The Fluid Nature of Writers Block.

Or I suspect I am an oyster.


Whooooo. I have missed this blog. I have enjoyed daydreams of sitting at my computer and composing a brilliant book review (I have three reviews to share,) or tell the world about the delish tea I just had. (Lady Grey Tea by Twinings)


I even have photographs and recipes to share.


Writer’s block. It wasn’t so much writer’s block in the traditional sense. In fact, in the last seven weeks, I have written a novella. I just started a second. I have been writing. It’s just not been easy.

I think all writers have methods and steps that they need to use to create. For some, it’s as easy as sitting down at their computers and putting words down until its a story.

For me, it starts with an idea. A hope of something, a courting of characters and finally I sit down and write it all down. Ideas are easy. It’s the sitting down that’s hard. I have a 5-year-old child. He is home all day, helping mommy work. I have a little sleep in my sleep and I have to sometimes decide if sleep walking through the next day is worth it and or smart. Usually, it’s neither, but sometimes you just gotta do it.


My kid helping me hands on? Er. Feet on? I didn’t even stage this. 

My process is simple, its organic and fragile. A tiny bit of dust can disrupt the whole thing. Sometimes it’s a plot that doesn’t work. My brain will call me out for being a Dirty Bird so much faster than Anne Wilkes. I have a half finished novel that is in limbo because my brain can’t fix a little plot hole.

Other times, that irritation will turn into a pearl. One of my favorite short stories I’ve written came from a bit of dust (Idea) that stuck, and it transformed into a beautiful dark and scary pearl.

So. That novella that I just spoke about, it’s finished and with it came nothing. Usually, when the last word is committed to the Google Doc, there is a thrill. I spend three days giddy, and I want to tell everyone about it.


I am exactly like this, only I’m not an otter and instead of a cute furry thing it’s a USB drive with a story on it. 

Not this time. This time I felt like I was breaking up with a boyfriend. I ended a friendship. I crossed a desert and lived on nothing, but crickets and water sucked off cactus spines.

I could list the reasons why. I have two that are glaring, but I don’t have the energy. Plus I don’t want to give them power or ammo. It’s a delicious idea to spend a whole blog post retelling my last seven weeks.

In those last seven weeks, I determined that I need to stop feeling guilty for things out of my control. That standing up for myself is easier than I thought. Confrontation is necessary and the last lesson. Lies will always be found out. I knew this one. It’s part of why all of this has been such a trial. I hate liars.

The drama came when I started the story and literally left the day I finished it. Will I ever enjoy that story as I did when I conceived the idea of it? Probably not. Maybe if it gets published. Maybe if someone reads and enjoys it. But that thrill and giddy feeling that usually comes. It’s gone.

I guess I want to say that it’s okay. Not every story will be a pearl. The point that I am trying to find in this life lesson is that not every pearl is the same. But every one of them is worth it. I feel like the anxiety has left and I can write again with my usual amount of angst. Like wrestling my mouse away from my kid.



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