“Writing about a writer’s block is better than not writing at all.” ― Charles Bukowski

feelings

I’ve started and stopped about 5 different posts so far.

I’ve had wretched writer’s block for around the last two months.

I guess it’s because a lot has been going on since January and I haven’t really had the headspace or time to sit,

think,

reflect,

feel

with a keyboard in front of me.

I used to keep a paper journal and write outside during stormy weather (under shelter, of course).

If I kept a paper journal now, I’m not sure how legible my handwriting would be.

As most people in the world, I’ve become pretty accustomed to communicating super duper quickly with the ferocious tapping of keys.

I recently attempted to create a Twitter account to accompany this blog but quickly realized that Twitter is way too extraverted for me.

I have a hard time figuring out what to say in a face-to-face conversation let alone what to say in limited amount of characters to, what feels like, the entire world.

So, I deleted it.

And here I remain with my quiet, humble spot on the internet to divulge my love of nature,

flowers,

music,

and find catharsis in putting some of my story out there in hopes someone, somewhere will benefit from it and/or feel less alone.

I guess one funny way to think of it, as paraphrased from Neil Gaiman:

“As writer’s, we’re lucky. If we’re not productive, we can blame it on ‘writer’s block,’ an ailment that doesn’t seem to exist for other professions. For instance, shoe salesmen do not get ‘shoe salesmen block.’”

Please note: I do not consider myself a ‘writer’ though I have been writing poetry and prose for most of my life, and have done some readings, but I am by no means a writer like Neil Gaiman or a billion other awesome writers.

So, for now, I sit with wretched writer’s block

behind a keyboard

with a million and one things to write but no scintillating clarity to write them.

Ugh.