Writers’s block has its truths. But most of the time its stems the frustration that perhaps the intention of the words may never be received as intended. Even worse, never fall on those very ears.
Writer’s block is the scapegoat for the blank that has colonized my blog since that last post from Kigali. Many breathes have been taken since: The incense of defeat. Many miles have been dotted. Many faces are jumbled up with names and places in the vaults of my memory.
Often nostalgia cripples my attempts to relieve that journey.
Then…A day like today confronts me. And I realize that I have been unkind to the process. Unkind to the purpose of those 11.75 months.
And perhaps instead of funneling all my writing into complicating otherwise simple emails, I will venture to animate with prose, ever so beautifully as I once did, the portrait of those 11.75 months.