One more day

I feel a loss for words, writing-wise. At least extraneous words which are usually spinning around inside my brain most days like a hyper puppy chewing on this word or that word or syntax, squeaky toys. I don’t believe in writer’s block – I think that’s a crock of shit. When our minds are quiet it’s for a reason. There’s always something to write. Write a word. Write a sentence. Write. Writers who complain of writer’s block aren’t listening to themselves – at least that’s what I think.
It’s 14 degrees here this morning and all I can think about is sun and warmth and getting home when I get home. I’m not going to worry about flights and planes and snow. There’s a few people I wish I could take with me – actually a lot of people I wish I could take with me – but perhaps I already am in some small way, these people who have shaped me who claim a freckle on my skin or a vessel, a breath. The bad ones I’ll give a hair on a mole. But we are shaped by those we love and for that I’ll take my whole body on a journey with them.

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2 Responses to One more day

  1. A lot of people seem to have turned inward of late. I think writers are quiet right now because they are listening. I hope that is true. I am listening, but the sounds don’t make that much sense yet. Just wanted to say, we’re here, you and I, and that is good.

    • rachvb says:

      They never do right away. All we can do is accept them, take them in, roll them around a bit and see what comes.
      I am glad you are here to share the solitude.
      xo

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