You know, this shouldn't be so hard. Writing a short blog every day for a month, especially after a long hiatus should be pretty easy. My life has been full; surely I must have new thoughts or new insights to share. And I just got back from two fabulous trips. There must be a million stories to tell. This should be a piece of cake.
Nope. Not so much.
I stare at the blank screen and the blank screen stares back at me; taunting me to think of something interesting, clever, funny, insightful. And nothing comes. And those confounded internal critics, Agatha and Agnes, are always on hand to tell me that no one is really interested anyway. Seen through their eyes, every word seems lame.
Yeah. You can see what I am up against.
Pretty hard to free up a single thought.
So.
I started browsing my photographs to see if anything would spark an idea. I came across this one, taken in the Mueso Reina Sophia, a glorious modern art museum in Madrid. It's not a great photo, but I like the quote.
Al has often commented that while I am not otherwise dim, I do seem to suffer from a general lack of common sense. I don't know exactly what he is talking about, but if I lack good sense, shouldn't this blogging thing be easier?
Well, shouldn't it?
Whose stoopid idea was this blog anyway?
Oh, right. Mine.
I guess I do lack good sense.
I wonder how many blog entries have been posted about how hard it is to blog. I bet there are millions. Yet, I bet there aren't very many books, articles or essays in print about how hard it is to write a book, an article, or an essay. Oh, sure, there are some interviews with writers who talk about those tough days when words will not come. I have read sections of books on writing that talk about writing through the writer's block. But to write about about not being able to write, and expecting someone else to read it, seems to be the unique province of cyberspace.
For example:
Would a singer sing about not being able to sing?
Would a painter paint about not being able to paint? And if he/she did, what would it even look like?
Would a dancer dance about not being able to dance?
Not publicly anyway.
The singer would just keep singing until the voice freed up, the painter would doodle until a painting revealed itself and the dancer would dance until the limbs began to cooperate again.
So I guess the blogger just keeps blogging. And hoping that some ideas eventually emerge.
Maybe tomorrow.
Tonight I am grateful for the gift of music. Al had a gig with his new band tonight and it brings so much joy, both to him and to the audience. Another miracle in a world full of miracles.
Nope. Not so much.
I stare at the blank screen and the blank screen stares back at me; taunting me to think of something interesting, clever, funny, insightful. And nothing comes. And those confounded internal critics, Agatha and Agnes, are always on hand to tell me that no one is really interested anyway. Seen through their eyes, every word seems lame.
Yeah. You can see what I am up against.
Pretty hard to free up a single thought.
So.
I started browsing my photographs to see if anything would spark an idea. I came across this one, taken in the Mueso Reina Sophia, a glorious modern art museum in Madrid. It's not a great photo, but I like the quote.
Al has often commented that while I am not otherwise dim, I do seem to suffer from a general lack of common sense. I don't know exactly what he is talking about, but if I lack good sense, shouldn't this blogging thing be easier?
Well, shouldn't it?
Whose stoopid idea was this blog anyway?
Oh, right. Mine.
I guess I do lack good sense.
I wonder how many blog entries have been posted about how hard it is to blog. I bet there are millions. Yet, I bet there aren't very many books, articles or essays in print about how hard it is to write a book, an article, or an essay. Oh, sure, there are some interviews with writers who talk about those tough days when words will not come. I have read sections of books on writing that talk about writing through the writer's block. But to write about about not being able to write, and expecting someone else to read it, seems to be the unique province of cyberspace.
For example:
Would a singer sing about not being able to sing?
Would a painter paint about not being able to paint? And if he/she did, what would it even look like?
Would a dancer dance about not being able to dance?
Not publicly anyway.
The singer would just keep singing until the voice freed up, the painter would doodle until a painting revealed itself and the dancer would dance until the limbs began to cooperate again.
So I guess the blogger just keeps blogging. And hoping that some ideas eventually emerge.
Maybe tomorrow.
Tonight I am grateful for the gift of music. Al had a gig with his new band tonight and it brings so much joy, both to him and to the audience. Another miracle in a world full of miracles.
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