Words do not flow. I do not make the time to write, to free write. I let myself atrophy, my brain numb. What now? What do I have to say? To write? Anything at all? Or, am I empty?


21 responses to “Words Do Not Flow”

  1. often that’s enough. I think if I had no structure…scratch that… I now know if I had no structure, I was fall down many more rabbit holes.

  2. I can relate. The structure of taking my kid to and from school is pretty minimal. It just makes me wake up, get out of the house, and have the house to myself for several hours.

  3. I fight structure and claim to like none. Not necessarily true.

  4. Plus I rely on the structure of the school day.

  5. I also have a hard time with summer. Have since my kids were born. Even though they take less attention as late teens, the energy is still there. I need my quiet house.

  6. I love that you’re still here.

  7. I get mild aphasia, which is frustrating, especially when language is so important to me.

  8. That is very much it. The summer is always hard on me. I prefer it when my son goes to school. I need that structure and that time alone, even if he is in his bedroom most of the time.

  9. I love “analysis interruptus.”

  10. Thank you too…you certainly “got” it. Yes, he was very wise, and incredibly articulate. One of the torments of his last few years was that he developed an expressive aphasia, so he had thoughts and feelings, but couldn’t always get them out his mouth. Unfortunately he first became aware of this while participating in a panel discussion, and found himself in a terrible predicament because he couldn’t get the words out.

  11. It is temporary. Give it time. Once a writer…always. ☺

  12. Kitt, well you just wrote 🙂 You know we each have to take it easy on ourselves sometimes right? All other comments allude to that and so am not flattering. Then this is summer, you have your son, hub and of course you – to spend more time with. It’ll sure come back sooner than later 🙂

  13. I am of a similar place and existence. I vegetate and want to continue. I stick. How much of it is this brain of mine? How much of it is lack of sleep? Analysis interruptus. Thank you for posting.

  14. Beautiful and wise using the metaphor of the waves in the image. Thank you.

  15. I know that writing about not writing is in fact writing. Lovely anecdote about your father and his creative process. In such memories he lives on, and as you share those stories with others he continues to touch others’ lives. Thank you.

  16. Thank you, Lori!

  17. For all your flow, you must also ebb. Replenish your inner reserves with deeply sensual (as in “all of them”) exploration of the world around you. You’ll feel refreshed and ready to begin again in no time!

    Thank you for your honest, open expression of your experience. You inspire me to keep on keepin’ on.

  18. Empty, no. Maybe your brain just needs a bit of time to air out. My father of blessed memory used to spend time “vegetating,” when his muse seemed to have skipped town. And then, when “the creative juices started flowing” again, he would slip down to his studio and make what he called “a body of work.” And when that came to its conclusion, a year or ten later, he would have to vegetate some more.

    PS–writing about not being able to write is still writing 😉

  19. You aren’t empty. You are writing.

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