People, I’m tired of feeling so downtrodden and under-wondered, tired of having nothing of note come out through my fingers to your eyes. (Few though they may be, they are plural nonetheless.) I’m back to that familiar place, the place of no product, where ideas drift around and through me and I just give them away without really taking a look at them first.
I will tell you this: I’ve been inspired during the 40 days. Inspired to be a poet or a promoter or a producer or a prophet. Inspired to make up stories about people I knew and to make peace with people I don’t. I’ve watched singers, listened to experts, deferred to circumstances, knowing that something would come back, that I would find the time, that the underwater sensation of a life without writing might actually come close enough to drowning that I would speed to the top and break through, nearly painful breathes filling me up with ideas and words and Mr. Rogers things to talk about.
Well, being underwater can get murky. Plus, the people I’m trying to write for don’t really need a writer; they need a shaper, a handler, a strategist. They need someone who knows how to take language and make people want something. My interest in language is to make you see something or hear something or feel something, something other than want. The words are there to fulfill the want, not to fuel it.
So, in my hour of darkness, where do I turn? How do I return to writing? Well, you already know. I return with a song.
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