I've been studying my cover photo for a while now, and it seems to me that it is more than just a photo of what is there that can be seen, more than just three white rocks stacked on a beach. It contains an important question about the future, about what happens long after the photographer has gone. What will happen to our pile of stones when the tide comes in? Will it topple or has the architect built this structure at a safe distance?
I don't know what will happen to these words that I stack here on the sand. They may prove safely distant, or they may be swallowed up by a rush of self-doubt. They may be here for a season. They may lose their balance and be scattered by the shoreline, or be hidden away under shifting sands. Perhaps someday, the tides of life will reclaim them.
Or maybe that's just a bunch of poetic, romantic nonsense. After all, this is just a blog.
Cubby I know I want to respond, but sometimes I might say things other than "Thank You" and I know that's dangerous. After a glowing review, I have to wait for the blush to fade and after a bad review I have to let things "simma down". Then I forget about both. I am hopeless and untrained in social niceties.
Ah, you're not the only older person here who's seeking to rekindle the spark they once had. You people always make me nervous that someday I'll feel the same. I don't have any advice to give in this situation, having not reached that level of weary maturity. Stay strong and try to write something each day, even if just a journal entry
A powerful comment on the plight of perhaps the most delicious of all seafoods. For those who care about lobsters, I recommend the website of Leon the Lobster:
Your title intrigued me, probably because I write so few actual checks these days. I do everything online ... as much as possible, that is. My creative period to write is first thing in the morning when I rise. Lately, that's been about 6am. Since I'm not retired and could sleep later, it's a mite annoying to continually waken early.
But that's when it is. And I can never seem to write anything from my phone. I need keys, often mis-struck since I'm no typist. I'm sorry you feel your writing is like "paying dues." I hope you find your way back to the joy of writing. You can do it.
Beholden It may be age, as well. But I think the ease of computing these days takes away from the struggle, the suffering of the poet, don't you think? After all, I blogged this from my phone.
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