I’m internalizing a lot right now, I guess. I haven’t been blogging, and it’s not a reflection on my ideas, or my fellow bloggers, or commenters, but just that I’m internalizing and letting my thoughts gestate right now. Working on the novel, tweaking, tying loose ends, all that fun stuff.
Funny how we go through times like this. Lots going on inside, not much coming out (in the blog).
I’m sure that as soon as I’m done with this little fallow blogging period you’ll be hearing a lot more from me. Meanwhile, when I am online (haven’t been much lately) I will try to get around and visit you all more and make sure I comment. Happy blogging!
Meanwhile the cat wants dinner, it feels like spring today instead of winter, and we have a new neighbor, called Phainopepla, who is really quite awe inspiring and graceful.
If you’re a novelist, writing a novel should take precedence over blogging. Sure, they aren’t exactly the same, but I do think doing one kind of writing unavoidably detracts to some extent from one’s other writing. Maybe bloggers need to start a sabbatical tradition. Hang a “Gone Fishing” sign on their blogs for a month every year. A month long meme of silence.
You have to do what is right for you. Visit, write occasionally, muse…whatever…You’ll always be welcomed back.
what a beautiful bird. I’ve never seen one. I wonder what part of the country you call home.
Cas
And don’t forget to feed the cat. If he’s anything like my cat, you really can’t forget.
Eric, thanks for the changed post title. Thank you, violetismycolor. Cas, Southern California.
I’d like to say, in light of yesterday’s presidential speech (which frankly ticked me off), we have lots of visitors and imports from south of the border here, human and avian. I don’t want to live in the equivalent of Berlin before the wall came down. The phainopeplas, orioles, and hummingbirds who fly north this time of year add to the beauty of the landscape. So do the people. They’re part of the richness and variety—the texture—of living here, that I love and always have.
Human beings are real and alive. Countries and borders are just fabrications. If we just took care of people we wouldn’t have to worry about the sanctity of the borders. Hope I didn’t disturb the fish.
As I’m sure Eric can tell you, there’s no such thing as a quiet cat when it’s dinner time. Especially when certain foods are on the menu. For mine, it’s chicken. She’s been known to try to climb my pant leg while I’m serving. And yelling her head off at the same time. This is hunting behavior??
Ah, it is good to realize that there is still so much hiding inside our mind. Take the time to find and pull it out. Then come back and tell us all about it.
I wanted to thank you for your kind words and support about my mom — I very much appreciate that! I’m just constantly amazed at the “wonderful-ness” of my fellow bloggers.
I can understand the need to take a pause from blogging, but so far I’ve had a hard time going beyond a couple of days! Must be an addiction!
A little while ago I heard a Slate Magazine podcast by another writer who entitled her piece “Stop Blogging and Start Writing,” about how she had to shut down her blog in order to give her energy and attention to her book. It was an interesting viewpoint. Wonder how she’s making out with that.
Just getting over that “internalizing” period myself.
This past weekend I thought “Maybe I’ll go back to blogging!”
I’ll see if I stick this time.
Love your new “neighbor”. Here in the northeast, that species is not native, and I get excited at the thought that there are birds out there I have never seen!
Gestation is part of the natural birthing cycle, and part of the natural writing cycle, too. Yet so many writers-myself included-suffer pangs of guilt if we’re not writing every moment, squeezing every last word out of our pens.
Why is that, I wonder? What’s wrong with taking time off… just to think or experience the world in a non-verbal way? (Didn’t Henry James paint as an activity to stimulate a different part of his brain?)
There’s a kind of fear, I think, that lurks behind this compulsion to keep writing. It’s almost as if we’re afraid to stop… not knowing if we’ll be able to start again. Those moments-when I think of stopping-are a little like standing at the edge of a cliff: I never know what will happen when I step off the edge. But once I leap, I discover a kind of freedom.
Writing is hard work, even though it may not seem “hard” while we do it. And while we wouldn’t want to go through life without writing, the freedom not to write for a day or a week … and to enjoy the change in perspective… is liberating. At least that’s what I’ve found over the years.
Still, it’s never easy to pull back. And I admire your decision which, in the long run, will give your well a chance to refill itself… so that you can return to the page with a pen that flows with words again.