The Eleventh Hour

There’s a famous quote about writing: Writing is easy. You just open a vein and bleed. 

   Last night upon arriving home from work, I counted the days before my next blog post and I realized that the two weeks that I had so looked forward to in which I planned on finishing “Untitled” had quickly evaporated. It was time to push that puppy out and my project was due tomorrow. I put on my work clothes and angrily proceeded to mow my yard. It was hot but the heat index was predicted to shoot up dangerously high on Saturday and I wanted to see the work done before then. As I said. I angrily mowed my entire yard. Taking stock of everything that put me in this position, after five minutes, yep the storms are big but they tend to be short these days, I began to look at what was really keeping progress from being made. I was blocked. Yes, blocks do exist. Not in the way most people imagine. But I am one of the writers that knows first hand that writer’s block does exist. 

   Why do I normally become blocked? I usually become blocked for one of two reasons. 1. I don’t have the story fleshed out in my mind enough. 2. Emotional block. The cure for the first block is fairly simple. When the mind is thinking, put it to the story. Flesh it out. The second cure is difficult but easier than one might think. Find the emotion(s) causing the blockage and release them. 

   It did not take long to identify my offenders. During the last several weeks I have been working on some personal things. Trying to make changes, be a better me, live a happier life. All that happy crap. Sorry I had to throw that in. It’s negative, but I love that expression which might be part of my problem. Any who, I opened up some deep vulnerabilities hoping for a change that did not come about. A couple of days ago I decided to tuck a few things back in, temporarily at least. The problem is that some of the emotions that helped me to craft and propel the story are intertwined with the vulnerabilities. Oops. You see the problem. How do I change it? 

   I came up with a solution. It was a messy one but I was pressed for time. I let myself open up a vein and bleed. I usually keep that crap in the house. I was tired and frustrated. I was already sweating anyway. I let her rip. I cried all over the damn yard. As I mowed, I have a push mower just so you know by the way, the sweat from my head diluted the tears that fell allowing a stream of consciousness to come forth. That and one really bad poem.

  With the vulnerabilities out there again, I am feeling better and I can focus on what I want to say. There were already notes before eight o’clock this morning. I don’t know if I will get to the end by nine o’clock tonight, but I will work for as long as I am able. As my mother always says, “We’ll see what we get.”

     May your day be sunny, your temperatures mild, your journey easy.

--Respectfully Yours,

   HR Apostos

   A Writer Lady, Teller of Tall Tales, Weirdo