And today, the mortician’s daughter is (finally!) on submission.
Writing — never mind publishing — is a long, often difficult journey, mostly endured in solitude. The fear and grief and now languishing of Covid has made it that much more difficult for many people to create, but I do take some solace in remembering how hard it was even in “the good old days.” It’s not just because of Covid that I’m struggling. Although, it certainly doesn’t help —
— well, not right now anyhow. But perhaps my new and deeply personal (yet collective) experiences with fear and grief and languishing are changing me. Perhaps they’re working inside me, attaching themselves to that elusive part of me called creativity to eventually affect the depth and reach and tone of my output. Perhaps these long days of “meh” are secretly working some wonderful magic in the unknown places of my heart and mind.
At least I hope they are.
At least I think that’s how creativity works.
Life is hard. And that’s precisely why we need art, it’s a balm for both the maker and receiver. It’s a necessity. Not just for now, but for always.
