Blog, blog, blog… sigh.
I’m having a particularly un-creative spell right now. Trying to come up with new and exciting topics to blog about in order to keep my readers reading and evoke responses is hard enough work, but writing something visually and emotionally charged for my Appetites… I’m blanking out.
I took Ruth’s class to light that fire again, and it has worked, but sometimes too much learning can be every bit as overwhelming as not enough. In writing, where is that line? The line which all writers teeter like high-wire acrobats; where they hone their craft; where great works of literature are born?
I feel like I’m standing on that platform in the pitch black, reaching out tentatively with my foot, looking for the high-wire; not confident enough to just step out where I know it should be and trust that it is there. Did I pay enough attention to setting? Did I use enough description? Have I woven the details in an intricate, yet clear pattern? Did I….
If I allow myself to step back, and actually watch from the seats as my muse sways overhead, I’d see that all these guidelines, all these details have intuitively found their way into my writing. I’ve used every single one, most of the time, without knowing it, and I watch my muse walk, surefooted, along that wire way overhead and I marvel at how it is doing it, but not too much for fear of distracting it causing it to plummet to the floor amid wooden and flat descriptions and contrived settings or situations.
I guess with the highs, come the lows, the crawling through the muck, the writing when writing feels like pulling on a pair of rough woolen socks. It can’t always be spectacular, sometimes it has to be just ok.
I guess it boils down to impatience, I’m tired of waiting. And this waiting is proving to be a bigger hurdle than any writers block I’ve encountered.