Morning Pages

There’s no mistaking it now, winter (such as it was) is done, spring has sprung in a big way. I absolutely love, love, love having all the windows open! But even if the skies weren’t clear blue as far as the eye can see, even it was raining and dull and dark, I’d know the season changed because I’ve got that feeling in my gut again. That feeling of excitement and anticipation, like all is possible in the world and anything can happen. I WANT TO DO SOMETHING!

It’s a feeling that reminds me of being a kid, like the day before the first day back to school after summer holiday, or the last day of school before summer holiday, or Christmas Eve. Like being a teenager and the uncontrollable inconsolable butterflies when the boy you’ve had a crush on for months smiles at you or brushes against you behind the stacks in the library. Like falling in love, the first year, when you’re discovering everything about the person and experiencing everything with them for the first time. This is how I feel today. This is how I felt yesterday. This is how I’ll feel for the next few weeks until the season settles into my skin.

I want to run, sit in the sun, swing from the trees, close my eyes and listen to the birds, be absorbed into nature, just breathe. I want to create something beautiful, say something profound, write something brilliant. This is a good kind of energy, better if I can harnass it, direct it into productivity.

Last week I had lunch with a friend and writer in Miramichi (if you can call 4+ hours, lunch) and again I talked about my inability to write anything creative without being consumed by guilt. Again I mentioned that I purchased a notebook and was going to seek a change of venue in hopes that something would “happen.” Just venting helps. Just hearing someone else say they also have the demon on their shoulder telling them not to write, that it’s not important, helps. She told me about a great book she’d read, though the title eludes me now, it doesn’t matter. She’s mentioned this book before. One day I’ll read it but I don’t need to yet because I’ve already got a message from it to chew on and digest.

The author talks about something called Morning Pages, where basically you get up and write three pages everyday. You can write anything that comes into your head. Dump all the crap that fills your brain, all the things you’re trying to keep straight, all the things you have to do and the things you would like to do, and all the nasty things the demon on your shoulder says to make you feel like a shit for wanting to write stories or poetry. You spill all this crap onto three pages every morning in a sort of cleansing ritual, freeing yourself from it, gaining perspective and clarity. Later you might even find nuggets for stories or poems when you look back on the exercise after a few months.

I realised that sometimes this blog has been my morning pages, my dumping ground for the crap. But I’ve been blogging less, and blogging less about the crap of day-to-day, AND most importantly feeling super guilty for taking time to blog at all when I’ve got so much other stuff on the go. And I think it’s because of this that I’ve been unable to write anything new. Before, when I first moved, when I was blogging at least once everyday and usually more, I wasn’t writing much creatively, but there were ideas, there were some things percolating and a few paragraphs every now and then floating to the surface. I’ve been completely dry for months and going a little berserker from it. So maybe I’ll dump more crap here. Maybe I’ll dump it long-hand into a notebook. It doesn’t matter how I do it, the important thing is that new stories will begin and end.

Thank the Goddess for spring and the positive energy of new life! Now I can make something happen.

Mood: excitable
Drinking: coffee
Listening To: Pretty the World, Matt Nathanson
Hair: fading to strawberry blonde

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