My Blue Muse Writing Life
P.J.Taylor  

December 30, 2003

New Year's Eve Eve, 2003

One day to go. A year hardly sucked up through a straw; more a year spent brewing, brooding. Pulling on a pair of socks and in a moment you learn lessons about patience and pain. A good excuse not to write. But for me writing was something I couldnít help. Others thought me prolific. A teacher had told me to pace it, not to fret if I stopped for awhile; Iíd written more than most had in a lifetime. But did I write enough to tide me over for a year? A year off that most would begrudge me for. Factor in the pain, though, and theyíd want none of it. Forget the pain; the pain meds are what puts your soul on ice. Iíve watched so much TV, whole seasons of shows, all the reality I can muster. Dizziness and pain kept me from reading. TiVo, my remote, and meds, all on schedule. Not much of a schedule. Any of this fodder? Iím told yes, but I roll my eyes. Maybe later. For now, not one poem written. Not one submission sent out until last month. Once you stop writing, a fear grows. It could happen anytime. Where does it all go? The great first lines. The adrenaline rush of the first draft, or reading it out loud that first time. It occurred to me only a few weeks ago that the present can sometimes just be something to get through. That if I let go of the despair of not writing, I can accept that itís temporary, that itís not over, that I can just let it all be okay. No one is blaming me for this. The world is going on. The motion of it never stops. And I can step back into that proverbial stream anytime. And finally I want to. Pick my foot up and put it back down anywhere but in this same place.

Posted by mybluemuse at 12:00 AM
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