Dirty Words

shovelThe worst kind of writer’s block is the one I impose upon myself. Sometimes I’m lazy. Sometimes I’m busy. Mostly, I just don’t want to think.

I haven’t written—I mean really written—in a long time. And I just don’t know why the fuck I haven’t.

Okay, that’s a lie.

Writing is thinking. Thinking is feeling. Feeling means I’m digging up filthy, rotted memories that I buried along with their associated emotions.

Here’s the problem: I’m supposed to tell my stories. There are people who need to read them. There are people who need to heal, just like me, but they just can’t form the words, the sentences, the emotions.

We need to heal, so I need to write. But I’m stuck. Lazy. Busy. Blocked. I have half-written blog posts, fragments of poems, un-sent letters, chapters of a memoir. I just don’t know why the fuck I can’t finish them.

Okay, that’s a lie, too.

I’m terrified that none of my words will matter. I’m terrified that I’ll be alone and knee-deep in a quagmire of my own verbosity, heart exposed, words ineffectual.

Until now, my excuses have been enough to keep most my stories entombed. But I have some beautiful tales to tell. Real-life, wipe-your-eyes, accounts of love and faith and hope.

I got a lot of shit I have to unearth first—the old clay-hard memories that I still haven’t processed.

Guess I better get a sturdy shovel.

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4 Responses to Dirty Words

  1. Jaron says:

    Looks like you’re already digging in!

  2. Doug says:

    “I’m terrified that none of my words will matter. I’m terrified that I’ll be alone and knee-deep in a quagmire of my own verbosity, heart exposed, words ineffectual.”

    Even this story is one of those stories. There’s somebody else who feels that none of their words will matter? A story I needed to hear, I’m glad you told.

    • Clean White Canvas says:

      Doug, thank you for the encouragement. I know that I’m supposed to tell my story. Sometimes I don’t know why I am, but I do it anyway.

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