Dry Spell

A friend recently noted that I was going through a dry spell.  I don’t know what scanner he used to determine this,  but his diagnosis was correct.  Recently my son came to visit, and I took some downtime.  Now I find it hard to get back into the routine.  Usually when I get like this, I read or indulge some other talent.  Also I have made a conscious decision to cut back on quantity and go for more quality in my work.   I have come up with several story ideas, but I await that first opening scene to transport me.  For me, this is essential.

Seldom is it true that a person of talent has only one ‘calling.’  There are other things that I do that call to me for attention.  Yet, because we sense our own mortality, we want to do everything at once, before senility stops us but we can not.  When I pick up a paint brush, where does the writer go?  Not too far away, for I sense this muse hovering just over my right shoulder, nagging at me.  Soon I will be possessed again.

Also, there is the troubling mash of everyday life:  bad news, emotional dilemma and personal relationships that come from the physical world.  I have suffered some personal and lightening fast sucker punches lately.  (Nothing that can’t be dealt with but dealing takes time and there’s never enough time.) Then Christmas approaches and I must respond according to the laws of ‘normalcy,’ or be determined a certifiable eccentric—not far from the truth, but still a secret that I am not yet ready to reveal to the world.  (Controversy is excellent fodder for stories, but it must be assimilated first.)

And now that I’ve written this I am determined to work on my story ‘Deleting Divorce,’ a science fiction/T-zone-scare.   Four p.m. is the appointed hour. In fact, I can’t wait until I’m alone.  Thanks D.O. for the spur.  I count myself lucky to know you….CM.

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