NCWN Writers Residency
But I've got the post-writers-residency blues. I should be elated at the wonderful events of the Summer Writers Residency, but why am I so blue these last few months? Does this happen to anyone else--these unexplained sometimes disabling blues?
A lot of this may be directly related to my professional life--manager of a "new products" division. Many decisions had to be made--or rather, many sacrifices had to be made. I stopped certain activities relating to writing so I could focus on developing "new products." Not only do I have to come up with "new products," I have to make them myself, design the ad/marketing material and campaigns and a few other elements like e-commerce and what-not. But I digress.
Attendance at open mics and poetry readings became rare. I resigned from my weekly post at Write Stuff. Regular submissions to The Indie almost vanished as well as serious blog writing. My composition book and notebook I half-filled during the Summer Writers Residency accompanied me everywhere I went. They were always hidden in one pocket or another in my backpack. I would open the books and start to write new material and something interrupted me or nothing would come at all.
Soon I stopped opening the notebooks. I began to hate them as one might hate a tattoo of that one girl's name. The girl you thought you might love forever but forever is a myth and the tattoo the slavery of reality. At one point, a guy at the church I attend asked if I had written anything recently. I said no. He encouraged me to spend at least fifteen minutes writing something that week. I did. It was about resigning my post at Write Stuff.
The composition book was opened once recently--at the Marvin Bell reading. I sat next to Sebastian Matthews that night. I read a few pages of notes from Evie Shockley's residency discussion on blues in poetry and self-consciously felt like an impostor. A woman sitting in front of me at the Marvin Bell reading requested a story about a beautiful woman. Mr. Bell chuckled and said, "Beautiful women never come to my readings." The woman who requested the story was very beautiful that evening. I haven't opened that composition book since that night.