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Where are the words?

August 18, 2010

I know today is Wordless Wednesday, but since I accepted Amy’s BlogHer10 Writing challenge (doing 20-30 mins a day, each day) I figured I’d forego that this week. Instead I was going to write about Little Frog’s sleeping habits. Then I changed my mind, and decided maybe I’d write about the upcoming move – well, upcoming in 6 months, so not impending, but definitely looming. After thinking about it, I thought I’d save that for another day – maybe one where I don’t know what to write about… wait, that would be now, wouldn’t it? *laugh*

This is precisely why that challenge is so important. Days like this, I look at the screen, fingers on the keyboard, and just sit there… my brain as blank as the page in front of me. Impatiently, hoping I guess to drum words to the front of my brain, I tap my fingers on the keys, not hard enough to make letters appear on the accusing whiteness of the empty space. Just hard enough to make noise, to remind me just how futile it is to do this action. What does it accomplish, this tapping of the keys? It doesn’t bring the recalcitrant words to the surface, to be nabbed like a tickled trout, grasped quickly and gently, lest they escape into the ether of Mama brain once again. It doesn’t make me feel better in any way; rather it frustrates me – no words, no letters… no nothing… just emptiness.

Perhaps the blank canvas of the waiting page is too much. Perhaps I should compile a list of ideas, things to write about when there’s nothing right there begging to be put on screen. Maybe that would help, so that when I have those days of too many ideas, or not enough ideas, I can turn to the ever helpful notepad, and pull from the first idea on the list. That way, there’s no day where I can’t find something to write about. Perhaps it will help… or perhaps it will only exacerbate the problem. Instead of having words spring to my fingers, in anticipation of being given life in a crisp font, maybe the pre-chosen topic will send the words and letters and thoughts scurrying into the darkest recesses, dimly lit, webby places in my mind, where they will cower in the fear of being plucked out and sent into the brightness of day, forced to be viewable, like so many animals in the travelling circuses of old.

Funny, I didn’t intend to write so much about having nothing to write. Reminds me of when someone gabs on and on about being speechless. 😉

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