Writing today, when I got to it, was not easy for me. But by my writing every day I have shown I can usually come up with something.
There were three or four starts about my father. Nearly all of my concentration on my mother was negative. I wasn’t interested in being negative. Started with a word. Pulled words out of the air. Ideas follow words; they usually do. Today they didn’t. “Do your penitence, I get it”: I usually do, but writing every day is a commitment; it ‘s about not getting block and creating something (anything) every day.
With the loss of sleep, and pretending to be asleep, the direction this would take changed many times. I am a writer. I can write. I am not concerned when the words don’t come; when my brain doesn’t work; and…with the pressure of writing every day…when I repeatedly tried and came up with nothing. I want to be writer, and I won’t give up trying. I am engaged in constant games with myself, which seems to indicate that I’m trying too hard.
To be who I am and where I am is to be in touch with my community and my country; and so I should have plenty to write about. And in our country we have just elected for the first time an African American president, and we are faced with some of the biggest challenges of our lifetime. “Two Wars and an Economic Collapse.” That’s something, but it is also something everyone else is writing about: original ideas about something usually don’t out of thin air and require time to evolve and a lot of thought. And so today was not a creative time or as creative as it could’ve been had I been more patient and allowed my brain to work without pushing it. (Recently I came up with some new ideas about acting; and a few weeks since then and I’m well on my way to creating a new method.) Isn’t that how it works? Now I’m cooking. Now I can sleep.