“Did you really not blog yesterday?” my grandmother–one of my subscribers, bless her soul–asked me on the phone this morning. “You’re just really, really swamped with student papers, right?”
“Um,” I replied. “Actually I finished grading over the weekend. I guess I’ve been busy…”
Folks, I wasn’t sure what to tell her–or how to explain, to anyone, my two-day absence from writing. That I was able to write so regularly for so long suddenly seems as shocking to me as I know it did to some of you.
Honestly, I’m not much more occupied with school than I was before. But I do find myself, lord help us, without much to say.
I’d like to blame this predicament on external forces: on a suddenly heightened awareness of my self-exposure and its inherent risks, courtesy of my parents’ visit, or the fact that I am unable, for various, excellent reasons, to write openly about my Present Interest (new nickname: don’t look for it much).
But alas, I guess it was unrealistic to suppose that inspiration would always come so readily. Which leaves me with two choices: one, I could accept my shortage of material, focus on other things, and hope it comes back. Or, I could force it.