Betrayal

On listening to our creative blocks

On listening to our creative blocks

I have been thinking about a writing project that I’m afraid to start.

To anyone else, the project looks innocuous: a few CDs and a folder of handwritten notes tucked inside a paper box I picked up at IKEA. The box is white with a metal bracket on one side for a label, but I’ve left that blank. I know what’s in there. I don’t need any reminders.

I’ve quite literally shelved this, wedged the collection of artifacts into the bookcase where I keep my journals, until I can figure out what’s holding me back. Because the story in that box needs to come out. But every time I think about it, I find a distraction, an excuse not to open the lid. E-mails that need replies; bills that need sorting; you name it, I’ll clean it. I’d rather do anything than clean — except face what’s in that box.