Uncharted Territory

After my last post, I thought it was full steam ahead. I was ready to delve into another pass on Fear Unleashed before self-publishing. There was book two of the series to finish. Plus I have two other books to edit, and another book started. And there were short story contests. I was ready to throw myself back into all of it. And then… I found myself in uncharted territory.

For the first time in my life, I had lost my desire, drive, and inspiration. The short story I tried to write for the summer contest was flat. The one I’m working on for the fall contest also feels flat. I just didn’t feel like there is much to say. I’d never felt that way before.

On Labor Day weekend, I gave myself permission to hole up, read, and contemplate life. With time to think, I began to see why I no longer felt like writing.

From recent events, It’s clear that we’ve passed the tipping point with the earth. It’s not to say that we couldn’t still stop climate change, but we won’t. As fractured as society is, there simply isn’t time to get those who are reluctant to see the obvious, to change their ways. And without everyone on board, the task is probably impossible. Violent natural disasters will only increase, causing suffering for humanity.

We are seeing a return to authoritarianism across the globe. While we managed to hang on to our democracy in this last election, the undercurrent of the cold civil war is taking us towards insurrection and violence. With two different sets of “facts” and two different realities, it’s hard to see how we can ever be the “united” states again. Every opportunity for unity is manipulated for political gain. Greed and selfishness have replaced our former American ethos of loving our neighbor and coming together as one. Again, can this country be saved? Absolutely? Will we? Doubtful. We have become too tribal.

The pandemic was one such issue used to divide us, when it could so very easily have united us. It has left hundreds of thousands of Americans dead. Sadly, we’re no where near the end, because we refuse to do what’s needed. We brought this suffering on ourselves, and if we think it’s the last pandemic we’ll be dealing with, we’re wrong. As the environment is destroyed, disease only increases.

With a stream of disasters and our shift towards societal collapse, writing seems like a silly endeavor. I’m writing for a world that no longer exists. And while I’ve read impassioned pleas for the arts to continue in the midst of such chaos, highlighting the great works of art that come out of such periods, I feel I’m not up to the task. I’m good with words, yes, but I don’t know that I’m talented enough to narrate the collapse of civilization. There are others who are clearly more skilled than I am who can handle that task. I suddenly feel led to do nothing more than be in each moment, experiencing what life has to offer. That seems like enough.

I have no idea if this state will continue. I don’t know if it will recede as mysteriously as it came over me. Perhaps this is just the eye of the storm, and soon the winds of story will howl through and around me. I only know that right now, just being is enough. So I will be, and maybe being will come to include writing again.

I look forward to finding out.

And I’ll keep you posted.