Confession is Good for the Muse

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Okay, confession time.

I don’t know who’s reading this or even LOOKING at it for five seconds but here it comes….

I have NO clue what to write about here……..(drum roll here)

I have a serious case of writer‘s drought.

I know…..shocking right? (shakes head in the negative)

I KNOW its called ‘writer’s block’ but I left the block long ago…I am out onto the open highway. I am far from being the only one – but that doesn’t make it any better.

It’s either foolishness or courage that makes me even put this in writing.

If you happen to have been reading any of my posts, you will notice that I have not been around for……a bit…:-( That’s death to blogging  – yes. If you don’t blog often, people will forget you. The world is full of distractions and demands. How familiar I am with these seducing spirits

But it wasn’t enough impetus for moi. So I did die – for a minute.

That minute stretched into a day…that day stretched into a week…..that week stretched into a month…:-(  There just wasn’t time to live on the page again…..uh huh.

That’s a long time not to breathe across the page.

It would seem I issued a DNR to my keyboard. It would seem my fingers could not find their way back to it.

But then I read something (my once and future coach) Jill Jepson said when blogging about writers who don’t write:

“They [writers] are doctors and stay-at-home moms, fifth grade teachers and law students, taxi drivers and programmers. And some of them have brilliant fiction or dazzling poetry locked inside them. But they will never know it. Because they don’t pick up a pen and write.” – Jill Jepson,  The Ninja Writer blog

Shivers.  I walked over my own literary grave.  Impetus crystallized.

I reached for an ancient instrument; just as useful as a keyboard, but more intimate AND…. I began WRITING, WRITING, WRITING….about anything…

Everything.

The weapon? A simple gel ink pen – black or blue and a spiral notebook. As simple as it is with a keyboard – however….I write in fractured sentences that I didn’t change when I moved it from there to here.  No biggie because now:

I’m a literary superhero shooting words like lightning bolts from my fingertips. The electrified ink hits the page and burning sentences into living form….To the rescue, like knights charging around the perimeter of my being with alphabetical eyes.

Hey, whatever it takes.  It’s adult play minus the sex….unless you’re scribbling erotica..

And I can give excuses, reasons…. Life happens – yes: work, school, circumstances…AND? It rings hollow even to the ears of my own heart.

No one who knows me would even say I had ego…but how sly ego can be….I cannot deny I wanted to be ‘brilliant’…..but I cannot be a party in my own duplicity (sorry I am ellipsis crazed on this post).

Writing IS life….who would I be otherwise?

It is said that God has written each one of our members in a book. Even God writes…..okay, no pressure there. 😉

But from the time I could put sentences together the muse within said YES. Stories emerged, worlds formed. I didn’t know if any of it was any ‘good’.

And it didn’t matter.

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It was fun to retell Cinderella with a more….PC ending…(the 2nd best place for her missing slipper)….to create my own music magazine, write my own lyrics to songs I didn’t like.

But isn’t ego clever? Not bad, per se, just smart. It’s our defense against temporal assaults. It says, “I’ll protect you from the pain of rejection.” “No don’t go there, nobody’s going to care.”

Well, I AM not nobody – I care.

And like a song once said, “I know too much, to go back and pretend.” (‘I am Woman‘  by an artist named Helen Reddy).  The song arsenal is my greatest offense

That’s one I HAVEN’T dared parody.

So let the chips fall where they may (or some such wise cliché). I still need to toss the handful I’ve been given. It’s funny how more will appear – but your hand has to be empty first.

So as I formulate this post it’s Sunday, I skim a stone across the pond in the park and watch the sunlight wriggle on the water. I eye the ducks, watching so they don’t snag my skin as they boldly yank on my pants leg, demanding: “Faster with the stale bread lady!” Then I park it on an empty bench, take out my pen and describe the experience – in stereo… word for word.  No wonder Edward Bulwer-Lytton said, “The pen is mightier than the sword” – but no less bloody, if you ask me. 🙂

If ego must have something ‘genius’ to gnaw on, here’s the lean diet snack:

Brilliance is getting something onto the freakin’ page!

Free hand it, type it.  Smoke signal it….okay, so maybe not that last one.

Nothing beats what Christians call “rhema” – for that’s what this is. The word come to life, made real – when you have your own understanding about a thing.  It’s violence of a benevolent kind.  A mighty, ink filled arsenal.

Sparkle, shine….draw your sword.