It’s definitely been a while.
The technical ability to write is not the same as the actual ability to write. The former is a skill set, a box of tools that you carry around with you at all times. It gets used at random moments when you’re able to say something witty or clever, or are able to pull together a poetic metaphor at just the right time. The latter is having something to say at any particular time, and the will and energy to bring it into existence. The latter is, for a lot of people, a lot of time, fleeting and mercurial, an untrustworthy ally that vanishes when needed most.
You might call it writer’s block, but that’s not really what it is, not in this case. It’s deeper and more profound than that. Not having anything to say at all feels like a more serious issue than simply not just having the right words when you need them.
The last couple of years have been tough when it comes to creativity. Professionally and personally, I am in a much better spot than I was two, or even three years ago. It was around then, early 2017, that I started to notice the creative drive ebbing away.
I may never figure out everything behind why the fire started flickering and going out, though there are many contributing factors that are certainly at play. I know what (and who) those were, and having identified those influences it becomes easier to isolate and remove them from the current equation.
I definitely burned out some of my writing mojo with Broken Rooms, published in 2012. That was a monster of a book and came from a very personal space. In some ways, it felt like the story had got what it wanted and it didn’t feel like a loss, more of a resolution of some need that I’d spent nearly twenty years trying to fulfill.
That’s when photography came long and took over, like one part of the brain tagging in another.
Eventually, the urge to take photographs started to recede, which is when I noticed something wrong. That was early in 2017.
I’ve taken photos since then, of course, and I’m even proud of some of them. Technically, I think they are pretty good, too.
This change does not feel like the resolution of some great plan, not like the feeling after Broken Rooms came out. This change feels like something is leaking away, being stolen, being extinguished.
Having cleared out many of the negative influences in my life, I have been left with a clearer view of what’s happening, though not any kind of clearer understanding as to why it’s occurring.
This is a self-indulgent post, for sure. But the idea of identity, and how it can be tied in with what one produces creatively, is an important one, I think. It’s all a part of mental health.
This post isn’t intended to answer any questions. I just wanted to put some feelings out there in an open and honest way, and maybe later to come back and see where things are in a few months.
I’ll upload some of the photos I’ve taken in the last year, just to prove I was out there still taking some. Prove to myself, that is, more than to anyone else.
