Do Writers Retire?
As a writer, it seems that I seesaw between the fast-paced productiveness of writing and the dead end crash it leads to when the bottom falls out. When I’m inspired, I complain that can’t write fast enough. When I’m not, I whine about having nothing to say.
I know I should enjoy what is commonly referred to as “the writer’s block,” the way a person on vacation shouldn’t think about work. I thought I had gotten over the feeling I used to get when my creative outpouring dried up: that my writing had been a fluke afterall and would never happen again.
When my writing becomes forced and feels empty of energy, I remember what renowned poet Nikki Giovanni said to her creative writing class that I sat in on years ago: to be a good writer you have to go out and live so that you’ll have something to write about. Nikki’s words help me to push myself away from the writing table, find a change of scenery, and get involved in life.
On the other hand, when I’m obsessed and feel that the muse is slave driver with her own agenda, I like to imagine letting go of writing altogether. 
I envision a day when I don’t blog, when I don’t walk around with a notebook and feel compelled to translate everything into words. During those times, I remember the words of Ruby Altizer Roberts, a past poet laureate of Virginia who was born in Floyd and grew up in nearby Christiansburg.
I interviewed Ruby for a Blacksburg art magazine (now defunct) called “Expressions” in 1999. She was 93 years old at the time. Arriving at her stately home, called The Shamrocks, in my kelly-green blouse, khaki pants, and black blazer, she opened the door and said, “Oh, I see you’re Irish.”
I thought she was psychic (I learned during the interview that she was involved in metaphysics), but I later realized my name “Colleen” probably gave her a clue. As I fumbled with the tape recorder that ultimately didn’t work, she put me at ease with her Southern charm and her bright enthusiasm.
At one point, I asked, considering her age, “Ruby, do you still write poetry?”
“No,” she answered, letting out a sigh of relief. “I have my life back.”
Post note: You can read more about Ruby and one of her poems in a past Loose Leaf post HERE. In it Ruby answers the question “Where does poetry come from?”
September 30th, 2006 10:11 am
Wow, excellent post….what a remarkable lady.
September 30th, 2006 11:52 am
Thanks for the “heads up” Colleen…I loved what you said about her, and what she said about Poetry…’like a bubbling spring’, indeed…I am unfamiliar with Ruby…now, I am deeply imtrihued! And I thank you for that, my dear.
September 30th, 2006 7:24 pm
I can see how not writing poetry any more freed her. It is not good to feel obligated to write all the time because then it is not from the heart; it is from the pressure we feel to continually use our talent as we are expected to do and as we expect of ourselves. It is better to write when we feel the muse stirring deep within our souls. I don’t like blogging or writing something just because others want me to…it has to be because it’s bubbling up from way down deep. It is a curse sometimes to be thought of as so creative because then the expectations are always there whether you are really inspired or not. It is a double-edged sword; you feel great when you write something you think nails it, but you can also feel great when there is nothing to write, just the real thing to be enjoyed as an entity unto itself. You realize sometimes that you don’t always have to honour something or make it special or immortal by writing about it. Just having the Kodak moment in your mind is fine as well. (Hope some of that made sense!)
October 1st, 2006 9:32 am
Being a creative person can be heaven when the juices flow… or hell when plugged up….but can you honestly conceive of living any other way? I can’t.
October 1st, 2006 10:06 am
I’ve recently lost my passionate appreciation for poetry.
I still like it, but only very specific poems, not like I used to love all of them.
I’ve also noticed that I don’t write it anymore.
I think changes are inevitable. And I don’t feel like I’ve lost anything. Maybe one reason being that I’m having all kinds of visions for paintings. That’s new too.
October 1st, 2006 11:42 am
wonderful post, colleen.
and good timing as I am taking a blog break.
here from “nowhere”, and heading back soon….
October 1st, 2006 1:05 pm
Since you’ve just vacationed at the beach, maybe we can call it ‘ebb and flow.’
Seriously though, I do think that this that you refer to, is all part of Life.
Such as:
breath in…breath out.
Perhaps too, it’s nature’s way of forcing us to rest.
October 2nd, 2006 12:28 am
What an absolutely lovely and profound answer to your final question. Poetry can be all consuming as can any pursuit.
October 2nd, 2006 11:53 am
I don’t think a true writer ever “retires”….they simply can’t. We might have a hiatus at times for short periods, but to give up that pen? Not possible. For me, it’s like breathing.
You’ll recall my recent post about “loitering” and that, I’m coming to find out, IS very necessary for a writer. To allow ourselves to just “be” and then the words all come rushing back.
Great post, Colleen…from one writer to another.
October 2nd, 2006 12:08 pm
I can understand wanting to chuck writing. It’s odd. How can a passion not be all consuming? But then, one can’t be consumed all the time or there is nothing left. One needs time away to feed and fatten up.
October 2nd, 2006 4:27 pm
Writing, even flowing freely, is hard and exhausting work. It is for me the work that makes me dance but it is work all the same.
I think we all sometimes need a break, a change of scenery, a different wave to ride, if just for a moment, so that we can find ourselves again.
October 2nd, 2006 6:48 pm
This particular post feels like a gift, Colleen. Thank you for it, for reasons you may never know.
October 2nd, 2006 10:16 pm
“I have my life back.” Well that makes you stop and think!
October 3rd, 2006 2:05 am
I can identify! I haven’t written poetry in quite a while, but fiction has been a marvelous and sometimes exhausting obsession. And then, when I run out of words, there are the pictures….