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Tuned In or Tuned Out?

I have written nothing, because what I want to say is just too large, too intense, too heavy. Where do I start? How do I arrange my points? What is my point exactly? The only thing prolific about the material I’m producing right now is the writer’s guilt over a lack of material.

White floods my page. The non-color reminds me of chocolate stormwater, because my clarity is so polluted with the sediment that keeps washing into my mind—every grain another analogy that broadens the initial point—I cannot frame the picture. I cannot decide which brush to use to apply the first stroke, and so I decide to pick up no brushes at all.

chocolate water

Huge gaps between the public posts on this page indicate abandonment. But only I have the password to look behind the published curtain. There I find the weedy list of unfinished drafts. Every one has been held back for the same reason: rambling. Instead of writing nothing, I have written too much.

I blame it on the times. Stay positive. Trust your instincts. Be grateful. Inspire others to find the best within themselves. These are the messages I want to convey. But I can’t hear past my own internal clamor of frustration, concern, worry, distrust, and dissatisfaction. I want to shout, “Can’t you see what’s happening here?”

How many other artistic expressions are hiding in the shadows of rampant discord? How many brushes have fallen silent from the dust of hopelessness?

And why is this happening? I propose the reason is fear. I am afraid. The jury is now filled with cruel peers. The penalties for missteps could go viral. The best intentions are easily tarnished with the assumption that every one of us is either racist, self-serving, and combatant or all-loving, selfless, and peaceful. No one is allowed to fall in between. Almost all of us fall exactly in between.

A silent, blank canvas is a signal to the audience that the artist has tuned out, which adds to the artist’s pain, because an artist’s mind is endlessly, relentlessly tuned in. I must click the button marked “Publish!” now quickly, before I change my mind.

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