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An interesting thing has happened. I suddenly don’t know how to write anymore. It’s like I finally finished the first draft of my book, and my creative self decided to go sip margaritas on a beach in Mexico while I sit here trying to figure out if anything I’ve written is worth publishing. Not only can I not write, I cannot discern what (of mine) is and isn’t good writing. And then I pick up a copy of Glennon Doyle Melton’s new memoir, Love Warrior, and it’s like -- Forget it. I am never, ever going to be able to explain things as beautifully as she does. Why bother? I do, in theory, want to have writers to look up to and teachers to follow, but lately it’s making me feel more inferior than anything. It took me 30 minutes to write a 3-sentence email last night. I have been staring at this page for the last 10 minutes wondering what to write next. This is what a drought is like. Time to dig deep and tend to the soil. Do a little rain dance. Pray. Wait. And believe that yes, I do have something to say, but not today. Maybe tomorrow. p.s. If you don't know Glennon's work, check it out. I thought I was pretty good at practicing vulnerability until I started reading her stuff. She is the real deal. I am taking notes.  |
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