Writers of all ages, to a degree, have come in the position of not being able to write for periods at a time. I’m one of them, and this story started out talking about writer’s block but is scattered all over. SMH here, just coming to paste it here on my site. I’ve added to it here and there, but no focus, Wowser.
For months and months, I've been in writers' block. I've tried every writer's trick to come out of it. And it has me in the blues over it. You know, I've even started a story about writer's block and got about three paragraphs in and lost my interest. The story is even about writer's block called; "Coming Out of The Meadows."
That's where I feel I am most of the time, and I used to like that field. It usually helps me write, and I've even dated the story I'm writing and even said in it, "Let's see how long it takes me to complete it. " Update on "Coming out of The Meadows" turned into a poem instead. A condensed version, haha. Nah, the furthest thing I was writing. But it got me thinking about my late wife, Shannon, how we used to walk and talk in that field. Most of my poetry is about her anyway. And this has nothing to do with writer's block.
Although I did make a big move from another town, back to my home town where I've lived that past 19 years, I wouldn't say I liked it where I was at; I lived there a year and had a bad experience. The only good that came from living up there, as I got to see and meet my newest edition to my family, my granddaughter Aira' lee.
Born just two days after my birthday, the best gift a grandpa can receive. I got to see my daughter, haven't seen her in a long time; she lives in another state, Michigan, I'm in Indiana. I don't drive anymore, so that makes everything complicated. Just because of the medications I'm on is my reasoning in this decision.
Outside of coming on WordPress here and setting this site up, I'm still in a funk; I can't believe it's gone this long. Maybe the winter hibernation I have here, I've gone into a cave to hibernate? I even try talking to my best fur buddy Mischief, and he is another poem I've been working on since I rescued him, but he rescued me as well, and I couldn't be any more grateful. Longest block I've been on for quite some time, and I hope I never come to this point again because it just is exhausting. See, here I am adding to this because I was in it again, but with reason. Im dating it this time. 09,18,2020 4:33 a.m.
Where or where has my little brain gone? Oh, where, oh where can it be? I sure hope it ends by spring. But I'm glad I got this out, but I had to come back here to add it in about my daughter being a good thing after not seeing her; laps 10 minutes or so.
Hell, I don't know, writer's block, writer's hell, I'm not sure anymore. The best thing, though, is here and now, revising and making changes here and there to this story. It is now past springtime and fall. I've started this story or on Feb. 3rd. Here I am adding to it, and I'm not blocked anymore. I saw one man's post about writer's block on WordPress here that he didn't believe in writer's block but just becoming burned out. And let's face it, folks, we are on here daily, writing, so ok, I'll agree with that.
| Copyright © William Darnell, Sr |
| Year Posted 2017- 2020 |
Source _ PoetrySoup