writer’s block

writer’s block

Been struggling to find inspiration lately. Maybe I’m just jaded? I mean, how many more shootings can I write about? And the royal wedding was splendid and all, but I didn’t even know it was happening until it was over. (Yes, I’m out of touch.) I’ve been searching for meaning and struggling to find it, even in my triathlon training. Like, who cares? What’s the point? I keep thinking about my friend from college in Africa. I’ve been back in the States too long. Maybe once I finish this grad school thing, it’s time to go where I feel like I can really make a difference.

Below is a poem I originally published on February 20, 2013. It seems appropriate today.

writer’s block

I’m reaching and falling.
I’m hemming and hawing.
I’m trying and failing.
I’m rowing, now bailing.
Stop.

Another day.

(Go outside.)
(Never give up.)

…

My ideas usually come not at my desk writing but in the midst of living. — Anais Nin

For an audio recording of the above, click below:

 

 

 

 

I sought to write

kafka-320x382

I thought to write,
but as it were,
my thoughts were but
a sully blur.
And eyes were glass,
and heart was pale,
oh, what an ass,
a sorry fail!

And still I tried,
I tarried on,
I sought to find
the words were gone.
But all they did
was laugh at me,
around and ’round,
“Tee-hee! Tee-hee!”

Determined now,
I hurried on,
Forget the night,
I’d seize the dawn.
I grabbed my pen,
I found my ale,
some coffee, too,
forget the kale!

And there I sat,
and sat, and sat,
’til glazey-eyed,
I saw a bat.
I swung and swirled
and tipped and twirled,
I missed the words,
but rocked the world!

And then I sat,
and sat and sat,
’til, eyelids drooped,
I heard the cat.
And in he came,
and out I went,
Forget the words,
this writer’s spent.

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Note: This is based on a real life story: After days at work, this has often been me. Oh, how I have wanted to write. Oh, how words have evaded me.

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For a (very bad) audio of this poem, click below.


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Image: Google — Kafka burning the midnight oil
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writer’s lament

writer's blockI’ve been trying to write a post all morning. Trying to reach deep within and pull out something deep and meaningful to which you might all relate. I’ve been thinking about black and white and gray and how I don’t believe in gray and how that is why I know religion doesn’t matter: We all know right from wrong. But instead of flowing like a waterfall, my thoughts are congested spillway blocked by matters of immediate importance: I’m stressed. Interviews and new tutoring positions (I’ve recently been signed on as a kids’ tutor at several companies in the Bay Area) are on my mind, not to mention bills and dreams and exercise things. It’s harder to ride my bike in Berkeley. I miss it.

And so I reach and fall and try and bail and am reminded of a poem I wrote more than a year ago:

I’m reaching and falling.
I’m hemming and hawing.
I’m trying and failing.
I’m rowing, now bailing.
Stop.

Another day.

And I wonder if this ever happens to you? And I wonder how authors do it? Writing comes so easily to me when my subject is on my mind. But when it’s not? Writing is like pulling teeth, only worse, because I want SO badly to do it, and do it well.

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