Yeah. I’ve fallen back into that tradition where this blog turns into a book review repository. I think I’m in a big state of escapism where the words of others are much more soothing / exciting/ enchanting/ worthy/ interesting etc etc etc than the ones I can come up with. Or maybe I’m just lazy.

Occasionally I have these moments where I’m hit with inspiration. I wake up with a segment of a poem that I want to write. Before bed, I have a strong visual from my childhood home mingle with the perfect description for it and then I fall asleep. I have numerous little scraps of paper floating around with half-formed phrases, single words and pen scratches that in time will be rendered meaningless. 

All I can do is roll with it. I send compassion to what those little words might have grown up to become if only they had a nurturing parent to tend for them and help them grow into big strong stories. I send myself compassion for doing my best. As someone who writes for a living, I am both passionate about wordsmithing as well as just damm tired. 

I thank you for writing for me dear authors of books, poems, zines, tweets, posts, newspapers, newsletters, textbooks and journal articles. I’m not jealous of you. I’m grateful for your ability to create.