Painting kept me in the here and now. In ten and fifteen minute increments I could focus on colors and textures and forget about writing. Except I could never really forget. Not completely.
Two more haiku
untold stories wait
while silence overwhelms me.
at my desk, I weep
I am a writer
who does not write, undefined,
who am I now?
Susan Taylor Brown.
All rights reserved.
Susan, these really spoke to me. As does your whole March-as-play idea. Thank you.
(And the answer to that last question? You are a treasure.)
Thank you, Amy. I hope you get the chance to have some playtime of your own soon.
And thank you especially, for that last line.
Oh yes, precisely. The most painful part of being a writer.
Glad to know I am not alone in feeling the pain….but here’s hoping for fruitful writing days ahead for us all.
I suspect most writers have felt like this at one time or another.
I’m sure. I never expected I was alone on this journey.