In which our heroine has misplaced her mojo

My ten loyal readers will have noticed that entries have been sparse for the last, hm, at least two weeks now. Perhaps it is merely that I have gotten out of the habit of writing, that process of calling up the bl*gger dashboard and just typing, because really that's how the bulk of my entries seem to be built.

I have ideas that swirl and than dissipate before I sit down. For weeks now there's a topic that's been brewing but apart from focus and time, I suspect there are others in blogsphere that would do it justice much better then I would. Yes, it is that lack of confidence you hear and I think it is hijacking my mojo. I was on a roll and then things happened, I lost track of the effort and the fire, and sense of ability faded. So here I sit sharing my lack of creativity with you, conjuring you to read this lackluster plea to the universe to help me find my way back to the blank slate that does not intimidate.

I do appreciate that TGF did not hassle me to update (see the comment from yesterday) but I also read that comment as her enjoyment in my writing, which I suspect is really because she believes blogging saves her from ranting that she otherwise would have to be the only audience to, blogging saves her ears for her IPod and other adventures.

A colleague in school reminded me of his mantra, "writing is a muscle", meaning of course that you must exercise it regularly or atrophies. My writing has often atrophied to nothingness, much like the current state of my gluteus maximus though in that particular case means it is large but unbelievably squishy. But I digress. Writing is something I have done for a very long time, the first real thing I remember writing was a poem that had oranges in the title in fifth grade. The loss of that piece of paper haunted me for for over a decade. Seriously. I started a journal at fourteen and wrote quite regularly in various little books for about a decade. After having a partner who would read my old journals while I was at school, leaving me to come home to rages about cavortings that happened before I ever met her seriously dampened my journaling. Oh I tried, I started various little books for a very long time afterwards.

Though all those years, starting in high school I continued writing poems, many quite bad now that age and attending perspective have set in, though I haven't written anything like poem since...{grin} Since TGF and I stayed at Woodfin in July 2004. Not that I have that time etched in my memory or anything. Okay, yes, I do. It was fantastic, magical, and confirmed our amazing sexual chemistry love for each other. I wonder where those pieces of paper are. Now there are school papers and this for my writing. School papers, well I'd rather not discuss those as many still hang over my head. Talk about the intimidating blank slate! At least here the choices are cheerful commentary from my ten readers or silence, papers have the potential of harsh criticisms. So blogging will continue to happen as it is some of the most rewarding writing I have ever done. When I'm ready to wallow in the self absorption I will pull down that pretty box in the closet and cringe at the yellowed pages of my youth.