November 17: Too Much in My Head, Essay, "Web" Dip

I'm still struggling with my Christmas essay.  I know what my problem is:  I'm over-thinking everything.  I'm trying to throw everything AND the kitchen sink into it.  Irving Berlin.  Bing Crosby.  Marcel Proust.  Merriam-Webster.  Baked ham.  Death.  World War II.  It's just a mess.

When I get too much in my head, I can't write.  I have about five or six pages of false starts and mind vomit in my journal.  I keep waiting for that moment when I know I've finally found my voice.  It feels like I'm almost there.  Like a breakthrough is within my grasp. 

Which brings me to a little announcement:  until I've finished my Christmas essay, I'm only going to be posting once a day.  The Poet of the Week will return next Monday.  Stick with me guys.  I have to concentrate on another writing project for a little while.  I will be back in full Saint Marty mode in seven days.

My Web dip question this evening is pretty simple:

Am I going to be able to finish my Christmas essay by next Monday?

And the answer from E. B. White:

"It is true," said the old sheep.  "Go to the Fair, Templeton.  You will find that the conditions at a fair will surpass your wildest dreams.  Buckets with sour mast sticking to them, tin cans containing particles of tuna fish, greasy paper bags stuffed with rotten..."

So, whatever I write is going to surpass my wildest dreams.  I like that answer.

Saint Marty's ready to dream big.

Looking for my breakthrough