Excuses – forgive me.

This entry is an apology. (To my few yet treasured readers, to my stale-brained self, and to this poor, neglected blog that of course has feelings that have been hurt by my insensitivity.)

I have a very long list of excuses as to why I have not been writing, some of them acceptable while others a second grader would not even try to fool a teacher with. I will let you be the judge of whether or not I had justifiable grounds for my extended absence.

1. Long have I had the problem of creativity in “cycles.” These cycles are not predictable and have no care for my need to create. I will put my pen to paper, fingertips to keys, quill to parchment or what have you, only to find that my brain has hung its ‘Gone Fishing’ sign on the doorknob. Sometimes these fishing excursions last a day, sometimes months. Perhaps once we catch our Moby Dick there will be no more need for these trips.
a. There is a chance my brain is onto something as, in the very book itself (Moby Dick that is) Herman Melville shared this bit of wisdom: “Yes, as every one knows, meditation and water are wedded for ever.”
b. I will soon be learning to fish. If nothing else I will sit in a boat, rod in hand, pretending to know what I’m doing as with everything else in my life.

2. My subconscious is my own worst enemy. It amazes me that my psyche wants me to believe that I am the greatest, most beautiful thing to ever walk this earth. At the same time it tells me how horrible, ugly, and completely ordinary I truly am and that all endeavors to be otherwise are futile. My inner voice tells me that I should be witty at all times (which automatically implies that I will always know what to say, every time). It tells me that I should also be intelligent and have some sort of input on any topic that may be thrown my way (but take care not to be too opinionated, we might offend someone). It tells me that writing should come easy and I should always have some great revelation to share (which means I must be wise enough to discern these lessons even from activities as mundane as pulling my trash can to the end of the driveway.)
a. My subconscious tells me all of these things that I should be, and then tells me that I am exactly none of them.
b. Salty foods are quite effective at making that voice in my head shut the hell up.

3. I have been reading books – so many books! Books are my drug of choice. The majority of substance abusers get to that place because of a desire to escape whatever reality they are currently in that is causing them some form of pain. I’m not saying my reality is painful or bad in any way, but books “literally” take me to another world (See, I can be clever). Reading is the opposite of writing. Instead of expelling words I am taking them in. Wouldn’t you think that with all those excess words floating around up there that some might happen to spill out? I am still testing this theory and will let you in on the results later. In any case, here are a few I recommend:
a. The Farseer Trilogy by Robin Hobb and then the Tawny Man Trilogy by the same author. Yes, all six books. I have read them twice and the series is exquisite. She is in the process of writing the third trilogy and I could not be more excited that this story is not over.
b. See letter a.

4. My life is, in fact, quite boring. I am not a mother and have no “hilarious things my child said today” stories. I can tell you that my dog knocked over the garbage can, ate some old lunch meat, and then shat that old lunch meat onto the living room floor while I was at work. This story only makes me feel sad and the only lesson learned here is that the garbage can now needs to be locked up. I am not a world traveler and have no stories of all the beautiful places in the world. I can tell you that I’d someday like to visit the Blue Grotto in Capri and watch the water light up beneath me.
a. My work 5 days a week, happily married, housewife, Midwestern life is hardly riveting blog material.
b. Perhaps I should take up writing fiction.

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