I have a confession to make. I wrote yesterday's blog by the seat of my pants. I sat down, mind blank, fingers poised and... Nothing happened. Usually I hear a heavenly choir, or one of the voices in my head begins to act up, or I hear the nickle drop in the jukebox and the record starts to spin.
So I just sat here. Waiting for inspiration. I listened to the wind chime on the back deck. I heard crickets chirp. I could detect the wind whistling across the dirt street as the tumbleweed blew and bounced against the horse trough and then between the horse's legs, causing him to jump and dance sideways...
See! I almost just had it there. That 's how it always goes. I don't know where it comes from. It just does. But yesterday -- nothing happened. I was blank. How could I come up empty after 94 days in a row? I can't let this happen! I can't let both of my fans down like this. Come ON! Think of something!
I got up and walked to the deck. It was still early in the morning, the wind really was blowing, and it was raining, now. I walked out into it, my arms wide, the big drops of cold rain beating against my bare chest and upraised face. I looked skyward for inspiration. "C'mon, gimme a sign." I thought.
As if on cue, the grey storm clouds began to grow brighter, yet the storm did not abate. I became mesmerized by the shifting light show in the dirty sky. At first it pulsed with a restrained radiance, then it grew in intensity and weight(?). Is weight the right word? Then I became aware of a terrible white noise that overtook the sound of the wind and the storm and the now distant wind chimes. And as I stared into the ever whitening sky, drenched by the freezing rain, arms reaching skyward...
Nah. I've still got nothin'. Maybe I'll have one tomorrow.
1 comment:
Easy to figure out what your writing problem was. You said that you tried to write by the seat of your pants and being a nudist, you have no "seat of your pants" to write from.
Post a Comment