Why I Stopped Writing

I tried to write about these empty pots, but after an hour of no words coming, I stopped and turned my attention to the main thing going on here at the keyboard.

strike a deep chord
and I attempt to put words to it,
to say the thing I am thinking,
but no words come.

My thought,
my feeling,
is right there, so close,
but there are no words.
Not from me.
Months now, wordless.

I have nothing to say,”
I told myself for a while,
but it wasn’t true.

I have plenty to say.
Just no words are coming.
and the ones that do
trip all over each other,
stumble-bumming along,
like they’ve rolled out of bed
after a long night
with no idea why they were called forth.
I send them back to the barracks
and wait for better specimens to appear.

I’m a patient waiter.

* * *

say over pretzels and soda at the conference
“I’ve had a career change.
After years as a writer
I am now……”.

and am delighted
at how right it feels,
how easily it comes out,
without having to stop and think.

walking alone,
I know a chapter has changed.
I have accepted what is true.
and feel no need to apologize,

I don’t think I have lost my voice
so much as
I am finding it.
Can that be true,
that to find one’s voice
it may be necessary to give up even having one?

* * *

and then went on and did something else.

Why live an “I used to” life
when there’s a present tense available?

I might put 2 words together
and write again someday
and I might not.
Guess I’ll find out.
Life is such an adventure.

* * *

Okay, I’ll give this ’empty pots’ thing one more try here…

THE EMPTY POTS at the garden center
beg to be filled
just like the empty binders at Office Depot.

But for now
they will have to be filled
by someone else.

I walk among the colors,
touch a few,
take some pics
and move on.

“Finding myself at a loss for words
and the funny thing is
it’s okay.”
– from Mercy Me’s “Word of God Speak”

About Marilyn

Reading, thinking, listening, writing and talking about faith, creativity, ESL for refugees, grief and finding the story in a story. Student of Spanish. Foe of procrastination. Cheez-it fan. People person with hermit tendencies or vice-versa. Thank you so much for reading.
This entry was posted in comfort zone, finding your voice, rest, writing. Bookmark the permalink.

4 Responses to Why I Stopped Writing

  1. pastordt says:

    Hmmm…for a used-to-be writer, that sure is a lot of wonderfully written words. You may have taken a break, you may need to add an identity. But I would say you will always be a writer – maybe a not-writing-for-stretches-of-time writer – but always a writer. Believe it.


  2. karenrreed says:

    This is so beautiful and profound and raw. Thank you.


  3. You ask, have always asked, such good questions:

    * Can it be true that to find one’s voice, it may be necessary to give up having one?
    * Why live in an “I used to be voice” when there is present tense available?

    Thank you for this. I know for me, I find myself feeling like “I used to be” a therapist, but I am now a writer. I never considered (nor should I spend to much focus now on) the possibility that I may one day “I used to be a writer.” Maybe when it all boils down, life’s really about surrending to the God who’s in control of all our “used to bes” and “will be one days” and “where we are nows.” And to trust that He’s doing good things with us and through us whatever we may find ourselves doing.


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