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.