My life can become glutted with words. I read breaking news, profiles, analysis, interviews, think pieces, literary criticism, testimonials, scholarship — and yes, also fiction, essays, poetry, discussions of craft. And the more I read, the more I write, taking notes on everything I want to remember, recording the passages that give me goosebumps, in addition to syllabus planning, and research, and my sabbatical goal of 500 words a day (yes, OF COURSE I drop the ball on that one, I mean have you SEEN the news lately?).
It’s a lot. Some days, it’s too much; words are too much. I find solace in the blank page — not the page that wants to be filled, but the page that wants to be blank for a while. When language feels overwhelming, I turn to silence, and make blank books and empty boxes, spaces of possibility where I put my faith in the words that I will write some day in the future. But not right now, when right now feels too noisy, too messy, too much.