Natalie Goldberg says she writes "terrible self-pitying garbage, page after page." And on that note, here's some of my free writing for today:
... By Thursday I was on overload. Sometimes I feel like I'm in a metal box with a strobe light, a schnauzzer, and a steel-drum band ...
.... tired, snappish ... everyone around me is bothersome. I want to greet the Christ in everyone but the man at the next table is from my prespective, we need to take a decision. It's a balance of factors. What Would Jesus Do? Not talk like that....
Curse fig trees.
I love the colour and depth of fruit. I wish I could paint. How do I give my life over to writing when there's nothing to write -- when Sir G is finished and Ghost Maps is finished. I want to dive in but there's no water in the pool. I'm landlocked. I miss the ocean.
I think this is why I've been drawing and gardening -- because I can't write. I need to do something. Now even this pen is starting to fight me ... drying up ...
Go for a walk. Meditate. Give your mind a rest. Drink lots of water. Imagine yourself washing clean, washing away the clutter.
Love, P
Well, I did better later in the day -- wrote a tiny bit for Otter that managed to spook me (hurray!) and a related (sorta) Lot's Wife poem.
It isn't easy to be between projects, though.
Erin,
I write when I can't draw or paint.
:)