The writer’s affliction is a mute paralysis, a rebellion of the mind to form a thought, of the hands to flow those thoughts onto the empty page.
This, of course, will have to end–preferrably on the plane home tomorrow. I’ve put off writing toward the Floyd Press deadline (Monday noon) and others as well because I made two mis-assumptions: 1) that there would be plenty of time to work in an hour to pull threads together, and 2) that there would be threads to pull together. So I sit here watching the vertical line blinking with a vast whiteness to it’s right and below as far as the eye can see, and wonder what might appear there between now and Monday noon.
My thoughts, honestly, are not what comes next at the cursor. I stare out my 9th floor window onto the roofs of Madison’s downtown and wonder what ever will happen on what appears to be the most miserable of days for the 350 action back in Floyd County in a few hours. There is a volume of rain, a force of wind and an impenetrability of fog beyond which it will just not be feasible to attempt to get “the” photograph we had imagined. What a misery, what a seeming waste of so much planning and thought and good intentions. And yet, we’ll turn it for good, somehow. Sorry, good people, I couldn’t be there to possibility-think and consider positive options.
I look at the terrible white page and cannot focus, wondering what is happening in the lives of Henry and his parents, knowing the fog through which their vision must penetrate, straining to see with any clarity what comes next, some destination, and how with good spirits and purpose to reach it.
Breakfast in 15 minutes, and I have just decided I’ll miss the first session this morning. Maybe I’ll take a walk instead, my spirit and orthopedic self more in need than my mind/brain.
For those few who might be curious about the conference, read Marc Gunther’s piece about yesterday’s activity, What’s Wrong with Obama’s Green Team. Twitter folks, follow #SEJ and #SEJ09 for updates through the day.