What is the real problem?

It’s funny, I moved to the big city to be inspired. I wanted a fast-paced diverse backdrop to help shape my ideas. I also wanted the exposure that advertising to such a huge population might bring. Travel and change of scenery has always inspired some decent page turnout for me. And yet, I find I have writer’s block.

There are exercises that can help a writer push past writers block.  I know them. In fact, I’ve blogged about it, back in April 2014 in a post titled Wherefore art thou, inspiration?

So what I really needed to figure out is not why I’m blocked, but why I’m not even trying to write. I haven’t even opened the file in Word to stare at that ominous blinking cursor for at least two weeks; maybe more.

Sometimes it is a question of time. I’m busy. Who isn’t? We all get caught up in the day to day, but that’s what a schedule is for. Making time isn’t hard if you get a calendar and make a schedule for yourself. I haven’t been doing that- instead I’ve been finding chores to do to fill my time. Sorting out bills, cooking, laundry- that sort of thing.

So if it isn’t a lack of ideas, and it isn’t an issue of time, then why am I not writing?

I know why, when I get right down to it. Recent events are getting me down, and I’m letting myself get moody and disinterested in the things I love (such as writing). I’ve been thinking about it a lot this week, and I’ve come to the conclusion that this will only spiral down from here if I don’t do something to change it.

I’ve decided to use my angst- which is a combination of being at an employer’s beck and call again after so long writing my own schedule, the loss of a couple dear people, and being so far away from friends and family in an unfamiliar place- and channel it into the piece I am writing. I’m skipping ahead a few chapters in Fayling (which should be done by now, but read above) and I’m going to schedule time to pour how I feel into my work. Hopefully it helps create a believable and powerful scene, and it will help me work through my crankiness.

I’ll let you know how that turns out.

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The Tired Poem

Sleep?

Oh my!

Do tell,

Expain,

What’s that?

Slumber.

HA HA!

I can’t

I have a cat.