I’ve been struggling with writer’s block, y’all. It was so bad, I had to recycle a two-year-old column in our last issue, a “last resort” that always fills me with shame.
Seems I’m often filled with shame these days. And when I’m not, I worry that maybe I should be. And here’s a secret: Worrying that you should feel shame when you don’t . . . feels almost exactly like shame.
I’m not sure when it happened, exactly. Looking back, I can’t pinpoint the specific year things changed… when I transformed from a cheerful holiday enthusiast into one of those folks who often feels cranky and overwhelmed this time of year.
A few weeks ago, a friend invited me to speak at an event being hosted by a local civic group later this month. A “post-election” event, specifically. The plan, she said, was to help our community heal, rebuild relationships and make new connections after this horrific election season. (No pressure, right?) The theme of my talk was to be “forgiveness and unity,” a topic upon which I have zero authority to speak. Fortunately, I was unavailable on the date they had in mind.
For this issue, I had planned to write about A Lowcountry Heart, the wondrous new collection of essays by the late Pat Conroy. (After almost six months, that phrase still looks outrageous to me in print. “The late Pat Conroy.” Every fiber of my being resists that sequence of words.)
This compilation of never-before-published letters, speeches, journal entries and blog musings is making its debut this weekend at the inaugural Pat Conroy Literary Festival here in Beaufort, and it seemed like a natural column topic.
It’s getting down to crunch time, people. And I’m not talking about a pleasant stroll through the autumn leaves.
After what feels like the longest, most grueling and demoralizing election season anybody can remember – and some of us are pretty old – the big event is almost upon us. Finally.