Even though I recently finished the draft of my latest novel, I’ve been having a hard time staying focused on my writing lately. This is twice as true in the early stages of writing.
For me, creating a story or a poem requires opening the faucet up wide. Images, ideas, words, need to pour forward so I can cup my hands and catch them. Even if it’s wet and messy at first, this is where I begin. Lately, my creativity has slowed. The faucet isn’t entirely shut, but the output is dripping instead of streaming.It’s become painful and slow to put anything on the page. Writer’s block does not describe this accurately. Better to call it writer’s anemia.
For me, creating a story or a poem requires opening the faucet up wide. Images, ideas, words, need to pour forward so I can cup my hands and catch them. Even if it’s wet and messy at first, this is where I begin. Lately, my creativity has slowed. The faucet isn’t entirely shut, but the output is dripping instead of streaming.It’s become painful and slow to put anything on the page. Writer’s block does not describe this accurately. Better to call it writer’s anemia.
There are a lot of things I could point to as the cause of this anemic state: the divisive political climate in my country and it’s currently misguided leadership has me worried for our future. Social media often feels like one big room filled with people who are shouting at one another. Don’t get me wrong, I believe that people ought to have the right to express their opinions, but we aren’t doing a lot of give and take. We aren’t listening. The news doesn’t help. Everyday, it seems, the ugliness in the world is brought into our conscious. Senseless shootings that lead to arguments, natural disaster that are answered with tone deafness to the suffering they cause. I’d like to turn away, but find I can no more do it than I could turn away from my own sick child.
The divisiveness makes me uneasy. It makes offering up my own opinion feel dangerous—and my work, as an extension of who I am and what I value, feels unsafe as well. The dark of all this distrust, chaos, and uneasiness colors my existence. But there is another side. Love and beauty do exist in my life. My family, my friends, the wonderful people who have helped me along my writing journey. The natural beauty of the world outside my door, woodlands alive with color, an hour's ride away is an ocean that is vast and awe-inspiring. It’s not a big life that I lead, but it is a rich one.
I had, I realized, fallen out of love with my life. And love of my life, love of the world, is what has always inspired me to put words to page. In a larger sense, it is also what keeps me putting one foot in front of the other as I walk through this life of mine. I needed an antidote, a cure for my malaise.
Help often comes in unexpected ways. For me, this time, it’s come in pictures. Take a new phone that can take decent photos easily, add a friend who is takes fabulous pictures and is willing to act as mentor, and a good photo editing program that is easy to use, and you have—creativity returned. I’ve started photographing my ordinary life, walks through the woods, time spent with grandchildren, days at the beach. I’ve rediscovered that this earthly heartbeat of mine is extraordinary. Miracles unfold everywhere.
Help often comes in unexpected ways. For me, this time, it’s come in pictures. Take a new phone that can take decent photos easily, add a friend who is takes fabulous pictures and is willing to act as mentor, and a good photo editing program that is easy to use, and you have—creativity returned. I’ve started photographing my ordinary life, walks through the woods, time spent with grandchildren, days at the beach. I’ve rediscovered that this earthly heartbeat of mine is extraordinary. Miracles unfold everywhere.
I’ve fallen in love again.
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