It’s not writer’s block. I don’t think. I’m honestly not sure what it is. Reticence? Exhaustion? Whatever it is, the end result is that I’ve written one blog post in the last couple of months. I’ve composed several in my head, but not nearly as many as when I was in my prime.
I don’t feel I’ve had a lot of opportunity to sit down at the computer, but even when I have, blogging has seemed an overwhelming task better left for another day. Or another… or another… or…
My husband and I accomplished a grand hiking feat in June, complete with illness and worry about death and encounters with angels along the way. Surely I could find the time and interest and energy to blog about that? But the week after was busy and then we went on vacation. I took a laptop so I could blog in the car during the 15 hour drive. It stayed under the seat until we returned home. Untouched. The story unblogged. And now I’ve told the story so many times verbally that it feels tired and uninspired.
I swore that when I returned to the computer, I wouldn’t blog about the lack of blogging. I’ve done that before. No one is interested. Just blog about the usual funny family fare and don’t mention the long drought, I told myself. Just blog like nothing’s wrong. Like nothing has been wrong.
Tonight, I sat at the table eating crackers and hummus and drinking wine and talking to my husband. The hiking story meandered through my head and another story crossed its path. I didn’t feel a strong urge to blog. In fact, the initial reaction was one of exhaustion. Maybe another day, I thought. But there was a tiny little flame back in the recesses of my brain. It was flickering, barely lit. I knew I needed to attend to it or it’d snuff out for sure. If not today, then when?
So I looked up at my husband and said words I haven’t said in a long time. “I think I’d like to go blog now,” I said. “If that’s ok with you,” I added after a brief pause. He looked at me silently before responding it was fine with him.
Sitting down at the computer, I knew the hiking story was too much. The other story would come. I could write about it. But first, I needed to explore my non-writing. It needed to have the light shined on it. It needed to be examined. If nothing else, I needed to practice my writing before trying to tell a story. Logging into WordPress brought me to the stats page, where it told me: It’s been a month since A Roller Coaster Day was published.
A month. Feels like a lifetime.
If you are reading this, thanks for humoring me. Ignore the love handles spilling out of my writing work-out clothes. I’m out of shape, but I’m here again at the gym. Sweaty and out-of-breath but here nonetheless.