Reader, I fell down the stairs this morning.
You may be wondering, what does this have to do with writing? Well, I fell on my hip, which is connected to the BIC of BICHOK, which makes things painful for the sitting and writing. But I suffer through.
Suffering through for art. We hear this phrase so many times. We think about our work as something we suffer through, to come out at the end with something beautiful. With words on a page, or art on a canvas, or the perfect note or dance or pitch. Writing is WORK. Anyone who tells you otherwise is not much of a writer at all.
But, and here is where I think suffering this morning has helped, I forgot that writing is also FUN. I got into this gig because I LOVE WORDS. Love them so much they require capitalization. Love them so much I’ve made my career out of words: writing, reading, teaching, everyday I get to read my favorite books and talk about them. I get to write academically for my career. I write creatively for myself and I LOVE WORDS.
THAT’S what’s been forgotten in these past two months. THAT’S the secret formula, the key to my (eventual) success. I forgot I was supposed to enjoy it.
Maybe falling down the stairs knocked loose my brain a bit. I’m not sure. But I feel almost, just almost ready to write again.
The Postmodern Bluestocking 