I haven’t been posting as frequently lately.
I don’t consider this writer’s block, though I once did.
This is because I have been thinking.
A Little Story
Once I sign up for a pottery class. My friend, Rita, forced me. She berated me until I went.
Fine, I said. I am not writing anyway. Might as well make a fool of myself with clay.
Larry the teacher made us start with pinch pots. Make a ball, then shape it into a bowl. Old school, play-doh kinda stuff.
It didn’t matter how much I whined about wanting to get started on the wheel. I had to sit and do my pinch pots.
Then we had to master building a box.
Then, after that, we had to work with coils.
The class was mixed levels — one of those amazing Communiversity courses where the woman across from me chatted while she sculpted lilies from black clay.
Nothing happened in my brain while I coiled and pinched.
My thinking bone rested.
The psychic across the table (she worked for the police department from time to time) even said so. She glazed her plate and listened to my mutterings, enough.
“You aren’t blocked,” she said. “You are absorbing.”
I made it to the wheel, eventually. I threw a beautiful bowl and glazed it Celedon green.
Then, after awhile, I looked around in writing again.
I’ve stopped to think, now and then.
But I have never been “blocked” again.
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