So I’ve been struggling with writer’s block for months. March 22, 2018, I lost my muse, my mother. It was for her that I wrote. Now I’ve been sucked into the void that is writer’s block and am wallowing in its darkened passageways. I need to find another reason to write. I just feel so overwhelmed by the thought that mom is gone and with it so is my desire to write. Well, okay, there is a flicker of hope buried deep inside. Every so often I feel its pulse, but not today.
Don’t pity me. Maybe breaking through writers block is like a chick trying to free itself from a shell. I need to peck tiny holes in order to be free. This being interpreted means that I need to deal with the shell surrounding me–acknowledge it and start pecking by writing. Oh the weight of writing and not being perfect.