The Fountain Runs Dry . . .

Sunday 24 April 2016

I think what I once thought impossible has become possible. There are no more ideas in my head for writing stories. They’re gone. Have been for the last nearly three months. Since my beautiful Parker became ill, and passed away, I’ve struggled to write anything, and when I have managed to pull something out, it’s been of little consequence.

My evening ritual of sitting down at my desk, powering up my computer, and tapping away at the keyboard to produce some sort of piece has also gone belly up. With Parker being ill, it was necessary to spend time nursing my poor lil girl. There was never any question that my writing ritual should be put aside whilst Parker needed support. Priorities. And let’s face it, on my death bed, I’m hardly likely to think ‘Gee, I should’ve written more when Parker was sick.’ I do, however, still find it difficult to reconcile that she’s gone – almost three months later.

And the writing. My writing. Ah well . . . it all seems so difficult to do these days. For example, normally when I had no idea for a post, I’d write a list post about something that struck me – favourite horror movies, great music, top actors, unmissable books. Today, nothing. Couldn’t even come up with a list of stuff that I’d put in a post. My go-to post has gone-to somewhere else.

Stories are in the same kinda area of creation. They’re not there. There’s not a skerrick of any manner of plot, character, setting, dialogue . . . nothing. And it doesn’t really feel like a writer’s block; more like a writer’s what’s the point of writing a blog post in the greater scheme of things thing. I find it a struggle, almost a chore to sit down, and try to write a story, or anything else. I’m sure it’s nothing that a bit of self-discipline, and retraining can’t fix, but at the moment, I’ve little desire to rectify the situation. Of course, that means that blog posts will be few and far between, and quite possibly that they’ll be nothing short of utter cr@p. But thems the breaks.

I’m wondering if I even know where to start again with the whole writing every day thing. (of course, I realise that the place to start is to sit down and begin writing . . . I’m speaking metaphorically.) Or even if I want to start again. Maybe it’s the universe’s way of telling me to give it all a rest. Maybe it’s my excuse to give it all a rest. That’s probably more like it. Maybe my priorities have changed. Although, I’m not sure what they’ve changed into. Maybe I’ve burnt out. It happens with careers, so why not with things you like, or used to like doing? Maybe I’m getting too old to be chasing dreams. Maybe I simply don’t have the desire that I once thought I had. Maybe next week it’ll all change back again. Who can say?

For now, though, the fountain has run dry. There are no story ideas on the horizon, no blog post concepts, nothing of any consequence. So, I guess we’ll see where the path leads us next.

About Danielle

I like to write. What more is there to know?
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4 Responses to The Fountain Runs Dry . . .

  1. Gillian says:

    Ah sweets, there is no time limit on grief nor a guide to how it affects us all. Go travel (always welcome here) to shake the past few months & that may help? Much love and squishy hugs, Gilly xxx

  2. Danielle says:

    Thanks, Gilly. xo

  3. I’ve suffered this in bouts before… It’s disorientating at first and you wonder if the well spring will ever refill your creative cup.
    Sometimes pain or anxiety rob me of the extraordinary energy it takes the brain to create. Or other responsibilities require my undivided attention and there is no room left for anything else. Sometimes it is my brain, my creative muscle, telling me it needs a rest. Exercise is great for the mind, for the imagination, but it can be injured and it can be overworked. Sometimes your heart is too broken to see the point in creating anything for the pleasure of others, especially if it brings no pleasure to you in the making of it.
    Please take heart – the stories will come back. The wound in your heart will heal and you’ll feel Parker there, a presence of memory, immortalised and safe. She will be ready to go on these creative journey’s with you soon enough.
    For now, rest and heal and let the world be the world. The words can wait for now xox

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