A blank mind is a terrible thing to waste. I wrote three books, back-to-back, so I must be full of ideas, right? Write? Block.
I have nothing today. I can barely hold a decent conversation. Words refuse to form, and I can barely remember my own name. Life would be so much simpler if the stories would write themselves. Or if the characters would take a more hands-on approach.
I perch in my writing space and wonder if John Grisham or Stephen King ever have this problem. Based on their output, I would guess not very often.
I have already stared into oblivion, scrolled through Facebook and Twitter, and practiced my piano and guitar. I stood under the steaming shower and took a walk around the block. Unfortunately, my head is clear – too clear. The blank pages taunt me with their lack of words.
I am finally a bonafide author, for I have succumbed to the dreaded writer’s block.
Maybe it is time for a random sex scene or a heinous murder…in my book. Until the flash of brilliance knocks my pen into high-gear, I will be lounging in my chair, picking the lint off my yoga pants, and trying to summon the spirits of authors past. At least I will be doing something.
How are you smashing through your roadblocks today?