As the title suggests, I have a confession to make. I am suffering from a serious case of writer’s block. Now, I’m not saying that I’m unable to work. Far from it. In fact, my writing for work has been spectacular (ok, that may be a slight exaggeration considering I’ve been writing disease summaries for a neurologist). All things less creative have been much easier as of late.
No, what I’m talking about is “Passion.” That burning desire to work on my novel or write poetry about the spiders that have invaded my apartment just isn’t there right now. I can feel it hovering somewhere just behind my eyes, and I’ve been hoping that when I go to sleep at night I’ll wake up in the morning and that… glow… will there again. And everything will be fascinating and meaningful and I’ll see a message for the universe etched in everything. Ok, that is an exaggeration. I’ve never seen universal truths in everything. But I do see them in lots of things. And lately, even though I still see the truths, it’s been hard to put them on to paper.
Of course, one smart aleck friend’s advice was “Drink vodka.” But I’m not really a let’s booze it up at 8 a.m. kind of person. And honestly, I think the passion is there. I’ve just gotten out of touch with it. Kind of like how I just took a two week hiatus from working out and now push ups are nigh impossible.
I’ve been through spells like this before, and it usually took someone (teacher, friend, angsty stranger) kicking my butt to get me going again. What I need is will power. And persistence. And maybe a big pot of coffee. Definitely coffee.