There’s something about travelling somewehere.
It can be in a car, airplane, train, bus. Just as long as you’re not driving. It’s probably the time I’m most creative. I sit there with my head against the window in pensive reverie, contemplating any and all things in whatever order they enter my mind. Normally I wish for at least a piece of paper and pen to write down everything that penetrates my contemplative trance but I know that trying to record anything would just interrupt it.
A favourite poem of mine comes to mind.
I heard a thousand blended notes
While in a grove a sate reclined
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.
— William Wordsworth, Lines written in early spring
It is in these daydream states that I explore my musings and prepare them for writing here. Yet when I sit down to type the random thoughts refuse to be beaten into a structure of paragraphs and sentences. It takes ages to shape them into something I’m willing to put my name to.
So I guess, this post is an elaborate apology, and explanation, for why there is not more activity here of late. There are 5 or more incomplete posts lying in the drafts section and they simply refuse to become publish-worthy. Those that know me know that this consternation is just about par for the course anyway.
Writing about not writing. What a novel idea.