Sometimes just coming up with a title settles my mind and gives me something to write a few paragraphs about. Sometimes, it’s finding just the right photograph. There are some days when I am happy to wallow in misery and complaints. Others when I have an idea in mind and expand on it. I appreciate the days when I have a set direction. None of that is working out for me this morning.
I have a draft started about my long, busy day yesterday, and all the elements that contributed to it. I have another about all the things I did to take care of myself after that hard day, and bring me back to center. I could have pulled either of them together into a reasonable post, one a little whiny, the other perhaps hopeful and helpful. Neither felt genuine.
I’ve been doing this long enough now, where I can elaborate on almost anything, enough for a short essay. That’s okay if it’s Tuesday, and the topic is a writing challenge. It’s not okay every day. Despite the added responsibility of getting something published every single day, I would like to stay true to my initial purpose in writing this blog. That is, to be aware.
Just the fact that I have this writing commitment has helped. I have to be aware of what is going on around me, as it might become something I could write about. I pay attention to the weather (today, moist, as if it rained through the night, and cooler). I watch like a hawk for my dogs to do something that would inspire an essay. Conversations – whether overheard or ones that I’m a part of – could help me to develop more authentic dialogue. Conflicts might help me with arguing a point. Sometimes, in spite of it all, there is just nothing to write about. Today seems to be one of those days.