Writing, of late, has been an odd sort of chore. I love to write – I yearn to write – but lately when I find myself alone with my thoughts and a pencil, I find that the words won’t come. They used to spill forth from my fingers like fat drops of rain from a heavy summer storm cloud. They used to burst froth from my pencil like rushing floodwaters through a broken dam.
Now, I find myself extracting each precious word like a miner with a gem. Or, more accurately, like a dentist with a particularly stubborn tooth. Bubbles’ first tooth, with its inch-long root and insistence on clinging to his lower gum, springs instantly to mind.
But that’s if the words come at all.
Today, for a change of pace…