At times, all writers, whether beginner or experienced, face the blank page or screen. I mean, those times when

it seems as though your very thoughts have abandoned you. The more you pound at your chest, the more that

you pull your hair out your head, the worse the block. You just can’t write.  The thoughts swirling around your

head are akin to a foreign language that you cannot begin to comprehend. If I seem a bit too familiar with

this idea, that is because I am. For a few months now, I’ve been stumped and uninspired in both my journal

and blog writing. I’ve begun writing any number of times, only to be frustrated by the process and my inability

to produce anything intelligible. What to write? How to write? The questions come, but no answer follows.

And so it was, that while reading, I came across the poem, “Don’t Forget to Write” by Maya Stein.  (The poem is

quite long, so I include only a portion of it for you to enjoy; whereas, you can read it in its entirety at the link

down below.) I was instantly drawn to the poem and the message it imparted.  In my mind, the poem is a

reminder to those who write that inspiration is all around us.   Life itself provides us with unlimited and

inexhaustible sources about which we can write.  Each day we wake to the feel of the soft, cool cotton sheets

against our bodies, the smell of coffee brewing in the kitchen, the crow of the rooster as he sounds another day,

and the sight of blue jays as they feed outside of our bedroom windows, and that is before we even get up from

our bed.  So, when that blank page seems be mocking you, close your eyes, take a few deep, cleansing breaths

and open your eyes to the world around you, and whatever you do, don’t forget to write.

Don’t Forget to Write

while you are piecing together the map of your life,
stepping as nimbly as you can out of the mulch
of your thoughts, the busy traffic of your heart.
while you attempt grace and magic and the blessing of
your soft, surrendered kiss, while you are fathoming the stretch
you will need for the wide and rocky jungle of your own happiness,
while you are hunkering down to a piece of dark bread
and the odd, welcome relief of hunger.
don’t forget to write.

write this day, its too-early-morning and the birdsong
you cursed into your pillow. write the way the dog
looked at you as forlornly as your own shadow.
write this blanket, this cup of coffee, the irreverent
clatter of the neighbor’s lawnmower. write the bees
that bend forever to their task, write the July heat
and the laps in the town pool that cleave you
from this earth, the over-solid grip you have on everything.
write this hour, tired and awake all at once, the distractions
you can make of breakfast or a calculator or the remote control
lying flaccid on the living room couch.

…

write the words for failure. write the words for hope.
write the tightrope dangling above the canyon,
and down below, the electric water furious and free.

write green, write violet, write blazing orange.
write the smell of grapefruit skin, the eyelash
on a cheekbone, the hand you hold in the dark.
write first, honest paragraphs of sunrise.
write everything, or nothing, but don’t forget to write.

Blessings, Lydia