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.
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2 comments:
Writing, like art, is a process, as you know. It's what we do in order to express ourselves. Sometimes, it's good enough (in our eyes, mind) to share and sometimes not. Knowing the difference is often the hard part.
Hello mate nnice post
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