And here I am on May 7th having only written twice. But this is a victory nevertheless. Because I'm thinking about writing every day. I'm thinking about what all of you might be writing. And I'm loving the writing my peers are doing, that my students are doing. I'm letting that inspire me rather than chastise me for my nonparticipation, nonengagment--words I hear applied so often to students without the grace we (should) give ourselves and them when we just aren't up to the task at that moment. Because chastisement (is that a word...?) achieves nothing.

Actually, it does achieve something. It's demotivating. It stops us from continuing to try. It triggers that all-or-nothing thinking that can poison progress.

Today, I can write...

Here's a few lines from Pablo Neruda's "Tonight, I can write," from an unattributed translation I found online:

"Tonight I can write the saddest lines.

To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her."

Sure, he's talking about a lover--if you know his poetry, when is he not? It's all Chile or a lover. But it's all beautiful. If you don't know him, I highly recommend! But I digress...

If "her" can represent the personification of writing, then these lines express the paradox we (at least, I) feel all the time as writers--it's sometimes when we feel we've lost our ability, motivation, or time to write altogether that we can write the saddest lines about our love for writing.

This is all stream-of-consciousness right into this Padlet post, but suffice it to say, if you aren't writing for the seventh consecutive day, it's okay. "To[day], you can write," and what you write will be beautiful, because it will be from you and because it will be a return to a beloved exercise.

Cheers!