My writing life is like that too: it’s all or nothing. I go for a while without writing a thing, and then dash out a story or a few poems, almost fully-formed; scribbled into life in a creative rush.
I’ve always got ideas on the go, milling about in the creative ferment that passes for my brain, and perhaps this is the reason why there are gaps. May be the pieces need time to coalesce from the primordial creative soup, forming into something coherent and concrete that can be expressed in language. May be. It might also be that I’m lazy and disorganised, and can’t be bothered to order my private thoughts into something articulate on a regular basis.
Whatever the reality, I am still writing my blog, 2 years after starting it. I have no evidence that anyone reads it, other than spammers and lonely-hearts, but it is a beacon to myself nonetheless: a personal reminder that I have things I want to say; things that matter to me as a journeyer through this amazing, frustrating, capacious world.
Perhaps they will strike a chord with someone somewhere, but if not, I will still write them. I’ve always written in this self-possessed and questioning style, long before blog-writing gave me the opportunity to broadcast my private musings in a public arena, and I’ll likely continue till the lights go out (mine or the net, whichever comes first!)