|Maybe this should say: i try to write.|
I am in a funk as a writer. Meditation hasn’t helped to unearth anything worthy and certainly nothing notable. Breathing slowly and deeply, repeating the mantra, Trust the process. Something will come, simply shakes my internal editor from a long sleep, rousing her to action. Out comes just a lot of blah-blah, blah-blah, and more blah-blah-at least that is my perspective.
Sitting at my father’s knee, as he rustled the Biddeford Journal each afternoon from his well-used armchair, the coffee table would often be scattered with hand written notes from my mother and from my father. I would sit for hours and try to emulate cursive. The slant, the large loops and curves would often elude me. The newspaper would fold on his lap and my father would patiently model each letter. Over and over I would practice. He would offer critiques of my form and precision and often model over and over for me. Perfection was what I was after. Often, it was frustration that I found.
When I was much younger, even before I entered school, I remember writing in a wave of loops. Proudly, I would read my writing as though performing before a large crowd- I would read the message to my father. There was a sense of discovery and accomplishment and we both celebrated the approximation, my father clapping loudly. Just what happened to dampen my curiosity and playful nature, I do not know. As an adult writer, I must prepare myself for play and practice. This does not come naturally and I am continuing to explore what works for me. Some days, meditation works. Other days, I go for a walk, paint or simply go about my day with the faith that something will well up from within. Sometimes, I think I try too hard and it is like attempting to force a sausage through a keyhole, it just doesn’t work and the flames of anxiety and frustration burn brightly scorching my creativity.
For weeks, now I have wanted to offer a public apology, but I guess if you read other blogs, you have come to know that some posts are of better quality than others. It’s a given. Interestingly, I suspect that this reminder is more for me than for my readers. Meanwhile, I will continue to cultivate a sense of discovery and curiosity toward my daily practice of writing and celebrate successive waves of loops, while we all cheer the approximations. It sounds like it is so easy, yet it is one of the hardest things for me to do.