I can see you, force pushing me
I have named you
Put you in a box (with a neat label).
But it’s still happening.
I’m still pushed
it keeps happening
I know why, though (this is comforting somehow)
But I know it won’t end well
Not for me
Not for us, many of us, most of us
Even those that think they aren’t us
Especially not you, you think you’ll be fine (you always are)
But when you push something by a cliff
To the edge, off the edge
Sometimes (not always) you are pulled too (not you)
To the bottom, together, where we all end broken (yes, you too)
And the box is shattered.
It didn’t protect anyone.
I’ve started writing regularly again. I wanted to wait a week or two into it before making some kind of announcement, because I wanted to make sure it would stick this time. It was a rough winter. It has been a rough couple years. I used to sort of laugh when people would say that writing is about perseverance, because I was never out of ideas or enthusiasm to write (even during my most depressed period), but now I know what it is to have neither the energy nor the enthusiasm for it. When just getting by takes all of your energy, there isn’t a lot left over for unnecessary things like creativity.
I’m working on a new thing. A story without an outline or predetermined ending. I’m not usually a discovery writer, but this is a just for fun project, so I’m going to see where it takes me.
I haven’t abandoned the Tattoo Magic project. But this idea just grabbed me, and while normally I’d throw it in my ideas folder and keep working on what I’d been working on, the actual urge and desire to write has been pretty scarce lately. So I grabbed hold if it while it existed, and I’m trucking along, hand-writing a few pages while on lunch at work and putting those into Scrivener when I get home.
In the worst case scenario, one or both of these projects get put in the mental drawer with the other half-finished projects.