“What are the conditions under which you’d feel like you could re-start your blog?” A friend asked.
I hemmed. I hawed. I said I need several months worth of better sleep, and a house cleaner so that once I put the baby to bed at night, the need to pick up and scrub things didn’t pull me away from writing. And a magic wand that would disable my television, cell phone, facebook and email after 8pm. A nice cup of tea. A massage, some soothing music. And then, I’d feel ready to write for public consumption again.
But the conditions are never just right for creativity. I have gone months feeling like I’ll never write another lovely paragraph again, and then, out of nowhere, and often at inopportune times, times when capturing these gifts from the muse is impossible, enticing words will just appear in my head . These days, they mostly hit up against the damn of my crazy life. Unattended to, they gradually evaporate and I am left with a hallow feeling, longing the loss of all the sentences that might have been if, if, if…
So, it’s been twenty months, two weeks, and one day since I last posted here. It was September, and I had written about Troy Davis, who had been executed that day after his appeals ran out on his wrongful murder conviction. But I don’t recall why that was my last entry here, and I can’t find any clues in those final words about why I didn’t post any more.
Perhaps its as simple as this: I got distracted. I was preparing with my choir for a performance at Carneigie Hall in New York City. I spent September seriously contemplating what it would mean to become a single mom. By October, I’d decided that doing that was my destiny. Planning for motherhood consumed me that fall and winter. In case that plan didn’t work out, I was also applying for grad school. But it worked. I knocked myself up on February 24, 2012. I may eventually write about that experience here, stay tuned.
It’s been six months, two weeks, and three days since T was born. There has been no other time in my writing life that I have written so little. But I try to be gentle with myself: instead of creating essays and blog posts, I conceived, grew, birthed and have nurtured a human being for six months. As a single mom. That isn’t nothing.
But for several weeks now, Scribble Might has been asserting itself into my mind space. I’ve had posts write themselves in my head which gently nudge my consciousness as if to say, ‘This needs to be heard, Scribble Might is here for it.’ And then my friend asked about why I was no longer blogging, and another friend asked if I’d been posting here. So, I’m here, willing to give it another shot.
I hope you enjoy being on this new adventure with me.