On not writing much--

 “So long as you write what you wish to write, that is all that matters; and whether it matters for ages or only for hours, nobody can say.”

― Virginia Woolf, A Room of One’s Own

Quite often, I feel really guilty about not writing more, writing reliably, like clockwork or house work. I write this little blog post daily, of course, but mostly it's just me rambling on while trying to wake up and make some sense on the page. Sometimes it feels like a chore, but I am trying my best to keep a date with my writing muse, even if I'm a boring date. 

I have tried the write-a-poem-draft-every-day-for-30-days thing; it worked last April, but not this time around. I've given myself prompts. I have written a few things with my students. But mostly, if I don't "hear" a line in my head, I have little to nothing to write. Or if I force it, it sure looks like I forced it. No surprise there. How did I ever get a body of work --published stuff-- that is almost 100 poems? The book reviews make sense; I am a formal essayist at heart. Or at least by long training. 

Given some thought, I think my writer's block stems from the deep, murky angst I (we?) are feeling about the state of things nationally. I know I should not read the news, but it's inescapable. And it weighs on me heavily. It feels almost impossible to write about nature, or anything at all, really, when the foundations are cracking and the sky is falling. I have written, poorly, a couple of drafts, but they are nothing to get excited about. I'm trending toward prose poems, too-- which only tells me I have some pretty long-winded things to work out, and I'm using too many words. At least, in those drafts, it is the case.

So thank you for putting up with my garden, food, weather ramblings. My rants about education are probably boring most of you. I can't write cogently about the national crises, either-- my heart is too shattered by too much of it, and I spin in disbelief every time I think about it. So, nothing there that is able to be put into words. 

I am grateful for sunshine, blue skies, and kind (and compassionate) reader-friends. Thank you.

C