Monthly Archives: March 2015

This and That

Well, I’d planned on posting, Thursday, getting back into the swing of doing so every Thursday. Didn’t happen then, but here I am now. Reckon I’m still more en-fogged than I thought.

Last Tuesday, apart from being St Patrick’s Day, was also the release date for two books by one of my favorite poets, Jane Hirshfield: The Beauty: poems, and, Ten Windows: How Great Poems Transform the World. I ordered these, over a month ago, from our local independent bookstore; and they arrived, Thursday. I haven’t had a chance to do more than flip through ‘em, so far. Perhaps next blogpost, Thursday?, I’ll have something to say about them.

Meanwhile, spring has sprung, and the weather’s warming up. As usual, I’m not ready to relinquish winter. This particular one started off strongly, but petered out too soon. (Even folks who don’t like winter were commenting, asking what’d happened.) We had huge dumps of snow, early on, and deep sub-freezing (and sub-zero) temps; but midway through December, it became more like autumn. Most of February had shirtsleeve afternoons. As much as I hate saying goodbye to winter, it does mean I’ll soon be able to plant my beloved sunflowers.


Telluride is having their 2nd Annual Literary Arts Festival, May 15-17. I missed being able to go, last year, and (alas) I won’t be able to make it this year, due to getting clobbered by tax payments. Here’s hoping third time will be a charm, come next year.

That’s pretty much it. No theme. No ponderings. But, still, a post. A “something.”

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Filed under Inspiration, re: Writing, Sorting It Out

Outta the Fog(?)

It’s been a month since I last posted. When the Thursday after my last post came, I was feeling kinda forsaken and forgotten, wondering whether I’d be missed, so I didn’t post. Pretty much the same thing, the following Thursday. And after that it became a combination of broken habit and feeling I’d nothing to say.

All this is but one outer manifestation of where I’ve been, moodwise. Not that I was in a bad place, but it wasn’t a good one, either. A dull disinterest, a just going through the motions. A being there without “being” there. We all go through such spells, I’ve been told; and I may be more susceptible than most. For what it’s worth, it does seem that I am coming outta the fog. (After all, lookit: a blogpost.)

I don’t know what got me started into the fog, just as I’m uncertain how I began making my way out. Again, this happens, and (I guess) it was my turn. Maybe both times.

Yeah, some of it was certainly vicious cycling. And, too, a smidge of self-fulling prophecy. I believed no one cared about, was paying attention to, what I wrote, so I stopped the writing, and when no one said anything, I took it as proof of my writing not mattering. (Again, “it happens to everybody.”)

Sometimes you do indeed have to “fake it until you can make it.” Or, rather, fake it so that you can make it. Forcing yourself to take that first step, and maybe no insignificant number of the following steps, gets you to where you’re walking without any assistance. (I hate these sorts of platitudes, and it bothers me further that they’ve wound up being true, but they’re what I have, so here they are.) The small, simple things—like forcing myself to get out and walk to the river (two whole blocks!), and spend some time there; sitting in front of the notepad or laptop and writing something, even if it’s “just” puttering for no more than fifteen minutes—have maybe loosened and opened me enough to get out of the puny vortex holding me in-place. Have gotten me to begin doing the very things that override the whispering pesky nattering doomsayers in my head.

This morning, I put the finishing touches on a book review, and also wrote down some thoughts that might cause two or who know how many other writings to come forth. And the wonderful thing is I had to force neither of these. There was this tickling inside, and I heeded it.

By the way, the end-of-street mountains, this morning:

What's visible of the Sawatch Range, this ides of March 2015 morning, from the middle of my street, in front of my front door.

What’s visible of the Sawatch Range, this ides of March 2015 morning, from the middle of my street, in front of my front door.

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Filed under Sorting It Out, Staying With the Writing