I finally wrote a poem this morning, a writing session that came easily. Most of my recent poem writing sessions have started with an interesting idea or image and then just fizzled.
In January, that was O.K, because I was also writing a short story that went in interesting directions. It was unexpected, and the writing made me happy.
February has felt like a more strangled writing time, with longer hours at work. This week, as I've done fewer spin classes, I have had more success. Something to consider for the future?
And then, on The Writer's Almanac, I read about the composer Handel (today is his birthday): "During Lent of 1735 alone, he produced 14 concerts, most of them oratorios. He also suffered anxiety and depression, and a stroke had impaired the movement of his right hand, but he didn’t stop composing, even after he lost sight in his right eye, and then the left. He composed Messiah in 24 days."
Yes, now I'm feeling inadequate again. But let me remember the wise words of Beth in this blog post: "Maybe we don't know what to write or say or paint yet, in this new climate where we find ourselves. That's OK. Practice. Just get back at it. I see it like Zen calligraphy or archery: when we draw, or write a poem every day, or practice our instrument, we are preparing ourselves and honing our technique, so that when the moment comes to express ourselves, we will be ready with words or images that are true and sharp. But even more than that, we're talking about being the people we're meant to be, in spite of what is going on. Each of us needs to do whatever is necessary to be strong enough inside to get through this without losing ourselves, our vision, or our love of humanity and what is most noble about it. We have to be able to say, with our actual actions and the examples of our lives, that it is impossible to suppress or destroy the best parts of the human spirit."
Be who you are--be who you are meant to be. Wise words.