Though I had started more than a week ago to develop the story line for my next post, the last several days and with the passing of each additional hour, I was taken further away from seeing my narrative completed. During this transition of impasse the original storyline shifted from a discussion about collecting to the editorial selection process of a photograph, only to be suddenly faced with writers block.
No matter how hard I tried to focus, distractions and obligations left me with only a handful of false starts, a few good sentences, but nothing more. So now what?
I have eight photographs and all I need is one. I have just as many paragraphs written about the day I went to the beach and started collecting seashells and sand dollars, a day whose memory would have been lost if it were not for these items of incidental findings that have no intrinsic value or purpose.
No matter what I tried, the threads whose loose ends dangle before me, I am unable to connect. Not even looking at any of the photographs, which were taken a few days ago for this post, would ignite into a ragging fire of inspiration, not even a spark for that smoldering ember lingering in anguish.
I am letting go, setting adrift an idea to which I shall return to when Polyhymnia grants me her touch of creativity, so that once again I can find the words that fail me now, and so the truth be told.