Thursday, September 07, 2006

No Entry, Really 

Not sure why I started this entry, really -- I've got the once-familiar buzz, but the skills are rusty, and the content just isn't there.

It's not that life is uneventful, far from it. Work is full, rich, fulfilling, my kind of whirlwind. The kids grow in leaps and bounds, each doubling her talents by the day. Their mama and I make halfplans for next summer's deck, perhaps a sunporch, traced narrow up to the very legal variance line for building. We spent the afternoon behind the house, eyeballing a new clearing for a playhouse and swingset where currently stand wood, a decade or more of dead leaves soft and giving like brown bog under our feet.

What happenms is reportable, I suppose. But there is no structure in it, and little joy to merely retell. Where once this need came complete with phrase and meter, in three-paragraph form unbidden, as if a gift from some internal gods, today the need comes unaccompanied by topic or tone.

I sit here and write the urge to blog, as if the mere act of writing would make meaning out of words. Once, it would. But today nothing comes, only the dark, the restlessness, the empty sounds of a house asleep faint behind the quiet music.

posted by boyhowdy | 9:22 PM |

I'm in the same boat.
...and I feel bad about it.
Do we owe our "readers" anything? Must they make us feel guilty without saying a word?
Ugg. I think too damn much....
I suppose if you write for your readers, then you'll feel guilty about dropping the ball on entries. Me? I suppose my readers get some internal due, and the awareness of them certainly focuses my voice.

But mostly I write for me, and for the future self of my children, that they might have a record of their dad, and their tinylives.

Letting myself down always makes me feel stomach-pit awful. But letting my kids down, when they'll never know? A billion times worse. Geez, what's the opposite of priceless?
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