Showing posts from January, 2018

Moving On

I haven’t been able to write. If you’re not a writer, that probably sounds melodramatic. If you’re a writer, you probably Photo: Aaron Burden on Unsplash d understand how upsetting it is to write those words, to be unable to write . Like a lot of writers, I would imagine, I sometimes go long stretches without writing, because I don’t have anything to say. This dry period feels different though. I want to write, know what I want to say but somehow the words aren’t coming. Work on my next book stalled after the first paragraph. I tried to be patient, gentle with myself, solicitous of my fragile talent. I’m just tired, I told myself. There’s been a lot going on, I reminded myself: our dad died, I started a new job, there were the holidays… Dad circa mid-1950s I dreamt of Daddy the other night. I was walking through a crowded train station, carrying a heavy box in my hands, close to my chest. I have no idea what was in the box, but it was heavy. Everything was in bla