when you lose you mojo

Lately, I’ve been wondering why I can’t seem to write. What is it that’s holding me back?

I look at all my writer friends immersing themselves in their craft, their mojo well in tack and think maybe it’s because I’m not a ‘real’ writer. That could be it.

I think I’m ok with saying that. I’ve always loved writing. I write something most days and even though I’m 67,000 words into this memior, I can’t seem to finish it. It just feels over whelming.

I started this book many years ago in an emotional out-pouring, one that didn’t stop for quite some time. My intention wasn’t to write a story, I just needed a way to express what I couldn’t articulate. By the time I did stop, the chapters had poured out along with the tears, but the format and flow were a non event. It was a proverbial elephant and I was sinking.

Most definitely under water.

Photo by Matt Hardy on Pexels.com

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Drowning.

This week, my brother went searching through news paper archives for an article about our dear dad. Success. He found the newspaper clipping whose title read, in bold print, ‘MAN WITH AXE PROWLS CITY OFFICE’. Ouch, that hurt.

Did I say sinking?

It’s not because of the weight of the elephant. I’m sure I could tackle it again, find some order in the chaos I’ve created. No, It’s more than that. I was grappling with a bigger question. Do I really want my elephant story, in all it’s undignified splendour, to be unveiled and open to public speculation, worse still, judgement?

This is my dilemma. My mojo stealer.

I read the clipping again, dated 1968 and suddenly I’m transported in time, a little girl, torn, just 5 years old, disembarking from our runaway bus. I’ve have no clothes, except the ones on my back, and no dad.

Sometimes I think I’m still a little girl meandering through this story. Still trying to protect the reputation of my strange, yet kind and gentle father from the judgement of others. I’ve seen glimpses of beauty behind the shadows. I hold them close now and wonder if I’m trying to hard to protect myself.

Perhaps my mojo will return and when the time is right, maybe I will finish my story.

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