It's now February and looking back at the previous month I can't help but feel disappointment in myself. Just when I planned to write more for my new year's resolution, I've actually written less. My mojo is gone.
I find a touch of irony in all this. This semester, the Humanities Division invited me to teach a class in Creative Nonfiction, a task I gladly accepted and have not regretted. But now that I am teaching students to write, critiquing their work, and offering sage advice and how to improve their art, here I am, arid and dry for ideas and inspiration, weighed down by literary lassitude. Did I say I was disappointed in myself?
And a bigger irony still: I am doing the drudge work for Taboan, an international literary conference to be held in Davao next week. The job has taken the better part of a year, in which time I've written up the conference sessions, put up the web site, contacted writers, arranged for plane tickets, and communicated developments to delegates. It's a worthwhile project (I tell myself), one not likely to be repeated for a long time to come. Imagine if you will: writers from all over the Philippines and a couple of guests from abroad, converging in Davao to talk about literature!
But as for myself? Nada. All this work, it seems, has sapped my creative energies. Honestly, I feel a little bitter: writers are not the easiest group to work with, not where organization is concerned. And here I am, juggling a dozen different jobs in addition to teaching, taking up my Master's studies, and planning my wedding.
I wanted to write an upbeat piece to ease myself back into the writing groove. This is what's coming out. Well, writing takes you where it will. I should be glad that all these feelings are coming out.
I swear: immediately after Taboan, I am going to lock myself in my room and play video games for a week.