Christmas 2015
I looked with horror at the date of the last post, January 2015. Almost 12 months have passed and I have written nothing here. I used to write fairly regularly and I enjoyed it also. At times it was very therapeutic and I attempted to make it at least a little witty, if possible. A struggle for some, any, creative muse to strike me has been a little part, of the whole, of not contributing here as much as previously.
Sometimes, I have a wish to speak but have no way of saying it; a total blank. There is a book called, 'I have no mouth. And I must scream'. It is, science fiction. A disturbing portrayal of a dystopian future - I recommend it. The title however, has always stuck fast in my mind. I have found myself this year (and to a lesser extent, last year), feeling this sentiment. Ideas and thoughts never stop but the inability to translate them from thought, to a solid narrative, is a horrible feeling. A disconnect from what goes in, having no way, in which, to come out. If I was a writer then I guess it would be called, writers block.
Ultimately, however, the real stumbling block is my work. The distance required every day has been greatly increased within the last year and a bit. I must go to bed earlier and travel further than I have ever had to before. It is a very hard to do and I find it very tiring. Time in the evening is not as plentiful as it once was. A lot has been curtailed as a result. Too many late nights, in a row, are unsustainable for someone my age.
However, this perfect storm of malaise and no, long, blocks of time has put me on the back foot for blogging and of late I've been thinking I really must make more of an effort to try and put something onto paper, so to speak. Which I do intend to do. Even if that is a little less frequent than at my peak.
Sometimes, I have a wish to speak but have no way of saying it; a total blank. There is a book called, 'I have no mouth. And I must scream'. It is, science fiction. A disturbing portrayal of a dystopian future - I recommend it. The title however, has always stuck fast in my mind. I have found myself this year (and to a lesser extent, last year), feeling this sentiment. Ideas and thoughts never stop but the inability to translate them from thought, to a solid narrative, is a horrible feeling. A disconnect from what goes in, having no way, in which, to come out. If I was a writer then I guess it would be called, writers block.
Ultimately, however, the real stumbling block is my work. The distance required every day has been greatly increased within the last year and a bit. I must go to bed earlier and travel further than I have ever had to before. It is a very hard to do and I find it very tiring. Time in the evening is not as plentiful as it once was. A lot has been curtailed as a result. Too many late nights, in a row, are unsustainable for someone my age.
However, this perfect storm of malaise and no, long, blocks of time has put me on the back foot for blogging and of late I've been thinking I really must make more of an effort to try and put something onto paper, so to speak. Which I do intend to do. Even if that is a little less frequent than at my peak.
Comments