One of the things I have been considering is futzing about with music again. Like creative writing in my previous post, that also has a well that dries up, especially as I don’t usually have collaborators to bounce ideas off anymore. And my tooling around is more for the purposes of learning new recording, engineering and playing techniques than it is for performance. Much like publishing my writing, I am more interested in the joy of creation than I am in the idea fame or profit.
[Trigger Warning: Musician-speak ahead and I don’t explain the terms I am using. Enter at your own risk.]
That’s where I am at the moment with writing: fiction or poetry or what have you. It’s been at a bit of a drip feed for a couple of months now, so I am going to do what I always do when this occurs: continue to write with less poetry and fiction in the mix, let my creative energies either rest or try new things to “break it up”, and let that well recharge.
It’s not that I don’t have ideas. Rather, it is that they translate in a garbled manner or refuse to come out of hiding. I’ve learned that the best thing to do when that happens is to not force it. When I have forced creative writing, then comes the blocking and I don’t want to do that. It’s kind of like an insomniac trying to force themselves to sleep; the more one thinks about the lack of sleep, the less likely they are going to sleep.
So, I don’t sweat it, keep in the habit of writing (just not poetry or fiction), and consider other outlets for that kind of energy while the creative writing well fills back up.
How about you? Does your “well run dry”? If/when it does happen, how do you approach the matter? Do you power through? Or do you give yourself a break? Or does the dry spot break you?
Sound off below. Please focus your comments on your own experiences rather than commenting on my current state — I’m good, and I’m more interested in how you handle yourself than getting advice on how I should handle me.
Todd Snider, one of the very few alt-country singer-songwriters out there that I really appreciated (maybe because he was more folk than alt-country, but the powers that be declare him alt-country). has passed away overnight at 59 years of age, scant few years older than myself.
I first discovered Todd in the 90s when he debuted with one of the local radio stations playing a hidden track from the album, Talkin’ Seattle Grunge Rock Blues. As I had just recently moved back from Seattle at the time and had experienced “the grunge scene” in real time — although that was NOT my reason for moving there in the first place, the song’s comedy was not lost on me. Here’s a live version of the tune and, while I prefer the original, this one captures some of the crowds’ singalong elements.
I’ve been a fan ever since that day I first hear it.
Todd was an unconventional “alt-country” musician as he did more storytelling than singing the times I saw him live. Not that he would skimp on the music part, but there was a lot of talky stuff in-between, somewhere between wisdom and absurdity in most cases. And, while most country stars will trend towards conservative politics, Todd skewed more hippie than anything. I got to believe that he thought most of the culture wars out there were just plain dumb and he would satirize it when it suited his mood.
The music scene is less than it was for his passing. No, most of you never heard the man, but we were better off for his music.
with back to trunk he sings the tree burrow-fingers the loam with bone rap-trapping rhythms in time with an oncoming storm
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is ansuz, which has a core meaning “a god” (intended to be Odin), “mouth” or “breath”. Odin is representative of many, many things… in this case, ansuz is most representative of the mouth/breath (speech) that gives life to poetry, magic, song, language, and spirit — largely inseparable in the Viking worldview — and Odin is considered the supreme master of these intertwined concepts. By way of the Anglo-Saxon Futhorc, the rune is named æsc, which is translated to “ash”, a tree associated with Odin and is representative of resilience and strength.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
lessons learned, i fold up my life tears and creases plenty across a worn map places to see through the hills and vale stuff it into my satchel without ceremony as i crush compass underboot and follow a star to stone
tasting the breath of a weary world exhaling while sitting chilled on an autumn slope behind i may have gone vulpine tonight in the heart of the wood
A poem prompted by a randomly selected Elder Futhark rune.
Today’s rune is raido, which has been translated as “ride” and the implied “journey”. This may be spatial and literal in practice (a physical journey), or it may be more figurative (an inner/shamanic journey, i.e., útiseta). The rune is associated with cyclic motion and the movement of the sun. Some consider the journey represented by raido to be that of returning.
Please visit my Elder Futhark pages at sceadugenga.com for additional interpretations of the runes based on multiple references and personal reflection.
…something had happened to him in his late twenties that seemed to manoeuvre him away from other people, not just his friends, but from the normal course of human affairs. He’d begin to catch people exchanging glances whenever he spoke up in group situations; or they would be half smiling when he entered the offices and warehouses he worked in, but he never stayed for very long before he moved on to something else equally unsatisfactory. Invitations to join others lessened, then ceased before he was thirty-two. Only damaged and insecure women seemed to find comfort in his company, though they had little interest in him besides his being a confirming presence. By thirty-four he was lonely. Lonely. Genuinely.
…[U]nless he was talking to Hutch alone, his every attempt to start a conversation in the group had been treated like an ill-thought-out statement, or just ignored. No one even tried to pick up the threads he started. Most often there would be a silence and then the other three would fall back into whatever natural camaraderie they had rediscovered.
