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!
ReplyDeleteI totally agree. There is an old joke that turns out to be true.
ReplyDeleteA 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.