Grief tugs me from behind. Memory dips its tongue in the ether and nudges its chin for me to join. So much has passed and yet so little accomplished. Now, after so long, I'm finally nestling back in and trying to make something of the rich mess mingling inside of my head. There is much to say, may as well get down to it.
These past eight months have been brutal. A year ago, I was hitting five thousand words a day. Crushing my old self into the dust and smattering any shreds of self-doubt. I was nothing short of the king of my writing land and damned proud, but now I dwindle in this writer's block, afraid to even pen something down for fear that it won't be good enough. It's never stopped me before. Why now, of all times?
Perhaps the fear of failure lurks again from the depths, ready to snatch me up and play with my form left mangled from bad experiences. But those dog days are over now. Now, I must get back to work like a racehorse. No, not a racehorse. I'd done that before and worked to exhaustion. Now is the time to dance and embrace the workload with villainous mirth. Dive down into the black coils of grit with a smile. As the seven dwarves would sing "Hi-Ho, hi-ho, it's off to work we go!" and whistle my way down into the dirge until I am consumed.
That is what I must do. I can feel it. Anxiety melting into excitement. Fear bitten off and chewed, resembling the form of anticipation. All of the fear is gone now. I can feel it. |
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