Long-term project

   So I have this story I've been working on for oh, probably about 20 years. And by working on I mean feeling guilty about because I'm not really working on it. And while I'm not working on it I can't start any other large story because the idea of abandoning this story is too painful.
   My poor characters are stuck, have been stuck, one on the edge of a lake trying to explain why the the life this guy she's talking to dreams about is not at all what he seems to think it would be like, and she should know, while the other main character is stuck on a star cruiser finding out that his life has completely changed because he rescued the wrong person, and oh yeah, a tracer has been installed on his ship so the authorities will know if he doesn't go exactly where they tell him to, so no funny business.
   The story and the predicaments are a lot more interesting, to me at least, than these sticking points would suggest. I just can't get past them. My choices: Quit and move on to some new story. Commit literary murder and kill some darlings, as some famous author whose name I can't remember said and quit being pinned down by them. Back up and restart and go off on some other tangent that serves the story better.
   The thought of quitting makes my heart hurt. I love my characters and I want them to complete their quest. But oh my darlings! How can I cut them out when I love them so much?
   So backing up it is.
   I can only be considering this because work happens to be a little slow at this time of year, so I am under the illusion that I will actually have the time to work on my story. Most of the time, I can't really afford to think about this.
   Why am I here writing about writing instead of actually working on my story? Well, I have been working on it tonight. But I am done for now.

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oh character sweet

more than a dream, less than real

oh wait: you are real! 

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Oh my, that was particularly bad, wasn't it! I'm not sure that any further drafting could improve it, so it stands.

Gardener

Ah, the rain is finally here. Not the scary east coast Atlantic storm kind of rain. A gentle gardeners rain. In October. Because that is the best time to start a garden around here. I guess.

He put aside his paper and pen and went to stand at the window. Under the sopping sky wisps of green poked up through the mat of last year's dead grass. He looked down at his clean, clean hands.

New-made mud called to him.

Shoes and socks barely had time to land before he was out the door.

Why yes, I am agnostic

the original sin:

to know you are one with god

then to forget...what?

(What's this? No reference to a season, so it can't be a haiku.

And god was the only one-syllable word I can think of at this late hour that would identify the universe and everything. Definitely not referring to a personality.

But if there is a One that we all start out part of, observing it and thinking about it are ways to become separate from it.

Whatever It is.)

aaahhhh yup

Still here. It's been a complicated few months and I A) haven't had much time for creative work and B) just don't feel like it on the rare occasions when surprised with spare time.

In the movie Words and Music, musician Alex Fletcher, thoroughly exasperated when reluctant lyricist Sophie Fisher claims that she just can't write on demand, cries out: "Inspiration is for amateurs!"

Sometimes I think that inspiration is the enemy of work. Or the enemy of getting work done, anyway. Inspiration comes to me while I'm driving or at work or folding laundry, but evaporates the instant I'm free to follow it. This summer and fall I've mostly just wandered off into chores or a book when the creative urge fades. Predictably, I've barely written a word, barely thought of a single story or line of poetry. No dyeing, no sewing, no drawing.

And meanwhile, I am surrounded by advice to work every day no matter what. Time with a pen fills paper with words. Waiting around for the right feeling (as deeply satisfying as it is when it arrives) doesn't accomplish anything. I know all this. Everybody knows all this.

I really loved it during those months where I was posting a blog almost every day, no matter how short or banal. The point of the exercise was to do anything. I will not have more time for art in the foreseeable future. But maybe I can get back to doing something.

However, though I haven't had time for art, I have been doing other important things, with and for actual humans. I can't really consider that a waste of time.