Meh. The formation of ideas into words, into sentences, into pages that comprised my writing of this third novel for a good chuck of time has come to a temporary halt. Sigh. I know this is how it goes for me. At times it flows, and the flow can proceed along – sometimes at a pace that surprises me, other times at a crawl – but still it proceeds, without substantial interruption.
But the halts do come. For me, they do. I am not talking about “writer’s block;” I am talking about the times – now being one of them – where life gets squarely in the way of being able to find and maintain the wide open mental spaces necessary for the creative picture to remain in focus, not to become too blurry for a while, too hazy-in-the-distance, just out of reach.
It’s! the! Holidays! With their sundry boisterous chaos.
Some of the chaos is magnificent, such as the nearly-two-week Thanksgiving visit from my daughter, soon to be followed up by another for Christmas; and the shelving of our usual family board games at the holidays in favor of being fascinated by a one-year-old baby who is fascinated by everything.
Some of the chaos is wrenching, such as the enormous suffering of many of the people I work with in my day job as a clinical social worker.
The words will flow again. And though I know this from history, part of me remains patient while another part sighs internally and drums its fingers.
In the meantime, let us all make merry, and rejoice for the gifts we have. In lieu of words, I offer some pictures of twinkly lights from my very own corner of the world – in this case, my own block in Evanston, IL.
