And yet here I am with nothing to write, except for the lyrics to the song "When you say nothing at all" passing through my mind: You say it best when you say nothing at all. (go on, click the link and watch the video which will hopefully load MUCH faster for you than it did for me. It soothes the heart even though it's absolutely random with regards to this blog post)
Am I saying it best by not saying it? I probably am because there's a reason all of those mentally drafted blogs never made it to the typepad. If I were smart I would have written them but not posted them, but I'm not smart that way. I post because I have to write, not because the story needs to be put out there. This time the story can't be put out there, so can't be posted, so I don't write.
Clearly this is not as it should be. How awful that I can't explain here why I can't post because then I'd be giving hints into what I'd be writing about that I can't post. And, of course I don't mean it but feel like this is when I should say 'but then I'd have to kill you'. Seriously, have I already said too much? As I write this I don't know whether these words will actually make it onto the blog.
Should I be looking for things around me that are cuter, more mundane? Looking for the tiny flickers of lovely joy in the midst of the desert of disaster? If you know what part of the world I'm in and have turned on the international news anytime in the last few weeks, you know that no small things are going on around me. It seems petty to look for the little things. But as I write this I realise that probably they are the answer. The secret hidden writing is all well and good, but instead this may be a moment for returning to the reason I started blogging regularly in the first place: finding the value in this itsybitsy things, drawing little pictures with words.
I'm afraid, once again, this is the best I can do. Putting the "im" in Imperfect Prose! In fact, this is all I've managed to write all week. Here's hoping the words come back soon...