Amherst Writing Workshop 4

Originally posted on my old blog on May 29, 201

I have this blind spot

I have this blind spot. It has to do with my writing. It seems I can help others with their writing more than I can help myself with mine. I see perfect images of my potential stories, yet when everything is written, there are gaps. The words are always on the periphery.

Never in focus.

Like a dream you remember having, but can’t remember anything else about.

This blind spot taunts me, reminds me of pieces unfinished, of worlds begging to be created yet left on an empty page with ink trapped in a pen. I struggle to see them. The problems, the images, not realized. I turn in circles making myself dizzy to see – to illuminate the ideas. Yet, the spot is adept at staying just over my left shoulder; always hidden. Perpetually out of sight.

I chase it down dark hallways and alleys trying to run through to see what is on the other side. I only find mist and regret.

The words don’t come.

The images stay dark.

And I stay blind.

 

Amherst Writing Workshop 3

Originally posted on my old writing blog on June 5, 2019

For a short time, you were a stranger

For a short time, you were a stranger. Squishy face, blue eyes, pink lips. Barely able to fit into a shoe box. You looked so small in the hospital bassinet. Blankets covered in little footprints wrapped around and around you. I held you in my arms and I marveled at how you are a part of me, yet very separate from me. Your father’s nose, my cheeks. You will become my world and me, yours.

I wonder if I will do better than those before me.

Fourteen years will pass and once again you will be a stranger. The little boy that had to sleep in my bed is gone. Now you like music I have never heard of. You dream of building habitats on the moon. You have a whole life that, once was only me, but now I only play a small part; relegated to personal grocery shopper, chef, and chauffeur.

I have to wonder, am I a stranger to you?