I’ve been working on a more polished piece for the last day or so about an oriental art form called kintsugi. Sometimes it seems the words just flow out of fingers and onto the pixelated screen in front of me. At other times, like right now, they just don’t seem to come at all.
Immediately, my mind springs into writer’s mode: It’s not good enough, You’re not good enough, This is a waste of time, Everyone is going to know you’re a no-talent hack, Do you know how many people have probably already written about this very subject? The voice of my inner naysayer is loud and obnoxious….and effective.
I’m sitting here in a Starbucks, working against a 15 minute deadline. Fifteen minutes. That’s when the shop closes, and I’ll have to return home to a husband watching a never-ending marathon of Pawn Stars and American Pickers. (Don’t hate me. I love those shows too, but not enough to make watching their reruns my part-time, evening job!) And, I’m sure my two-year-old will get out of bed and demand a snuggle, cuddle, kiss, and drink of water.
And those words will still elude me. That is…until I give up completely and lay my head down on my pillow. Then I’ll have to get up and jot them down before sleep steals them from my memory forever.