I discovered I have not been carrying my trusty rusty yellow pad with me. In fact, I have a really nice leather portfolio-type thingee from a company I used to work for. I carried my yellow pad in it, my current writings, my pen, and some business cards from other writers. This morning, I noticed I haven't been carrying it. Flummoxed. Truly. I can only surmise that I was hiding from my writing. Or that I was ignoring it. Or that... well, you get the gist.
I haven't written for awhile. I took what I hoped would be the 'resting' time, but it doesn't seem to have done any good. Or perhaps it did. Perhaps that's why I 'happened' to notice my portfolio on the stand next to the computer. In plain sight.
I can't imagine taking off a whole summer. For some authors, that's a book! For me, that's at least ten chapters!
Time to get back to work. And that is what it is. If I am truly going to consider myself an author. Nora Roberts said, on CBS Sunday Morning, that writing is hard work. It didn't used to be. It used to be all fun. Well, not quite. I must admit I've shed a number of tears over the years as I've written. Sometimes because I've killed off a character I like. Sometimes because I've grown and had to leave behind some treasured friends. Sometimes because I have been and always will be, I'm not kidding myself on this one, I've been bored with a character or a story, or I've been scared to delve deeper, or I've been stumped and the Muse isn't talking.
I think this latest slump has many roots. I'm not going to bother trying to find out which root got lost or stuck or poisoned. I'm going to work on the whole tree.
Starting with my health and my life choices.
I read some great stuff, during this hiatus. I'll share them with you tomorrow. Blessings in the mean time.
Life is 3-D complicated.
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