The slump to end all slumps has been mine this year. I have been eager to hold on to it. Keep it all to myself. It’s not my fault there are no words-it’s The Slump you see. The perfect excuse.
The Slump has allowed me to write many posts, but not publish them. They remain half done, eyeing me as I type yet another one. I see the mocking in their unpolished words.
Some of the words have been used at work. That place I like to keep separate from here. Reflections, reports, assessments, newsletters. They take words I may have otherwise used. It seems, after all, words do have a limit.
I have struggled to keep the blog going. But much of what is written is just noise. And sound. And fury. Signifying nothing. Those are not my words. The Slump, it has no shame.
I have thought about the merits of keeping the blog. And those found in closing it. But, like many things, I am sure once I don’t have it I will want it again. Find need of it. Even if the drafts mock me. So stay it shall.
Who knows, maybe talking about The Slump may make it pack its wordless bags and leave. Although then who would I blame for the lack of words? Maybe I could start a new blog, and only write about not having anything to write about. That should take me places.
So I shall pack my notebooks and remember to have pens in my bag. Just in case. I will use voice notes wisely, and type away the noisy words. If they all end in the draft folder then so be it. At least on my grave stone it will say, she was a writer. Of sorts. She took her password and drafts folder to the grave.
It is all I can do. Except make more pots of tea.