Earlier this month I went to talk to a group of writers in MCI-Framingham, and I was asked the same quesetion several times, in several different ways. The question was this: What do you do when you don't know what to write? And my answer went something like: Well, first, know that you're not alone. That's important. As isolating as it feels, being stuck plugs you instantly into a global nervous system of stuck writers, a vibrating communion of writers-in-difficulty. And second, if you can handle that feeling of difficulty for a while, if you can just stand it, remain with it, you'll find that the words do come. Because the words cannot be stopped. Look out the window. Look at that white plastic bag doing its wavy wind-dance, touching a toe to the ground and then launching. Look at that squirrel, hunching and rushing in squirts and scribbles of energy. What moves the bag? What moves the squirrel? What moves your handa cross the page?
April's Pilgrim is hectic with Spring. Bullets fly past Paul, Demetri feels the sap rising, and our long-range brother James "Flim Flam" checks in from High Desert State Prison, CA. We welcome to our pages Bea, Artem, Mabel, Richey T., Akeem, Michael, Richey H., Jeanette and Madonna, and we pray for the speedy recovery of our Pilgrim photographer and friend Roy Goodwin.