So, I’m in the dreaded throes of Writer’s Block again. I’m seriously pleased with my poem from days ago The Tale of the Black-Eyed Susans . . . but it left me drained.
This has happened to me before.
The creative flow grabs me and holds on tight. Not letting go until I’ve spewn forth my words onto the page and the thoughts have drained out of my soul into something tangible.
And then I’m drained.
Sometimes the power of this writing pull is moments. Parisian Graffiti was like that. There was one last week that snagged me while socially with others. It would have been rude to write write write so I let it swirl around my head and then when time permitted I called myself and left a voicemail. . . . but now that feeling is lost.
I’m hopeful this is normal.
I’m writing this hear because I am still committed to the task of flexing the muscles even when they are drained beyond creativity.
I’m in the valley.
I hope it’s only days.
216 Days to go.
© Randi Sumner