Archive for September, 2010


I’m Ba-a-a-a-a-ck, Overwhelmed By All The Things I’ve Been Collecting To Write About Since I Last Wrote Something Here. Of Course, This Kind Of Thing Never Happens To You, Does It?

September 30, 2010

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. • Edna St Vincent Millay

I took a break from Zinnfull writing. At first I felt guilty, although justified by the lack of internet connectivity while I was away from home. It didn’t take me long to realize—as I wrote things I couldn’t post—that I had become obsessive about this blog, and that I wasn’t able to quit thinking about things to write about. There’s nothing wrong with that, but it was keeping me from writing about other things. It was also keeping me immersed in workthink while I was on vacation.

Poetry? Nope. That book proposal I want to get done? Nope. A letter to my mom? Nope. A story? An article? Nope and nope. All my scribe-ish energies were going into writing or thinking about writing or collecting things to write about or making notes and writing random paragraphs. All of it devoted to Zinnfullness. There’s a shelf on one of our bedroom bookcases (there are five, plus numerous stacks of books in a relatively small space—turn sideways to walk) full of possibilities because even though I decided to stop posting until a new quarter started, I couldn’t quit hoarding ideas.

I was happy not to be doing this daily, but I missed it like hell.

During the last academic year, I learned how challenging it is to write every day. Some days I had something to say. Some days were meaningful. As I reread them, I am happy. Other days are what can only be described as lame. Too bad, but I don’t apologize.

This year, I’ll be writing, but I won’t be doing it every day. I’ve done that, and now I want to get other writing done. I miss that like hell too. It’s piled on shelves, filed in crates, stacked in corners. Waiting.

What is piled, stacked, hidden away, stashed in drawers or folders or closets waiting for you to get around to doing something with it?

The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck. • Ralph Waldo Emerson