Saturday, October 18, 2014


Long time.
So long I've needed to oil the joints in my fingers to keep them from creaking as I write this.

Yes, I've been on a completely unintentional writing hiatus. This is my attempt to communicate with someone or something other than my own internal writer's brain. . .which seems to have shrunk considerably. There may need to be allowances made for my poor editing, boring prose or incomprehensible thoughts, but I'll try my best to make this an enjoyable experience for you, dear reader.

This writing hiatus has not been intentional and if I look at my blog, my last post was in July--which really wasn't that long ago. However, I have not been keeping up my practice. Since January, writing, which once bookended each day like two clear refreshing streams to dive into, became like trekking through mud-sucking river beds littered with the rusted corpses of half-devoured history. Usually I'd end up waist deep in mud, unable to take another step in any direction. After a while, discouraged by that hopeless feeling, I opted instead to sit on the river bank, staring out at the bleakness of my dreams turned to muck. Lately, I've been avoiding that place altogether, which is probably for the best.

I've found, over the past couple of weeks, that avoiding writing altogether has increased my urge to write. I've been getting ideas--good ideas--and I'm getting more and more excited about putting them into words, creating and working through stories and developing characters. I've been walking through different parts of my mind and forgetting about the past and the old stories and the old ways I was doing things.

I also started to think about my block in new ways. Sure, it started in Nigeria, after my hard drive crashed and my computer was out of commission. I was unable to access the drafts I had worked so hard on and my writing routine suffered. By the time I got back to Canada and got things with my computer sorted out, I was already  started down a new path of creation. I was growing a baby.

Now, I haven't read much about pregnancy's affects on artistry and I'm sure it's very different for every woman, but at this point, the baby is pretty much ready to pop out, and I can't help but wonder if that might have something to do with why I can suddenly write this blog post. It feels like the rains have come and the rivers are filling again, slowly, but surely. Perhaps the creative waters needed to be redirected for a while. . .
Another indication of this, I noticed, was an abnormally strong need to consume. I am an avid reader anyway, I have been for quite some time, but my reading patterns since I became pregnant have become somewhat unprecedented. I've read 28 books and notice that reading news articles and searching for information about random happenings in the world has been taking up most of my time. I've stayed away from TV (except for the Legend of Korra, book 3 and now 4!!! Which isn't even on TV anymore, so does that even count?!) and haven't watched too many movies or sought out a large number of new musicians, but books, books, books! It has felt unbalanced consuming so much with so little production, but perhaps I have been looking at the production end all wrong!

I am almost at the end of my pregnancy now (39 weeks!) and it feels like the streams that are slowly trickling back, covering up the muck to form new contours in the river bed promise to lead me to new places and old places to explore with new eyes. The eyes of a mother.

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