“When you are stuck…” says Annie Dillard of writing a book,
“when you are well into writing it, and know what comes next, yet cannot go on; when every morning for a week or a month you enter its rooms and turn your back on it; then the trouble is one of two things. Either the structure has forked, so the narrative, or the logic, has developed a hairline fracture that will shortly split it up the middle– or you are approaching a fatal mistake. What you had planned will not do.
It has been nine months, in this case, and after fits, starts, lists, broken promises, and some thinking, I’ve realized that the trouble is the former of the the two Annie lists. The logic of this blog, the narrative of the seventh grade English teacher bursting at the seams to make things better for herself, her colleagues, and her kids, no longer applies– and after almost four years out of the classroom, I’m finding that my current work in education no longer translates to this particular page.
This isn’t to say I’ll stop writing or teaching, or even that I won’t re-open the blog someday– but it is time to name what has already functionally happened, and place The Line on graceful indefinite hiatus.
The title of the post, which came to me from nowhere, is from one of my favorite goofy book series by Douglas Adams, and references (as stated in Wikipedia),
It was 67 degrees today here in upstate New York on December 14th, forty-eight hours after the Paris Climate Accord was signed– so I’m a little shocked and always amused at the way my subconscious works.
More to the point, I am indeed grateful– more than grateful– for the sustenance this blog has given me and my practice, in more ways than I can count. Thank you. And I think I am probably hoping that I am like the dolphins, swimming off happily to a slightly different world, still chattering away.