it's been a long time since i first got down...
so, i was deep in the quiet, trying to string together the right letters, a little washed ashore on words. there's always material, in surround or muffled beneath the pillow trying to catch some air. but it's hard to write about an ocean while you're learning how to swim. so i decided to keep quiet, to be in the field collecting data and not at my desk telling stories. but then the radio silence got pretty loud. i set a few writing goals. unmet. i kept thinking, if i write, what's it going to be about? i thought some more and then realized i had thought too much.
last year there was a clear path to the narrative. a lighthouse guided me through each anecdote. i worked at working and worked at understanding why and then i wrote. i drew from the immediate and felt that i could write my way through anything.
this year i checked my pockets and they were empty. i looked to places i had gone to before for inspiration but they had been ravaged by a huge party or some natural disaster. i felt like i woke up in someone else's city and there were no lights. i broke out my bag of tricks but the locks had been changed.
i could see that i was more adrift than lonely, and more watchful than engaged.
i have decided to share a little secret i've been keeping:
i like to tell my version of stories. i like to take my clothes off and dance around the room. i like to not have to care who sees.
i am a writer because i am an artist and sometimes that means there are no rules.
i've missed you, it's good to be back.