It’s been nearly three weeks since my last post. Sounds like the start of an AA confession, doesn’t it? In a way, it is.
I have several reasons, er, excuses, for my silence.
Check, check, check, check. Not the last one. I finished my shopping before Halloween.
But there is a real-er reason. WRITER’S BLOCK.
I couldn’t write a thing for those weeks. Not the Christmas letter. Not a word of revision in a novel. Not a blog entry. NOTHING.
Then I confessed the block to Edna Whittier, a fellow writer. She gave me a kick in the pants. The next morning, writer’s block was gone.
Snapped off the Christmas letter. Wrote a near-final essay for NPR. And am now digging into Max 1 (again! Sigh) to fix the problems an agent was kind enough to point out.
And I’m working through the reading slush pile as well.
I've found with writer's block that sometimes I just have to sit down and write, anything, something, and in awhile, the words start flowing again. Happy writing!
I totally agree. There is an old joke that turns out to be true.
A writer sits at his typewriter (I said it was an old joke) and can't write a word. Finally, he types in The. He sits for a while longer, then finishes the sentence: hell with it.