Some people have writer’s block. With such concerns beautifully outlined in Folio and Ink’s post “The Separation of Art and Craft in Literature,” I could see why people would feel uninspired. In a rough way, I would assume this lack of inspiration from the core aids and abets the dreaded blockage. Although… I’m not sure if inspiration is completely out of my reach. It feels like wafts of smoke above my head waiting to be pulled down and inhaled.
The bigger problem, in my mind and to the best of my… limited… abilities, is the distraction of restlessness. I want to be entertained and entertain as well. I want to create something of value from these wisps of vapor and mold it into something we all can appreciate. Often times, though, I find myself running my fingers through my hair and the subsequent oily digits massaging my forehead as an endless stream of thoughts and desires run around in my mind like a centrifuge.
I’m vaping, drinking pop, eating snack mix, and watching In the Heat of the Night with Sidney Poitier while writing my thoughts here. If it weren’t so late, I’d want to grab a beer at the tavern down road. It’s closing by now. I’d like to be anywhere right now, I suppose. I get wanderlust often.
On the other hand, I have this thought, this scrap of an idea that I want to develop in my head. I’m tugging at the tendrils of the cloud, but I spin out. It’s so hard to concentrate when my mind’s in several places at once. Some of it is external (e.g. the movie isn’t helping), but a lot of it is internal. If it’s not the lack of concentration, it’s the fatigue and depression. It’s all so frustrating at times.
Corvidae in the Fields 