Fight, Flight or Freeze
Updated: Feb 6
Not gonna lie, the writing muse has flown the coop, headed south to Bermuda and is showing no signs of returning. And yet I still feel drawn to the page (or screen as the case may be). I believe that is the curse of the creative mind. Always narcissistically pushing for attention. All the writing "experts" out there seem to have adopted the mantra Write every day; it doesn't matter if it's crap. I dunno, sounds like dubious advice to me.
I use the excuse that we are still in the midst of this wretched pandemic and I, therefore, give myself permission to vegetate for as long as I care to. Sometimes one's brain really does shut down, not to mention one's will to create. With a deep, drama-laden sigh, my muse queries, What's the point? And my rational mind responds, You're asking me? How the fuck should I know? Have I previously mentioned that my mind swears like a sailor? Nothing I can do about it.
Art is subjective. I know this to be true as a result of my writing group, the one to which I sign up every new round, write and share, and get feedback back that is so disparate I don't know who to believe. It's like Google reviews: Oh my god, best short story I have ever read, ever. Did I mention ever??? And, Oh my god, worse piece of derivative trash I have had the misfortune to read since 50 Shades of Grey.
Those aren't actual reviews of my writing, you understand. Just my reception of them. You can't please everyone. Another over-used trope but so, so true. The trick is finding the people who get you and leave the rest to do whatever it is they do. I am content to win over a handful of people. Although, truth be told, I'd LOVE a few more readers. Got anyone I can borrow?
I know this is my first post of the new year and I sort of feel like I should acknowledge that. However, as I said in my Butterfly Tree newsletter (which you can subscribe to, if you like): out with the old and ...in with the old. So what else is there to say? Okay, I'll say this: even though it still looks a lot like March 2020 outside in the world and although the political knob running our province has yet to cease looking like a deer in the headlights every time he is required to act like a grown up, I have hope.
Not hope on a grand and abstract the world is going to be okay way, but on a far more personal level. I have begun to surrender to that which is which, let's face it, is the only sane action to take at this point. We will be in this mess for another year at least, and we'll be impacted by the social and psychological fall-out for many more years after that.
Fight, flight or freeze. The three instinctive options available to us humans when imminent danger is afore us. Well, I've lost the mettle to fight reality; it depletes me. Surrendering to it empowers me. I haven't been able to choose flight 'cause where am I gonna go that doesn't look exactly like where I already am? Plus, travel restrictions. It would appear that freeze is the only remaining choice - basically stay put, stay still, act dead. Check!
I'm curious to see how 2022 unfolds on many levels and I will be here writing my blog and sharing them with you. I'm always happy, nay thrilled, to hear from you so please keep doing that. On the other hand, if you are clearing house and making room in your inbox for others, please feel free to unsubscribe from this. You will find the Unsubscribe option at the bottom of the email you received. No hard feelings; I know how good a clean slate can feel. And, if you find you miss me terribly, I will welcome you back with open arms.
By the same token, please, if you know of anyone who would welcome my weekly blog in their lives, please ask them to subscribe. It feeds my fragile writing ego no end when someone shows an interest.
Until next time ... Happy New Year!