The Silence is Deafening or At Home in the Vacuum

I’ve not been the most diligent of bloggers these last few weeks. My vision has been blurred by a plethora of personal projects and very little of it has spoken to me in a way that demands being shared in this space.

I’ve been writing, for one thing. And when a story is in my head, in my heart, there’s not room for much else. I mean, sure, if something is on fire, I’ll put it out but, beyond fire extinguishing, the story is what demands attention. I’ve learned from experience that ignoring such a call is not, in the end, productive and so I heed it when I can.

In the process of writing four novels I’ve discovered something new about myself. Something I didn’t realize before my first novel was published in 2004: I’m fairly secretive about my work. I mean, you can ask me about what I’m working on and it’s possible I might even tell you something but, rest assured, I won’t give you the whole story. I think I’m afraid of jinxing it somehow. I think I fear that letting an undeveloped idea get too much air will cause it to dissipate or otherwise damage it. And so I hold it close and work on it pretty much without anyone looking. The only thing that’s not so good about this is it creates a bit of a vacuum in what would otherwise be my blogging material. I will, for instance, come across something in my research that I’d like to share with you here, but in the funny headspace I occupy while writing, I decide not to share it. Or I’ll encounter some funny tic in myself or my process that I would normally blog about and I decide not to write about it for fear it will give away too much too soon.

In case you’ve stuck with me this far in the hopes that some piece of enlightening something will come from this little ramble... well, sorry. I got nothin’. I just wanted to let you know I’m still out here, in one piece. But my head is down. My heart is full. My spirit is occupied. And I can’t apologize, ‘cause I’m writing.


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