Most of what I've written lately, I have deleted. Or my writings remain in a draft form with the hope of getting rewritten and being posted someday. It isn't exactly writer's block. It is more like a writer's flood--carrying with it all in its path whether it be considered debris or something of worth.
Titles and topics come at me when I least expect it. Sometimes I am not near my computer when inspiration finds me. And though I make an effort to jot down a few notes in the margins of whatever paper I can find at the time, I usually cannot figure out what had so captivated me when I come across these notes again.
Provocative lead sentences form themselves but then I head off in a direction I did not intend to go. I want to speak into the lives of those reading my blog without sounding self-serving or preachy. I prefer honesty over the infinite variety of ways in which the truth can be expressed, but sometimes I can't quite get there.
The image of thoughts as liquid filling up the reservoir of my mind came to me this morning in the shower. When the many thoughts spill over they seem to take on the form of tears to the innocent passersby. I then have to take a deep breath and try to hold it together. No one wants to go near the weeping writer.
I wanted to write about spaciousness and how that is beginning to form my idea of community within the church. I hope to put into words exactly what I mean by that. I may need to live it a while longer first. I tried to write about the concept of holding on to something to preserve it, but had to come to terms with how this represents the way I try to avoid loss. Didn't even want to go there.
Desiring to be clever and thought to be intelligent, I sit in my pink polka-dotted pajama bottoms, my Birkenstock clogs that are not keeping my feet as warm as slippers would, and my oversized gray sweatshirt that covers over a multitude of whatever I need it to. I try to delve into the depths of my mind so I can have my cathartic creative moment of the day and move on to cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry and making cookies.
And yet, all that is coming to my mind at this moment is the tomato basil soup I just bought from Costco yesterday while trying not to run into someone as my windshield wipers completely froze up, simulating for me what driving would be like if I were not wearing my glasses, and the quesadillas I will make to go with it.
Titles and topics come at me when I least expect it. Sometimes I am not near my computer when inspiration finds me. And though I make an effort to jot down a few notes in the margins of whatever paper I can find at the time, I usually cannot figure out what had so captivated me when I come across these notes again.
Provocative lead sentences form themselves but then I head off in a direction I did not intend to go. I want to speak into the lives of those reading my blog without sounding self-serving or preachy. I prefer honesty over the infinite variety of ways in which the truth can be expressed, but sometimes I can't quite get there.
The image of thoughts as liquid filling up the reservoir of my mind came to me this morning in the shower. When the many thoughts spill over they seem to take on the form of tears to the innocent passersby. I then have to take a deep breath and try to hold it together. No one wants to go near the weeping writer.
I wanted to write about spaciousness and how that is beginning to form my idea of community within the church. I hope to put into words exactly what I mean by that. I may need to live it a while longer first. I tried to write about the concept of holding on to something to preserve it, but had to come to terms with how this represents the way I try to avoid loss. Didn't even want to go there.
Desiring to be clever and thought to be intelligent, I sit in my pink polka-dotted pajama bottoms, my Birkenstock clogs that are not keeping my feet as warm as slippers would, and my oversized gray sweatshirt that covers over a multitude of whatever I need it to. I try to delve into the depths of my mind so I can have my cathartic creative moment of the day and move on to cleaning the kitchen, doing the laundry and making cookies.
And yet, all that is coming to my mind at this moment is the tomato basil soup I just bought from Costco yesterday while trying not to run into someone as my windshield wipers completely froze up, simulating for me what driving would be like if I were not wearing my glasses, and the quesadillas I will make to go with it.
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