I've written nothing but poetry for 7 months and 15 days.
For over 32 weeks I've been thinking in rhyme and rhythm.
It's been 227 days; an immense period of time.
Even that first paragraph has taken a more poetic than prose-like form; yet it hasn't been a conscious decision, it's been all I could do. For the first 220 of those days I didn't even think about "how" I was writing; I just wrote and it was always poetry. There were some days that I couldn't write at all; all inspiration and ability was somehow removed from me; but these past and more poems were created. But no prose; none at all.
Over the last week I've been having a "creative dry spell" of a different sort. I've just not felt any desire to write and so I've gone with it. I have occasionally worried about whether my blog was lonely without me, but decided that with 2638 posts it could keep itself occupied for a while. Instead I've done a lot of thinking about my thinking and creative flow and how my emotions affect them.
I couldn't write prose for that huge amount of time; it wasn't possible.
My life felt completely out of control, and for considerable periods WAS out of control.
I could however control my creativity.
The focus on rhythm and rhyme was such a release, a control that empowered and released me.
And now?
Well now perhaps I'm gaining control.
Control over my depression and my life.
Control over my future and how I will face it.
And this has released my need for control of how you read what I write.
Suddenly I can allow you to read my words, phrases, lines and even between those lines.
I have no idea how long this will last.
I've learned not to look too far ahead or expect too much.
But, for now, some prose might creep back into my life and onto the blog.
Words speak.
My words, your words, all words.
Now I trust you to read and hear what you hear.
