Fill your paper with the breathings of your heart.
-William Wordsworth
The sun has returned. I always feel like I should do some kind of ritual of celebration. Signs of spring are starting to emerge and I feel as though I am crawling out from under a rock, blinking at the sight of light and the world around me.
I have been streaming along with a lot of words without a sense of trying to edit as if the editing process will disrupt the flow. Other writers I have been researching recommend that this flow process is so important to stay with. I know at some point I have to retrace my steps and find inconsistencies but for now it is important to disengage from the inner critic.
You know who I mean. The balcony of jeering voices that throw peanuts and say what are you doing this for? It means nothing. It is going nowhere. Shhh. I say. I'm busy. Go away.
It is occurring to me that the same could be held true for the rest of my life. We all have those people in it who have been unkind. Has it ever been constructive? Not really. What works like gas in the tank is being encouraged. A friend recently told me that she sees me as someone who "keeps poking holes through the air" meaning the voices telling me I can't do this, as the light grows warmer from one day to the next, and the pussy willows start to emerge.
I have been streaming along with a lot of words without a sense of trying to edit as if the editing process will disrupt the flow. Other writers I have been researching recommend that this flow process is so important to stay with. I know at some point I have to retrace my steps and find inconsistencies but for now it is important to disengage from the inner critic.
You know who I mean. The balcony of jeering voices that throw peanuts and say what are you doing this for? It means nothing. It is going nowhere. Shhh. I say. I'm busy. Go away.
It is occurring to me that the same could be held true for the rest of my life. We all have those people in it who have been unkind. Has it ever been constructive? Not really. What works like gas in the tank is being encouraged. A friend recently told me that she sees me as someone who "keeps poking holes through the air" meaning the voices telling me I can't do this, as the light grows warmer from one day to the next, and the pussy willows start to emerge.
