The assignment is to sit and write without editing or really thinking for 15 minutes. Anything that comes to mind goes on the page. Time is ticking and at this point, nothing is forming for me but telling you why there is no substance here. Just words.
Words. Some of them are so powerful and some are so weak. When you say you like something, it's a bit on the order of agreeing that whatever the thing is, can exist in your world without bothering you, but you wouldn't notice if it was gone. It's a weak word. Loving an item or an idea, however, is strong. It would change your life to lose that thing or not follow the idea. When like things, they may exist; when we love things, they must exist.
Words can be so healing and so calming. Telling someone in pain that you are hurting with them or for them, telling someone who is sad how much you care about them or how important they are to you can completely change their day. Knowing we are not alone in this world is usually accomplished by hearing or saying the words that affirm our importance to another human. A hug is nice, too.
Knowing the value of words in my life does not keep me from coming to points in my life where there are no words. None that mean enough. None I haven't already said. None that quite fill the bill for what is happening around me or to me. Days come when I cannot write because nothing new comes to my head and the old thoughts feel tired and used to me. The books I so want finished are waiting, waiting to tell me where to go from here. I am the slave of the keyboard, but the story must reveal itself to me and creatively speaking, I'm barren right now.
How unusual is this? I, who always have something to say, truly has nothing to say. It happens at least once a winter. Maybe it's good to get it over with early this year. Maybe it'll be gone shortly and I can move on.