Question: what does a writer write when she has nothing to say?
Best answer: nothing.
I could share another entry about how my flu came back last week and made me lose all hope for ever completing EdMo. But I’m sick of whining about EdMo, sick of being sick. I just want to move on and forget it.
The fact is, I don’t have a damn thing to say this week. And that’s an uncomfortable feeling for a writer. No writer wants to open his mouth and hear…nothing. We want wisdom. We want beauty. We want truth. We want art.
This week, I’m fresh out of all that. And I’m learning to be okay with it. It’s okay if there are pauses between the sentences. Silence can mean something, sometimes something significant.
This reminds me of a paper I wrote for my college American Lit class, a light little bit of academy about what Whitman didn’t say in “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed.” The premise: how powerful a presence could be by its very absence. It’s an idea that’s always intrigued me.
So I pause in my absence of ideas, feel my hollowness around where my thoughts should be.
Still nothing. I’m okay with that. See you next week.
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