With the spit and fizz of fireworks, I clinked flutes of resolutions on a New Year’s Night. Now March, the ashes have blown away.
A week ago, I wrote about how my effervescent poetry-writing productivity has ebbed. Wail and gnash as I might, not much seems to be helping. In fact, strange circumstances have stalled production when I have tried to propel it.
Last week, for some indecipherable reason, I could not access my wordpress account from my home laptop. Readers on other computers and devices, indeed, in other countries, were able to enjoy the verses on BeadedQuill. But all I got on my screen was a little pixelated Tyrannosaurus informing me that that ‘this page is not available’.
The usual commitments and tasks of my week clattered in. Against them I asserted, come the weekend, I would sit down to writing and posting.
My landlady informed me that we would be without WiFi for a couple of days.
I know, I know. A writer only needs pen and paper, and imagination. But it’s amazing how the non-presence of one’s hosted blog and WiFi can puncture the already deflating momentum of a flagging poet.