An odd thing happened this afternoon. I wrote a story. I’d hit a dry spell, so the urge caught me off guard.
Inspiration comes in many forms. I read about an author who finds powerful inspiration when his accountant calls to tell him his checkbook is running low.
Today I’m thinking about Meriwether Lewis. The journals describing his exploration across our great nation to the Pacific Ocean are wonderful. But he had an unexplained dry spell. Several months went by during the epic trip without his penning a single word. Historians theorize that a manic depressive disorder gripped his mind and drained him of the desire to share his observations. If only my experience were as dramatic.
I simply lost faith. And got lonely. Also fat. Sitting for hours gazing out a window with the laptop’s cursor flashing away can do that.
But then it comes! That flash of inspiration, evilly disguised as guilt, in the form of the family Christmas letter. My generous - yet devious - husband inserted a paragraph in the annual newsletter informing family and friends that I had a new hobby. Had in fact written a book, taken classes, and - here’s the problem - started a blog. Started in fact, but subsequently abandoned. See reasons above.
But now the phone is ringing. A blog? You have a blog? How can we find it? We want to read it.
And of course they’ll find out there’s been no entry in months. Slacker! Fraud! Liar, liar, pants on fire!
And suddenly the words begin to flow.
I wonder if Meriwether Lewis’ family sent a note begging for news and the guilt lifted him out of his misery.
Works for me.
