I've been waiting for a creative impulse to trigger my next blog entry. I'm still not sure blogging is exactly the right word for the type of writing I'm doing in this space, but personal essay sounds so rigid as if it should have pickles, sauce, lettuce, and cheese every time. Yet I don't like the guilty feeling that comes with not blogging regularly. From what I've read, people don't come back unless you blog on a daily or weekly basis. I know that this isn't entirely true, since the two main blogs I follow are not perfect regulars. One had a baby and the other took a 9 month sabbatical. I still checked in with both often during their time away, desperate for those voices that had become familiar friends. I browsed through their archives for gems I had missed and read past comments to find inspiring links.

My own blogs are slow to surface, not just because procrastination comes naturally to me, but because sometimes you must simply wait for an idea to incubate before blurting it out. Inspiration usually starts with a feeling and then a quote or a passage from a book I'm reading. Then a family member or a friend will do or say something that helps me realize I'm heading in the right direction. Perhaps this post is my messy way of defining my own creative impulse. Personal narrative doesn't come from one place, and it doesn't like to be forced. I need time and space to breathe and get away from an idea after it comes to me before I write it down for others to experience. I guess it's the same with fiction, though I also subscribe to the butt in chair philosophy.

The ideas that go into my stories often come to me on Sundays, though I rarely, if ever get any actual writing done on the weekend. Anyone who has braved our house on a Sunday knows it's my day to do the bear minimum. This often means pouring cereal for the kids and gathering a pile of library books around me until bedtime. Then again, I often get a creative itch on Sundays. You might assume I'm just reading in the sunroom, but when you get close you find me painting a hippo for the bathroom or knitting a toque for an unborn child. You might find you have to search for me out in the yard where an art attack may already be in post production thanks to the dance of a two year old.

If you look around our home closely you'll find evidence of Sunday projects here and there, some finished and others left as rough drafts in a pocket or craft box. Sometimes I wish every day could be Sunday, like a child who doesn't want her summer vacation to come to an end. But then I remind myself that I'd miss that September feeling that comes each time I turn on my computer after my lazy weekend.

"It should be evident by now that to be maximally creative, the most important prerequisite is finding your way to a state of inner solitude, a secure dimension of rest deep in your spirit or pysche that provides a firm platform for imaginative work." Thomas Kinkade

I know what you mean about that September feeling! There's a change in the air, and anticipation of things to come ... school routine of papers and books, the comfort of mcintosh apples, pumpkins, first snow, thanksgiving. It's a comforting feeling, September :)

Yes...so comforting. When I think of September I think of the smell of new clothes before they get washed. I'll never forget the green mock turtleneck I wore on my first day of high school. I was sure it was the exact same colour as my eyes and I couldn't wait to wear it. It turned out to be a hot day and I suffered in my long sleeves by mid day but I can still smell it when I think of that day.
Thanks for stopping by. Good luck with your new blog! I'm feeling like a latte now, but it's almost midnight!