Back to the Well

The longer I go without writing, the higher my expectations for what I should be writing get, and the harder it is for me to start writing again. Is anyone else this way, or am I the only loony in this particular bin? If I was this way about food, my belly wouldn't get in the way of my yoga exercises anymore!

I took a wonderful online class last spring called The Beginning Writer's Workshop. It was fun, it stretched me, and I did very well in it. Around that time, I had quit blogging to focus more on the "real world" and concentrate on writing projects. In spite of finishing this wonderful class and making more time by ending my blog, guess what happened? You got it: I had trouble writing anything at all this summer. In spite of the fact that it completely contradicted all the advice offered by the instructor, I think the class raised my expectations to the point where I kept waiting until I felt good enough, had enough time, and was inspired enough to produce a masterpiece. Instead of concentrating on my writing, I just quit.

I'm going to blame it on my bad memory. I can never seem to remember that creativity is like a well that fills rather than empties as I draw out of it. Every word written is worthwhile, even if it is only to get it out of my brain so I can see the word that was hiding underneath it.

So now I'm blogging again, writing in my journal(s), and jotting down notes, quotes, and other thoughts about anything and everything in my pocket notebook. It feels good to be drawing from the well again. Nothing particularly profound has bubbled out; but when I look down, the glint of sunlight on the water seems a little closer to the top than it was yesterday.