I've returned to the hospital in an effort to harness the creative energy necessary to begin writing again. There has been little movement on this front over the last two weeks. I've written a total of about three pages in that time, if you exclude the blog, and I'm beginning to be a touch worried.
It's not that I'm allowing myself to go down a shame spiral but I am wondering if I am pushing too hard at this, if it should come more naturally, but then I think back to a time-about a year ago-when I first discovered the usefulness of sitting in my chair. It is something that is mandatory for me as a writer and I need to remain disciplined in my approach to the craft. Yes, I am not writing all that much but I am reading and stewing under the surface about what could possibly be next.
In sitting here at the hospital, I encountered an email from a former classmate who is going to hear Charles D'Ambrosio, Nick Flynn, and Andrea Barrett read tonight. It is a tempting offer to just pack up and leave, to head over to the reading and bury myself amongst the attendees there (of which there will be a couple of classmates). But I've decided against it. I need to forget about distraction and make myself comfortable with the page again. I need that white space to look at me for a while. It is the only way to conquer it and eventually find the voice that will allow me to fill it with words, with story.
So, after posting this, I am going to hold myself true to the word of my commencement speech. I am going to turn off the wireless Internet and let that cruel glowing eye of Microsoft Word stare me down in this blinking contest we often play. I hope my eyes don't dry out because I hope to be a contender tonight.
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