scribblechic

I’ve been looking for words, straining against doubt for the love of an impossible task. I promised myself, now that we are settled, I would reserve a space in my day, at this moment of my life, for the work of fulfilling a private goal with a longer writing exercise.

Arrogantly I assumed fortune would accommodate my intentions with remnants of my lost story, a thread that would unravel into completion. Instead the mechanics of creativity have been more painfully laborious.

It’s far simpler to capture words when they flow from fleeting inspiration.  A moment’s awakening materialized. It is much harder to push against the resistance of finding those hidden treasures in the dark of silence. Some days my muse is a stubborn companion.

The timing of my endeavor serendipitously coincided with a national writing program; one I have not enlisted for support. It was tempting to engage an existing community for direction, but, perhaps mistakenly, it feels as if the work of writing should begin from a more solitary pursuit.

Still, I admire those souls who gather in a public place of accountability for the completion of a personal goal. It is quite brave to wear your heart on your sleeve; to sound out your mistakes in a voice of determined vulnerability.

As November marks a time of mindful appreciation for the bounty of our good fortune, I am thankful for you, those generous companions in my clumsy meandering among imperfect musings. Thank you for this safe space of creativity and accountability.

Tagged: Musings, Writing