| | Comments (2)

Acknowledgments are one of those occluded genres in our writing. It's rare for us to have the opportunity to issue public expressions of gratitude, although if the general session at CCCC were more like the Oscars, maybe that would change. Not that I'm suggesting, mind you.

Anyhow, a couple of months ago, I contacted my press to see if they would mind if I changed my acknowledgments. The original was a fairly standard set of thank yous to friends, family, colleagues. With my dad's passing, I felt like I needed to spend a little more time thinking and writing about his influence on my life. My intention, once they agreed (which they did), was to spend that weekend drafting a new couple of pages to sub for the ones they currently had.

Well, that was two months ago. I've intended to work on those two pages every weekend since then, and every weekend, I put it off. And off. And off. Here's the thing: I don't really write from pain. I talk it through. It's partly why this space has been as silent as it has for the past six months. I want to write something, but nothing that I can imagine writing is really enough for what I want to say. I talked about this problem with a couple of different friends today--talking about it is easy. Writing? Not so much.

And the fact of the matter is that, if I hadn't written a draft the other night, I would have continued to not write about it some more. It's been an odd experience that way. I have things I want to write--there's a couple of articles in me itching to get out--but I haven't really wanted to write. The connection is obvious, of course, but there's a little more to it, because while I know my dad was proud of me and what I was doing, there wasn't that much of a direct connection between the me who was his son and the me who writes articles, chapters, or books for the discipline. Not blogging makes more sense, because I know that he read this site.

Ah well. Like I said. I have a draft, and an idea or two about revising it. My guess is that getting this done will make it more likely that I'll come round here a little more. And maybe I'll finally get around to giving myself permission to write again. Here's hoping.

That's all.


What you have to say about "not writing" makes sense in terms of grief and also in terms of blogging. I'm not too articulate about this point because its something I've been mulling over and it's 8 in the morning, but I've become curious (intellectually, that is, not nosey) about all of the things we resist writing about in our blog. Maybe it's an affirmation of the strength of the blog and/or the blog's audience that there exists that tension (or tethering?).

And yet writing about not writing is what makes the art of the writer the soul of all artistry. Yes, that sounds awfully stupid when I re-read it, but I think you know what I mean. This just to say that many of us miss your presence in this space.

Leave a comment



Powered by Movable Type 4.1

About this Entry

This page contains a single entry by cgbrooke published on April 18, 2008 2:16 AM.

A Lunch Counter History of Composition was the previous entry in this blog.

Ultraportable is the next entry in this blog.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.