I’m afraid today is Tired Tuesday. I did start writing one thing while at work today, but is just isn’t going to work out. You see, a terrible news story is occupying my mind and my emotions. I knew I wouldn’t come up with anything profound or wise, but I thought I could say something. It turns out that I can’t.
People always advise you to write about what’s bothering you. I used to try, but it never helped. I usually just got more upset as I articulated my problems. I don’t think I’m that persuasive a writer, but I sure managed to persuade myself. Go figure.
Years later I read in Ernest Hemingway’s A Movable Feast how he could write about Minnesota (I think) in Paris, but he could not write about Paris while he was there. I don’t have the exact quote, because it’s been years since I’ve read it. I must purchase a copy to have. I read a similar thought in Natalie Goldman’s Writing Down The Bones. She said you couldn’t write about being in love when you were in the first throes of infatuation: all you want to write is, “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m in love.” That quote I could look up, because I own that book, but I’m just too, you guessed it, tired.
So even if I was wise and profound (we all know I’m not), I probably could not come up with something wise and profound at this point. According to Hemingway and Goldberg, I could potentially write about something I felt or experienced years ago. I’ll try that tomorrow. I won’t promise wisdom or profundity, of course, but I’ll try not to be lame till Friday.