Water, Molasses, Glass
December 19, 2019

There are days when the words come easily. It's as if you're not writing, but
being written through by something else. You just sit down and the stanzas or
the words march down the page and you haven't even broken a sweat. Knowing how
rare these moments are in a writer's life, you're filled with a mixture of
amazement and wistfulness--amazement at what is happening; wistfulness at
knowing it can't last. This is when writing is like water: it flows effortlessly
from you. Write until you can't anymore.

There are days when the words come, but only with great effort. You chew the end
of your pen, searching for the next word. You sigh, write a half-sentence,
scratch most of it out, then start again, trying to get your meaning straight in
your own head so you can get it across to the reader. Working with words becomes
real work, and you'd gladly go do something else if you could. This is when
writing is like molasses: it is squeezed out of you drop by drop. Write anyway.

And then there are days when the words don't come at all. When you've been
staring at a blank page (or screen) for too long--be it hours, days, or even
weeks. You worry that your muse has starved to death or gone off to find someone
with better writing skills. It feels as if there's something just beyond the end
of your arm, keeping you from the words on the other side. This is when writing
is like glass: a super-thick fluid whose flow can only be measured on a scale of
years and decades. Write. Write anything at all. Write no matter what. Come back
the next day and keep writing.

(c) 2019 by Andrew Gudgel 
email: contact [at] andrewgudgel.com