I know I've been somewhat absent lately. It's not the words escape me. They're all still there stuck in my head waiting to get out. But prose can't exist on flowery adjectives, colorful similes, and vibrant metaphors alone. As far as writing is concerned lately I've felt like an order of mashed potatoes and gravy without the potatoes... I've got all this tasty gravy stuck in my head but I'm missing the potatoes... oh and the meat too.
I'm not sure what has caused my recent literary potato blight. And I have been trying to grow some new "potatoes." None have seemed to take root, at least not yet.
The one aspect of my life that is consuming much of my time lately is fatherhood. But I don't feel right writing about that. I treasure my special moments with my wife & daughter, I enjoy watching her milestones and all the special moments we share. But I also tend to believe there's something to be said for keeping those moments to ourselves... it makes them feel more special. Not to mention, the intensity of emotion I feel for my daughter and the extreme happiness I have when spending time with her defies the English language. That is to say, even if I wanted to write about fatherhood, I couldn't. The words don't exist. At least not in English, and short of learning Esperanto or some other obscure language I don't forsee that being a possibility in the future either.
But I am still here, a living breathing carbon-based life-form. I'm still a writer at heart. I still have the words inside me. And as soon as I have some meat or potatoes for the literary gravy swirling in the gravy boat of my mind I'll regain some semblance of a creative flair. In the mean time, flask of gravy, anyone?