On Musings

For a few weeks, I’ve been mulling over the idea of creative non-fiction or in my personal writing experience, musings and ramblings. I love writing but lately, I think I’ve been pushing my writing into neat and tidy genre boxes, in part because my career demands that my writing (content) fits a particular need and niche, and, in part, because I tend to format and structure my poetry in particular ways that don’t always lean towards the stylistic ambiguity I let my creative personal writings explore. 

For a few weeks, my creative writing has been ouroboros-like, self-cannibalizing, circular, and repetitive.

It’s been frustrating.

Here I am, someone who writes almost every day to make a living, and yet the writing that is personally, soulfully, and metaphysically fulfilling has been elusive to me. It’s like the creative juices are flowing, filling my brain, but the words do not form, the floods washing out the S.O.S. scratched in the sand, like tissues dissolving in a puddle of tears.

Sappy.

And sappy is a good word for this feeling. 

The Britannica Dictionary defines “sappy” as follows:

sappy

/’sæpi/

adjective

sappier; sappiest

[also more sappy; most sappy]

US, informal

1. a: sad or romantic in a foolish or exaggerated way. b: foolish or silly: not thinking clearly or showing good judgment.

2: full of sap.

This resonates with the writer’s block I’ve been dealing with. The ideas that do come feel foolish and silly, or exaggerated in their melancholy and musings. 

Also,

my head does feel full of sap.

Rather than a flow of ideas and creative thoughts, my head feels like syrup, thickened by the cold. The crisp air of spring is blowing in, and I wonder if the departure of winter’s chill has invigorated my creative juices, transforming them from icy frost into blooming buds.

Perhaps my antidote is merely going back to older forms of my writing: journals, diaries, meandering musings. My creative muscles have weakened in part from lack of use and in part from the demand of other enterprises. But being vulnerable like this, and writing without rules and boundaries, could be a great way to get these tired fingers typing away once more. 

So here’s to a rough, off-the-cuff, barely edited musing.