I’ve had writer’s block lately. Not my ordinary writer’s block, but some kind of strange variation. I can think of all kinds of things to write, but I have no time at the keyboard to give them voice.And then, on those rare occasions when I do have some time and all my conditions for allowing myself time at the computer are met, it either doesn’t seem worth saying or it would take too much time to write in the time allotted.
Yeah, I’ve been writing, but so much more has been on the back burner waiting to be written. Then today some sort of grace seems to have unlocked the dam.
Perhaps it’s that I’m reading Andre Dubus’s essay collection, Meditations from a Movable Chair. I find nonfiction to be much more conducive to helping me find my voice as a writer, though I like reading fiction more. I have a little breathing space today, or I’m grabbing it despite the girls’ fussiness and my own tiredness. I need this freedom of finally getting all these pent up words down. Because for me writing isn’t just saying what I already know, it’s really more about discovering what I think and what I feel through the process of battling to find the right words and through the process of interacting with readers in the give and take of conversation. And of course I don’t discount all those prayers my friends have been sending my way. I know they’re helping too. A touch of needed grace on this icy day.