I stand in the garden at night, taste the freshness of the air, look up into the darkness. My husband tells me there are stars spread across the endless Irish sky, untainted by the violence of city pollution, but I don’t see them. I peer with purpose, with the need for proof that we have left the pain behind, but still I see nothing. Eyes blank. Imagination blank. Heart broken.
When we were moving to Ireland, I wanted so much to see the stars, to be bathed in the light of them, to taste the clean glow of a sky that doesn’t carry scars. But, I forgot about my blindness, about my core of darkness and my chains. I think this is why I can’t write, why I have long ceased to feel like a writer. Stars don’t settle on the lashes of the blind and creativity cannot be unleashed from constraint. I write with stifling self doubt, every word labeled as not good enough, each sentence a stain on the screen. My words never seem to make it out of the shallow end; perhaps because I am afraid of the deep, terrified of drowning.
I have been told it is best for a writer to move away from the juvenile space of self, to learn to write about what lives beyond the stretch of fingertips. I don’t even see the tips of my fingers, and have long since lost the ability to imagine what might exist beyond them. I am tangled and still searching for the thread that, when pulled, will help me unravel. I imagine I won’t like the unfurled fist of myself any more than I like this maze of knots and bruises. And, what does any of it matter anyway? It is not pain or even language that makes a writer, but imagination and vision and passion; things I don’t have. I am not seeking reassurance. I know what I do not possess. I write with fear, and as long as this is the truth, I will remain in shallow waters.
February 18, 2024 at 1:46 pm
I wish you felt the same way about your writing as I do—I think you’re brilliant.❤️
February 18, 2024 at 5:26 pm
You don’t know how much that means to me, Lovely Lady! I adore the hell out of you and everything you create! xoxoxoxo
February 19, 2024 at 2:52 pm
My thoughts exactly.
Choke me in the shallow water
Before I get too deep, huh?
February 19, 2024 at 3:11 pm
I haven’t thought about that song in ages!!!!!!
February 19, 2024 at 3:45 pm
There you go.
February 19, 2024 at 7:37 pm
LP—love them❤️
February 18, 2024 at 1:59 pm
time passes
we cannot recapture
what was were we young?
yes did we do those things
maybe
so suzie
i don t talk to dawn anymore
she too is going blind
and life unkind may have taken her momma too
you know
the seeds you sow are real
at least that is my gut impression
how they make me feel
February 18, 2024 at 5:29 pm
Thank you so much, John. I am sorry you lost touch with Dawn. Perhaps we have no choice but to be a lifetime of scars and that is ok. You share a special wisdom and I am grateful.
February 18, 2024 at 7:06 pm
it happens she has rick anyways there in omaha.
February 19, 2024 at 2:42 am
Beautiful Susan
February 19, 2024 at 8:30 am
Thanks so much, Kate! I noticed you have been posting more lately; I have your posts saved to read and am looking forward to it.
February 19, 2024 at 10:01 am
Being a writer is a curse, in my opinion. Like why couldn’t I have had an innate passion for baking or road construction? Ahhh, it drives me bonkers because there’s this thing that lives inside me that, upon doing, makes me feel whole. But do I heed the call and do that thing? Noooo, why would I do that when I can brood, write in my head and beat myself up for streaming a show for the umpteenth time instead? Look, I get it, my friend. But the truth about writing is that there are no rules. Nobody has the power to tell us what to write about, so anyone who tries can suck eggs. To be haunted by words hurts, so the key is simply getting them out. Who cares how good they are? The thing is, as soon as they become sentences and then more, we feel better. Don’t we? THAT is all that matters. The words are for us. And though I know you don’t want reassurance, I just want you to know that your writing is fucking brilliant, and I love reading it. So there. I hope you find a way to breathe easy today, my friend, and find peace. I’m roaming the streets of Sevilla, Spain, and hope to do and find the same. I love you. ❤️
February 19, 2024 at 3:10 pm
It gives me so much joy to think of you roaming the streets of Sevilla! I love Spain. I know you are spot on about the whole writing thing, including the curse bit. I need to learn to open the gates and stop checking to see if the bolts are all truly undone. Love to you as you adventure the world, my friend!!!! xoxoxo
February 19, 2024 at 10:59 am
Raw and honest. You are a great writer.
It doesn’t always come from imagination. It can come from within.
February 19, 2024 at 3:10 pm
Thank you so much!!!!!
February 19, 2024 at 3:55 pm
I pray that your fear leaves you. I think imagination, vision and passion is always with us . We have to make upour mind to find 8t again.
February 19, 2024 at 8:34 pm
Thank you for this, Lakshmi. I am wishing you peace and love and hope that you and your family are safe and well.
February 19, 2024 at 5:25 pm
I feel the same so many times, and I am sure others feel it too. But see how your words touch us, the people who read and love you, and you’ll know you are a writer. Much love, B.
February 19, 2024 at 8:35 pm
Thank you so much, B. It’s a tangled part of being a writer; I just need to remember the joyous parts. I do feel so incredibly lucky to know you and to be able to read and share your extraordinary work. Love to you.
March 5, 2024 at 2:58 am
Couldn’t disagree more about you not writing with imagination, vision of passion. You work oozes it
March 13, 2024 at 6:36 pm
Steve, this went to spam and I just retrieved and read it! Thank you so much!!!!