I often start with great hopes for great inspiration—and I don’t often get it. I go on. I noodle around. I shift words in poems I’ve been worrying over lately. Why was last night different?
And why again this morning? It’s an odd feeling, being on the cusp of something, not knowing what. Is it a block? Or is it just a lull as the momentum for a project slows? Maybe I just think it’s writing, when actually it’s the reading this Saturday and the trip to Santa Fe next weekend.
But I wish I could put my finger on it, figure it out, start.
What gets you going when you feel you really need to be going?
Tags: not writing
I have gone off the deep end.
I have planted corn.
From seeds. Hard golden nuggets.
I have little hope that any of them will grow.
I have no room for them in my garden, anyway.
All the prime real estate (good soil, good sunlight) was filled in by starts that I bought while that packet of seeds sat on my kitchen corner. So now the corn is tucked in the corners, and a few meager that seemed to poor for any plant I wanted badly.
As I hunkered down in the dirt and troweled out short trenches, a handful of seeds in my hand, I felt like Jack, or like Jack’s mother—as though I were planting magic. And after I found as many places for the corn as I could, I planted some beans.
If any of it grows—and that’s a mighty big if—I’ll take a picture. It really will last longer!
Time to punch down (gently!) the bread, if it has risen. I may not be writing so much today, but I’m feeding something.