I can’t remember how to write. I just took off one day to volunteer at and attend a reader’s luncheon for my writing group and suddenly the words will not come. It is not writer’s block – even the knowledge of how to write is gone. But I look at my WIP and my list of blogs and know that I have written.
I can’t imagine not being able to write. Writing completes me, gives me a means of expression, and gives me a way to give back to others. I love it, fear it, tire of it, but I always write every day. But between my own grief, my family’s grief, and this event, I did not write at all. Just let myself collapse into sleep when I returned home. And the next day (somehow) I don’t remember how to write.
I know I will write again. I have deadlines to meet, expectations to fulfill, and things to say. As long as the motivation remains, the knowledge will come back. I have the inner motivation. Words light up the dark places of ignorance and also lighten the heart. They give hope that can temporarily override experience. I want to see this, share this, give this to others. So I am frustrated and confused that I have forgotten how to write.
Just what have I forgotten? The rules and patterns, the structure and rhythms. But is this really writing? Or is that really just a way to make my writing more intelligible to others? If that is writing, then only people who have a special kind of learning can write. I have never believed that to be true. Skills that enhance communication of my message are important, but they are the clothing – not the heart of a writer. It would be better to say that I have reverted to an infant state. That I am writing now.