Writers block: write anyway

I am not confident in my writing right now. It feels shaky. It feels sloppy. It feels one sided. Like I have been grinding a path for myself and now am stuck writing between walls I made myself.

I write anyway, and am sharing waht I am writing because I feel the need to keep the things moving. Keep writing keep sharing. Letting go of any idea of perfection, or of finality.

The grey days have been getting to me. I have made it this far through winter feeling good and now with spring only a few blocks away I feel doom and gloom and low and heavy. There is not anyone thing to pin these feelings too. It is a medly, a meliu.

I have waxed and waned about how writers block can be an inspiraiton, a prompt in itself. But that was a perspecive I was holding in the middle of feeling a strong current of writing. Of being in a storng current of writig. I am being dramatic. It has only been a month of feeling this way. It krept up on me. I could feel it like a fogginess.

My writer’s blocks go on cycles with the messiness of my desk and studio. Thing stack up on my desk, un organized and simultenously things stack up in me un written.

A block is a mass in the way of the flow. A river wears down the mass in front of it or goes around it or through it. Words moving like water through land. Like soil moving around roots.

Writing is words coming out of me, the block is not literary. The block is body, feelings, circumstance, moment. Everyday another chance to peer what is underneath the stone of each word.