Silence

I'm going through a strange time with my writing right now. I'm not, not writing that is.

OK, that may not seem strange, lots of people get writer's block. But that isn't what I'm talking about. It isn't that I can't write, it's that I seem to be processing, searching and sorting. I am trying to find something.

There are many things I can write about, many projects I can work on, but it doesn't seem right to do any of them at this time. It's like I am supposed to pull back and observe for awhile. I need to get my bearings and find the lay of the land before I move on. I must do this to know the direction I am to go.

There will be time to work on the already discovered ideas and stories, but right now I feel I am working on the landscape of my mind.

It's kind of like planning out a garden. The best way to plan a garden is to do it when you aren't doing anything in the garden itself. In fact, the best planning occurs in the winter when you can't go out and work in the actual garden.

This seems to be a winter for me in writing. I find I am drawn to the nebulous of an idea that wants birthed. So I am collecting, and making notes, and searching, but I am doing very little actual writing.

I'm a little insecure with that. Can I be a writer and not write? Does writing notes and thinking count? I guess it counts if I make the transition from that to something on paper. Hopefully that will come, but I don't want to force it, at least not yet.