Okay. It’s not the recovering cold.  It’s not the winter blues. It’s not a personal psychological trauma.

It’s . . . . . . . . . . .  WRITER’S BLOCK.

And, yes indeed, it might have been prompted by an upper respiratory downturn in physical energy and the wintry appearance of grays outside, not to mention the fact that we told the snow blowers we would manage the sloping drive by ourselves this year and it definitely looks problematic. But those are all subterfuges for reality.

Yes. I’m saying it now. I have writer’s block.

Indeed, I may have been initially traumatized by the need to write a 50,000 word novel in one month. I take my commitments seriously. I signed up. NaMoWriMo is a project designed to impel that into reality. But honestly. And I’m not going to whine here, but I can’t make it. Whew. I’m admitting that for the first time to myself. But I can’t make it.

And that means that I move on with – oh – about 30,000 words. Well, maybe 20,000. Not all bad. And I took what was a long short story from thirty years ago and pulled and stretched and delved and along the way fell into love with it. Not to suggest that it is publishable and worthy. But it grew and evolved into multi-layers of myself. I am tickled by its complexity. I am different today by what I know from its path and what it unearthed along the way. It made me think about my life as nothing has before.

Then the void. The doldrums.

I forced myself to sit down and write tonight in spite of the writer’s block.  Funny how the mind obstruction makes you feel as if you hadn’t a thought in your head, as if there will never again be anything to say. All blank. It’s all gone. It’s over. Done.

Then I remembered the adage that when you can’t think of a thing to say you just sit down and write. In spite of, and anyway.

I have a quote from Maya Angelou – “What I try to do is write. I may write for two weeks – the cat sat on the mat, this that, not a rat. And it might be just the most boring and awful stuff. But I try. When I’m writing, I write. And then it’s as if the muse is convinced I’m serious and says – Okay, okay, I’ll come.”

Come sweet muse. I’m not Maya Angelou, not even close or in the same blessed league, but I call out and ask you for skillful words and clever thoughts and ultimately the sheer fun of writing them down. And let them flow.

Amen. Om. Namaste. (I’m covering all bases.)






This entry was posted in faith, favorite things, IMAGINATION, introspection, religion, writing. Bookmark the permalink.


  1. Beth says:

    Oh dear, I understand how that is! Been there, done that. I haven’t decided if writing through the block is best or going off to do something else more productive is. But hang in there, it will all come together. And now that I’ve found you, I’m going to do some back reading. Look forward to seeing your writing soon.

  2. Candace Loken says:

    I have lost your email address. I did get your lovely email with pictures of your Dahlias. I am now staying up a t my father at night and during storms so please forgive me if I do not and am not a responsive email shirt tail relative. Email me your address please. I have a funny email for you!

  3. mickey mcbeth says:

    Well clicking my heels together three times worked for me. Reading this last blog made me feel that you and I, were once again, sitting in those uncomfortable metal folding chairs in Southern California.
    As I read this blog entry, you and I were sitting side by side: mind to mind, heart to heart, and soul to soul. I love you Diane; knowing our limitations is Golden; expressing our limitations is the pure white light that we came here to share with others.
    There is no place like Home. Thank you for reminding me that our ‘Home’, is in our hearts.

  4. Beth says:

    Diane, you are a rich person indeed to have someone comment on your post that they love you! Walk with a taller stance, my friend. Your wealth is beyond measure. See you Thursday. Yay! I got the day right!

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